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I nodded. Yet another person who had suffered my abuse. She and William had plans to be married shortly before the exp
losion that had altered the course of my life forever. It had been planned to coincide with my leave from deployment, but given that had been canceled, they decided to get married by the local magistrate rather than have the elaborately planned wedding.
Now that I was back in London, there were plans for a combined celebration: homecoming for me, and a wedding party for them. Tonight, in fact. There was nothing I wanted to participate in less. No one should be celebrating my homecoming. No one should be celebrating me at all.
What few talked about, including my best friend, was that I was not the only person injured in the explosion of the IED I’d driven the BFV onto. Of the nine in the vehicle that night, two had escaped with minor injuries, four were dead, one had lost his leg, and one had such severe brain damage he’d never lead a normal life. And there was me. The one responsible, still living a life I had no desire to.
It remained a daily struggle to open my eyes and get out of bed. I alternated between believing my family would be better off without the burden I’d become and believing that killing myself would leave them shells of their former selves.
Carson, my torturer and my protector, lost his temper with me only once. After hours of my constant complaining, self-pity, and unrelenting talk of ending my life, he’d had enough. Among many other things, he called me the most selfish, self-pitying, piece-of-shit wanker he’d ever had the displeasure of knowing.
“Instead of feeling sorry for yourself day-in, day-out, you could be helping others who have suffered in the same way you have. Do you not realize there are children in the pediatric burn center at Chelsea who could benefit from seeing where you’re at now compared to where you started?”
He’d walked out on me that day only to return the next as though we hadn’t had a foul word pass between us. When I met with my therapist later that week, he echoed many of the things Carson had said to me but with fewer curse words. He also suggested that helping others may help me find my self-worth again.
I still hadn’t looked into volunteering at Chelsea. The idea of it terrified me. What if my darkness was the only thing they saw? What if instead of helping, I made their already impossible struggles more difficult?
“I’m going for a walk,” I said, grabbing my jacket.
“Miles?” said my father.
“Yeah?”
“Did you not hear me say your sister would be stopping by?”
“Don’t worry. I won’t be long.” I walked out, knowing without needing to look that he was shaking his head in disappointment.
I was about to go through the front gate when my sister approached.
“Trying to avoid me?”
“Isn’t you.”
“I know. It’s yourself you’re trying to get away from.”
“Where’s Angus?”
“With Wills.”
I nodded. My nephew was terrified of me. I knew that. What child wouldn’t be? It was one of the reasons I didn’t take Carson’s suggestion to volunteer at Chelsea.
My sister put her hand on my arm. “Miles, we’re all so worried about you.”
I shrugged away from her. “Don’t be. I’m not worth the energy.”
“Don’t say things like that.”
I looked down at the ground. “I say it, Lil, because it’s true.”
Before I realized what she was about to do, she put her arms around my waist in a near death grip. “Do you have any idea how I felt when we thought we might lose you? Any idea? I wouldn’t have been able to go on, Miles. Mum and Dad felt the same way. You may not feel like it, but you’re the light of our lives, little brother. Not that you’re so little anymore, but, God, how can you not know how much we love you?”
My eyes filled with tears, and I looked away. “Lily…”
“Can we go inside? It’s mighty chilly out here,” she said a few minutes later.
I thought about telling her I still needed the walk, but after her admission, I owed her some of my attention. Also, the left side of my body ached from the cold. It was a toss-up as to which doctor would say it was my imagination and which would prescribe rehabilitation to combat it. It seemed their opinions changed on a regular basis.
“Oh, good. You’re back,” said my father when Lily and I came in the front door.
