Juliet
Grief was a pain that ached so violently within my chest it woke me from sleep. The clock in the room said it was nearly five in the morning, but my mind was wide awake. I took a deep breath, knowing that there would be a point when I let in enough oxygen for the ember of my bereavement, still burning in my lungs, to be kindled. It would burn through my soul, flaring out in flames of anguish. Fevered tears fell down my cheeks as I wept silently in the dark, folding my legs to my chest. The movement was a natural defense against an attack, but it wouldn't help this time. There was no defense against a trauma assaulting me from within.
When the Marines had sent their men in uniform to give my family the death notification I was wounded, but living each day without him was like watching it fester. I wondered if there would ever be anything I could do to care for it that would minimize the scar it would leave behind. I turned my face into my pillow, hoping to keep from waking Liam. I knew from experience it would pass, but not without taking a little piece of me with it.
"Breathe," he reminded me, his voice still deep from sleep. He moved closer, wrapping me in his warmth and pulling my body back against his. His strong arm fell perfectly over mine and he gripped my fist with his rough palm, pulling it to my chest as if to protect as much of me with his body as he could. "I'm so sorry, Juliet. I wish I could make it better."
I closed my eyes and tried to resist curling into myself further. My throat hurt and my face felt wet from all the tears. His lips brushed my temple, his free hand sliding beneath my body so he could tighten the embrace. It felt comforting to be held even if I was a little embarrassed he had to wake up to me falling apart. He held me like that for a long time, still keeping me close even when I'd begun to pull myself together.
"Did your brother ever tell you about our drill instructors in boot camp?" He asked. I sniffed and my chest still hiccupped from the emotions.
"Only that they were loud and gave everyone hell." I could feel his lips curl since his cheek was resting on the top of my head. He kissed my temple again, like it was the most natural thing.
"One night after a really hard day in the sun, the DI's told us we were going to celebrate with drinking and dancing." He chuckled softly, squeezing me tighter. "We filled up our canteens and they brought us all into the head. They told us to hydrate. We downed most of our water and then were told it was time to dance." His chuckle was devious. "They made us run around in there. It was small and we were in all our gear." He had my complete attention. I could still imagine Ken in his gear.
"Then they made us fill our canteens up again," he kissed my head and a small smile played at my lips. "Your brother, he wasn't phased by it. He told me the football coach used to do that kind of shit to them. But a lot of the other guys started getting sick." I turned around so I could see his face. He propped himself up on his elbow so he could look down at my face. His other arm was still draped across my stomach.
I held his arm to my body and told him, "Coach Hicks is an ass. He always hazes the team even though the school board has warned him not to." Liam lifted his arm and ran his fingertips across my forehead and down my cheek. His lips tuned up and he laughed.
"Well, it paid off. We held out the longest. After a few rounds of 'drinking and dancing,' most of the guys were barfing their guts out. Even if you had a stomach of steel, being locked in the head with a group of men throwing up all over the place would get to you. Pines and I tossed our cookies, but thought it was a lot funnier than everyone else."
"He never told me about that," I said, happy to have another story about my brother to tuck away.
"It's not really dinner conversation. I don't think I've told my family about it either." He wiped my tears with his thumb. "Sometimes you have to hang on to the good stories and save them for a time that it will matter." I nodded my head. He was right, I was grateful Ken hadn't told me about it back then. I hadn't needed it. I was happy he was home, but now I was hurting and I'd needed a little reminder about how much life Ken had actually lived in his short time here.
"I hate that it's not a steady climb. I want to know that the best I will feel today will be the worst I'll feel tomorrow, but it doesn't work like that." Grief was a bitch.
"Life would be boring if we knew what tomorrow's road looked like." He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "If it makes you feel better, we never have to climb the same mountain twice." His arm fell back across my stomach.
"Thank you." His story had distracted me and helped to pull me out of the darkness I'd woke up in.
"You know you're even beautiful when you cry?" he asked, looking bashful that the words had left his lips.
"Are you secretly into girls with puffy eyes and runny noses?" I teased. I turned on my side so I could put my arm around him. I didn't feel beautiful. I felt like I was a mess, both inside and out.
"I'm into you." He lightly tapped my nose. "Puffy eyes, runny nose, messy hair, or perfectly put together. I haven't seen anything about you that doesn't get my interest. I'm trying to find it. I think there's a part of me that knows I'm going to need to know that piece of you one day." His face was serious, his eyes looking into my own. I knew exactly what he was trying to say. Walking away from each other was going to leave a mark. If we could focus on a good reason why we weren't great for each other then it would be easier to say goodbye. I already knew my reasons for walking away. Marines. Leaving. Goodbye. Waiting. Abandon. History. If I tried to stay with him, our story would play out in a tragic cadence of seven-lettered words.