Scarred (Scorching Soldier's #1)

Part 1

"After the first phase,
after passionate nights and intimate days,
only then would he let me trace
the frozen river which ran through his face..."
- Manhunt, Simon Armitage

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CHAPTER 1
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GAGE

I pound into her from behind, sweat dripping off my forehead falling on to her back. My balls ache and swell up, wanting to empty themselves and spill into the heated vessel. My mind shuts itself off so that I can stop thinking about how since I've come back, my girlfriend never looks at me while we f*ck. It's not a good thought to have when you're trying to bust a nut.

Serena screams out in front of me, and the sound rings in my ears. I want to tell her to shut the f*ck up because her screams do nothing but bring up old memories, but I don't say anything because I have a feeling that the amount of times I'll be able to have sex with someone is becoming limited. It's only a short amount of time until she leaves me. I can tell. Can't really make myself upset over it. I don't care about much these days.

A few more thrusts and I'm cumming inside of her. Fifteen months ago, I would have slammed into her, groaned out her name while kissing the soft skin on her back, fallen onto the sheets then pulled her onto my front while telling her how much I loved her. Now as soon as I finish, I pull out of her and sit back on my ankles while breathing heavily. Serena falls onto her front, resting her forehead against her arms. I say nothing. She says nothing. We don't touch. It's like we've entered a parallel universe and we hardly know each other anymore.

Not sure if she's pretending she's falling asleep to avoid me, but I'm thankful I don't have to communicate with her as I step off of the bed and go to the bathroom. F*cking her these days is sterile, mandatory and definitely emotionless. But even as dull as it is, when I'm inside her it's the only times she's open to me. The mirror on the wall broadcasts the exact reason why - the ugly scarring on my face.

I rub the tissue, that turns from soft to ridged on the right side of my face, ripping down to my neck and shoulder. It's changed every dynamic of my life. Being in public gets me side glances and weird looks. Makes me want to scream out "I GOT THESE SCARS WHILE PROTECTING YOUR FAMILIES!" but I know it's not worth it. They're not doing it to piss me off. It's just human nature to acknowledge the damaged things in life.

Then I go back to thinking it could be worse. I knew people who lost their lives, who have lost their limbs, lost their minds and here I am complaining because of a minor scar and some dirty looks. It's mild in comparison. Still hurts like f*ck, though. Silently. Not like a physical gun shot wound, but like a sweating mine that's about to explode in the deepest parts of my mind. There's no changing that.

I turn to the shower and turn the tap to let the water shoot out from its nozzle. I step into the storm and let the water spray against my back. The stream runs into the drain. I had f*cking missed these showers while I was away. I remember my first shower after coming back I'd spent nearly an hour in here till the water ran cold and my fingers were pruning. This was my one constant. I tip my head back and let the water spray over my face, the droplets numbing the scarred tissue. Not for the first time since coming back, I feel like I want to cry, which makes me scowl and clench my hands into fists.

I had been a goddamn soldier. I needed to get over feeling sorry for myself like some pussy. Fighting for my country was supposed to make me stronger, not weaker. I just need to get on with my life like everybody else. I pick up a cloth, squirt some shower gel onto it, then begin to lather my body washing away my bad thoughts along with the bubbles.

God, if only it was that easy.