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She doesn’t need any further encouragement. She crosses the room and climbs up onto my bed. After plumping a couple of pillows behind her, she reclines against the headboard and immediately turns her attention to the TikTok videos playing on the screen of her phone.
I go back to reading on my tablet, and we lie together companionably, each of us doing our own thing. Occasionally, I’ll hear a quiet snicker or a snort of laughter coming from her, which makes me smile. When she’s happy, I’m happy.
And the converse is true. When she’s hurting, so am I.
She puts her phone down and sighs. “Do you feel like watching something on Netflix?”
I lay my tablet down and smile. I knew it was only a matter of time. “Sure. What do you want to watch?”
“Stranger Things.”
We both love that show. “Okay.” I grab the TV remote and find where we left off the last time we watched it. We end up watching two episodes before she starts yawning.
“You need to get some sleep,” I say. “Tomorrow’s going to be here before you know it. When do we need to leave? What time is your first class?”
“My first class is at ten. Parking can be tricky, and I like to arrive in plenty of time so I don’t feel rushed. We should leave by eight-thirty.”
I nod. “Eight-thirty it is.”
When she yawns again, I laugh as I shoo her off my bed. “Go. I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Okay. G’night.”
“Goodnight. Sleep well.”
After she leaves my room, I immediately feel the loss of her presence. I wish—no. I’m not even going to think it, because it’s pointless.
We can’t ever be what I wish we could be.
After Layla goes back to her own room, I lie awake for a long time, watching the minutes tick by. The minutes turn into hours, and sleep eludes me as it often does. I’m not sure if I can’t sleep, or if I’m avoiding it.
Layla’s not the only one who has nightmares. More often than not, when I close my eyes at night, I see the faces of the people I couldn’t save. I hear their cries for help. And I feel a crushing sense of responsibility for those I lost.
I see the faces of fellow soldiers who didn’t make it back home. I see limbs torn from bodies because of road-side bombs. I see my fellow soldiers who were so broken, I couldn’t hold them together long enough to get them the help they needed.
Even back home, as a paramedic, I saw sights that I can’t forget. Women, men, even children who died horrible deaths in car wrecks and fires. When it got to be too much, I quit my job as a paramedic and went into private security. It’s not a walk in the park, but at least it’s better.
Chapter 17
Layla Alexander
When my phone alarm goes off Monday morning at seven, I hop out of bed, eager and excited to be getting back to campus and my friends. Well, myonefriend anyway. Charlene is also a psychology major, and she’s in two of my classes. That’s how we met. I consider her a real friend. Actually, she’s more like an older sister who has taken me under her wing.
You don’t have any friends.
Yes, I do. Charlene’s my friend.
She only pretends to like you because you’re wealthy.
That’s not true. She’s never asked me for anything.
Just wait. She will.
I’m in too good of a mood today to letherget to me. And anyway, she’s wrong. I do have friends. Charlene, for one. There’s Tyler, too. Yes, he’s my brother’s boyfriend, but he also counts as a friend. And now I have Jason. I consider him a friend as well.
No, he’s your paid companion. Big difference. If he weren’t paid, he wouldn’t be with you.
That’s true, but I ignore her.
