" I'll never be that person again. "
-
MAY 17th
1917
The Second Battalion
-
WILLIAM HAD LEARNED to never count the time he was spending in the trenches. Not even when it reached weeks or months.
Because here, in war, you only got a single minute. One minute for everything. And one minute for nothing at all.
And for as long as those sixty seconds lasted; nothing before and nothing after mattered.
Because the only goal in your mind right then and there was to survive that one minute.
And then the next.
And then the next.
Will didn't really understand what he was doing anymore. What his purpose was. None of the soldiers knew what was going on, only that they did what they were told to.
What that now happened to be- he was unsure of. It almost felt pointless nowadays.
But what did he know? He was just a simple man. A man that wanted to go home and for this all to end.
But it just didn't work like that. It never did.
He should have thought of that before his courage got ahead of him and convinced him to enlist voluntarily in the army.
No one seemed to ask about them. And that seemed to be the thing the civilians didn't understand about people like him. He and the men around him were nothing of the heroes people saw them as- they just happened to be on their side. And what most people didn't know was that if the soldiers went up those steps into the front line – without first being doped with whisky – they'd probably go completely and utterly mad with fright.
He had been moved to some other place and he had written all about it in his letters to Josephine. He would empty it out to her and she would just understand, then do the same back.
It just worked. Like two puzzle pieces finding each other and completing the whole picture.
And that picture only contained one thing in Will's mind. The two of them together, without the war and without anyone else.
He rubbed his temple. So painfully aware of the stupidity in his thoughts.
His hand was safely placed on the outer pocket of his coat. There was a stopwatch underneath the washed-out fabric. One was given to him by Jo through the mail. And just like he had asked for- only able to time one single minute at a time.
It was embraced in copper and let out a low clicking sound every time its hand moved another millimeter.
Now that Jo was working in Paris, she had made sure to tell him all about the city which had never been to. To be honest, Will had never even been to France before the war.
He wouldn't say his first meeting here was very much pleasant.
Yet he did not regret his choice to join the army, at least that was what he told himself. It was just easier that way.
Besides, a soldier like himself was allowed to go home every ten or twelve months.
Home.
He let that word sink in for a moment.
The last time he was able to watch over the English landscapes; it was only for a slight moment. And he barely even remembered it. His family was overjoyed, but William himself could only sit there. He was overwhelmed by everything, unable to connect to anyone. Unable to talk of all the horrific things he had seen.
The next time was easier.
No.
That was a lie.
But it was way too late to step out now. He had been in the army for two years. Two never-ending years that just went on and on.
He did not believe in God, but still, he prayed every day and moment that this would end. That everything would just end.
-
"Madamoiselle Avair.".
Jo turned her voice and watched as sister Mercier came walking towards her. Her arms were neatly folded over her chest.
They were standing alone in the laundry room. By the walls were clothes, cushions, and other types of laundry. They were stained with dirt, puke, and litter after months of usage.
"Oui?" Yes?
The woman clicked her tongue and shifted position.
"Il y avait un soldat-" she started. There was a soldier-
"Il a demandé une femme appelée Josephine."
He asked for a woman called Josephine.
Jo felt a lump forming in her throat. Julian.
That stupid man.
"Qui est Joséphine?" Sister Mercier asked, coming closer and leaning her head to the side. Who is Josephine?
Jo hesitated.
"Moi, soeur," she nearly whispered. Me, sister.
She had no time to react before the woman's palm was smacked across her face. Blinking in surprise, she took a step back and slowly felt the burning sensation as it spread across her cheek.
"Non," Sister Mercier whispered slowly under her breath. No.
"Tu t'appelles Avair." Your name is Avair. "Infirmière Avair."
Nurse Avair.
Jo nodded, knowing that this was something other nurses would get into trouble for too. They were not allowed to "form any sort of bonds" with the wounded- that was not their job and Jo knew that.
But why did it hurt?
Was she really that sensitive?
With quick steps, she walked away after excusing herself from the woman in front of her. Her face twisted as she tried concealing her emotions.
Now again it was proven that she was only a name. A number. A tool.
And whe was so awfully tired of being considered disposable.
The door to Julian's room stood wide open, alongside all the other separate spaces filled with soldiers.
She entered, not paying much attention to the young man. Her face seemed quite still, her eyes intensely staring at the objects which she grabbed with her hands. Towels, bandages, and different creams; all in a desperate attempt to make him better. Make her better.
"Est-ce que tu vas bien?" his tired voice asked. Are you alright?
Jo turned her head, her fingers tapping against the bottle of iodine and her eyes somehow unable to focus on his face.
"Ehm-" she cleared her throat. "Oui." Yes.
Julian stared at her, his deeply sunken eyes had a glint of suspicion in them, but for some reason, he did not act any further on his thoughts.
The silence came. Just like it always did.
Jo felt her fists curling together tightly until her skin almost turned white.
She was so sick and tired of being here and so done with everything that would just fall onto her. It felt like every direction she looked; there was death and blood and destruction.
And most of all she was just sick and tired of being bloody sick and tired.
But then, out of nowhere.
As if she was back in Écoust, trapped inside the walls of a ruined basement- an ear-piercing crack of thunder reached her ear. So loudly and so out of place.
She immediately froze with her hand in mid-air.
Her widened eyes stared out into nowhere with nothing but pure fear reflected in them.
She couldn't move.
So many thoughts, flashbacks, and signals rushed through her head to the point where Jo could barely think at all. Screaming for her to please fall onto the floor and stay there. Please, stay there.
And then-
Silence.
"Jo?"
"Josephine?"
Once Julian's cold hand reached Jo's empty one, she was brought out of her trance-like state.
There was a similar look of visible distress on his face. He must have remembered too.
"Je pense..." he breathed out, suddenly looking away as well as bringing back his own hand to rest against his quickly rising chest. I think...
"...une voiture s'est retournée contre," he spoke up at last. ... a car backfired.
Yet his words, no look of relief crossed Jo's now pale face. She just looked away, crossing her arms and letting out a shaky breath. Her throat itching.
"Non." No.
Slowly shaking her head.
"Non, je le jure-" No I swear-
The right words wouldn't just come out. She didn't even know what the right words were.
And for the first time during that moment does she turn to look at Julian.
"Je jure devant Dieu, un instant là-bas, j'étais de retour," she mumbled.
I swear to God, for a moment there, I was back.
Jo didn't need to say anything more to the soldier. He understood.
She bent down, slowly sliding onto the cold floor. Her back leaning against the side of the metal bed and her knees pulled towards her chest.
"Tu sais, Jo," Julian started. You know, Jo.
"Quand nous étions dans la voiture ce jour-là."
When we were in that car that day.
Jo knew what day.
In the corner of her eye, she glanced over at his face before turning back- nodding.
"Et nous avons atteint un pont," he continued. And we reached a bridge.
She heard a light sigh.
"Avéré que les Allemands avaient planté des mines terrestres en dessous.
Turns out the Germans had planted landmines underneath it.
He became quiet and so did Jo. She was sitting still- brushing her fingers against the stale fabric of her uniform.
After some time; she turned her head towards him only to see that his face was filled with emotion.
No tears were visible, but she could see the pain in his eyes as they looked over at her.
"Et je pensais ... merde," he furrowed his eyebrows. And I thought... fuck.
"'C'est le jour où je meurs'."
'This is the day I die.'
___
Hi again!
Hope u enjoyed the chapter (Even though it kinda sucked). Please vote and comment <3
Have an amazing day :)
/connie