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I SMOOTHED OUT the wrinkles on my bedspread then placed my stuffed brown bunny rabbit against the white-and-pink flowered throw pillow. At sixteen, I was a little old for stuffed animals, but it had been a gift from my brother the first time he went away to Afghanistan with the military.
I straightened, then saw the sheet hanging down in the right corner and quickly tucked it back into the mattress. Perfect. I liked . . . no, I was obsessed with being organized. Everything had its place, even me. I kept to the same bland, colorless clothes, the same schedule, and the same hair style. Why mess with what worked? My brother often teased me and said I should join the Canadian forces like him. I may like neat and tidy, but I hated fighting, blood, guns, and, unquestionably, any killing.
Connor knew that. He’d helped me bury my goldfish, Goldie, in the backyard when I was seven, then the hamster, Fiddlehead, when I was ten. To this day, there is a marked stone Connor had made for him near the back fence. I could see it whenever I looked out the kitchen window.
I jerked as a car door slammed, which sounded as if it was in our driveway. The sun had just peeked over the horizon; six in the morning was too early for any visitors, plus it was Sunday and Dad had the rule he and Mom sleep in. I always rose early, wanting to get ahead of the day, another reason Connor said I’d excel in the military. Although, we both knew he’d never allow me anywhere near danger, which I was very content with. Danger to me was if my shampoo was missing and I had to use my brother’s instead.
But Connor wasn’t due back for another month, so that meant . . . A sudden freeze hit my body, locking my limbs in place as I realized why someone might be in our driveway at six in the morning on a Sunday. My breath trapped in my throat as if clamped hands were strangling me.
No.
No. I shook my head back and forth. Please, don’t knock.
It was the newspaper boy. Early. He was an hour early today. In a second, I’d hear the clang as the newspaper bundle hit the metal screen door.
Eyes squeezed tightly shut, I waited for the familiar sound.
Nothing. I sucked in large amounts of air for my starved lungs.
Not him. Please, not him.
Connor.
Connor.
My heart thumped harder and harder in its cage and tears pooled in my eyes. I couldn’t hear his footsteps, but I knew his team leader’s black combat boots were walking up the stone path toward the house.
I can’t lose him. Please.
Run.
Run and it won’t be true.
But I couldn’t move. My legs were locked in place as I waited for the nightmare to begin.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
It was as if each knock was a punch to the stomach. No air. I couldn’t breathe. I was silently screaming and nothing could stop the fear gripping my insides.
Please. No. I need him.
I heard my parents’ bedroom door open and the shuffling of feet down the hallway on the hardwood floors. The distinct click as the lock turned and then the front door opened, followed by the screech of the screen door.
Then silence.
It felt like hours as I stood in the middle of my room, afraid to look out the window and see the car I didn’t want to see. Afraid to run. Afraid to move. Hoping I was still asleep and this was all a dream.
Yes, it was a dream. I’d wake up any second. I’d call Connor today. I’d tell him how much I missed him and loved him. It had been weeks since we last spoke. I should’ve emailed him more often. Why hadn’t I?
My mother’s loud wail pierced the air, and my perfect world crashed to my feet. It was like I was being coiled in the death grip of an anaconda and dragged under the water.
I fell to my knees, my arms wrapped around myself, and I rocked back and forth as my mother’s cries became muffled as if she was being held against something.
There were more footsteps. Not quiet and soft like my mom’s. Not slow and lumbering like my dad’s. Long, confident strides.
No. Go away. Just go away. It’s not real.
The steps stopped outside my door, and I heard the click as the door handle turned. It was opening my soul and ripping out my heart.
I stopped rocking.
The door swung open.
I clamped my eyes shut, not wanting to see him. Unable to face him, face what he was here to tell me.
“Georgie.”
Deck’s gruff tone, I’d recognize anywhere. It scared me. He scared me but what scared me more was my body’s reaction to him. The strange tingling between my legs, the warmth on my skin and the whirling in my stomach as if I was falling from the sky.
I sniffled as my nose dripped, and I felt the trickle of tears slip from the corners of my eyes.
“Look at me, Georgie.” If I ignored him, it would all go away. “Georgie.”
It was the hint of softness in his voice when he said my name which had me opening my eyes.
My gaze hit his legs first, the long, lean length covered in black cargo pants. There was a rip in the material just above his knee. Dirt. Smudges of dirt on his pants as if he’d come straight from whatever hell they’d been in.
They. In a second, the word they wouldn’t exist anymore.
My gaze moved upward, hesitant, as if my brain was fighting every step. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, his knuckles strong notches which had felt the harshness of pounding into another man. It was odd because his hands were clean, and yet I saw the dirt on his tatted arms and the . . . blood? Was it his blood or—
“Georgie.”
The loud, abrupt sound of my name made me lurch and my gaze flew to his.
His jaw was tense. Eyes hard and cold—unemotional. He looked directly at me, not an ounce of compassion in his unyielding stare. But I saw other things. There beneath his stoic solidity . . . the torment, the pain, the darkness which was soon going to become my own.
I started shaking violently, and my throat tightened against the sobs that racked my body. “No.” It was the only word I could get out.
Please, no.
He stood and watched me tremble and cry on my knees in the middle of my room for several minutes before he said, “I couldn’t save him.”
His words cut into me with the finality of the truth, and my breath hitched as more tears pooled and slipped from the confines of my eyelids. I tightened my arms around my body as if that would help the pain ease.
It didn’t.
Nothing would.
Connor.
He was gone.
I’d never hear his teasing. Feel the touch of his hand ruffling my hair. Hear his voice calling me ‘Georgie Girl.’
He promised to come back.
Pain.
Hurt.
Devastation.
‘Chaos.’
My head screamed with anarchy as Connor’s image played across my mind. It was distorted and broken with bits of light being sucked apart by the darkness.
Destruction. I had to destroy. My perfect world was no longer. Nothing would ever be the same again. I’d never be the same again.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbed my duvet and tore it off the bed, the flowered throw pillow and bunny tossed to the floor. A strange sound emerged from my throat as I dove for my dresser and swept my arm across the shiny, neat surface—books, my jewelry box, and a vase crashed to the hardwood floor. I could hear glass shattering, and silver stud earrings, pearls, and rings scattered in every direction.
I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
Destruction.
I grabbed my light off my nightstand and threw it across the room. The bulb made a loud pop as it hit the wall. I needed to destroy. Everything I’d made into a neat and tidy place was no longer. It was all gone. Nothing would be perfect again. My world had just burst open, and I was bleeding. It hurt. God, it hurt.
I tripped over my duvet as I went for the closet and fell to my knees. It didn’t stop me . . . the physical pain was nothing, almost welcoming to the emotional pain taking me apart piece by piece. I got up, then staggered to the closet and threw open the doors.
I wrenched my clothes off the hangers—the pretty, soft-yellow dresses, white ones, black ones. Then the plain, button-down blouses and the black pants. The empty hangers swung back and forth on the metal bar as every single piece of clothing was thrown to the floor. When the closet was empty, I picked up whatever was in reach and began tearing. Buttons popped. Silk and nylon tore, sleeves ripped from the cores—like me. This was me being shredded apart.
Carelessly, I yanked and pulled at whatever my hands could get a hold of.
Rip.
Tear.
Ruin everything. Destroy.
I was breathing hard when I finished. Nothing was left alive. Just like me. I had nothing left except to run.
Run.
Run.
Run.
I ran for the door. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out of here. Away from this ruined perfect world. He was gone. Connor was gone.
My mind was whirling and frantic.
Escape.
I didn’t even see him; my vision blurred from tears and anger and pain. He blocked the doorway, his broad frame preventing my path of escape.
I ran anyway, trying to dive past him.
He snagged me around the waist with one arm and my feet left the floor. I screamed and squirmed in his hold like a rag doll. He set me down directly in front of him, his hands latched onto my upper arms in a bruising grip.
“Georgie, look at me.”
I kicked and yelled, trying to leave, but nothing would set me free. I knew I’d never be free again. My brother. My best friend. He was dead.
“Let me go. Let me go. Let me go.”
Run. Get away.
“Look. At. Me.”
This time his voice cut through my hysterical need to escape, and I stopped struggling, staring up at his unflinching eyes. How could he just stand there? He’d just destroyed my life, my family’s life. And he was standing there looking at me without a trace of sympathy.
“I hate you.”
“You going to stand still?”
Chest heaving and heart pounding, I realized Deck had watched me destroy everything in my room. He never did anything to stop it. The one thing I did know about this man was that he was unbending. Connor always said Deck was the best team leader, because no matter what shit went down, Deck would never yield to anyone. He’d stand by his word no matter what, and I guessed he wouldn’t let me go until I bent to his will.
I stopped fighting.
He waited a second then released me. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound book with worn edges and a cracked spine. “He’d want you to have this.”
I didn’t move as I stared at what I knew was Connor’s journal. Deck grabbed my wrist and shoved it in my hand, the hard surface abruptly hitting my palm.
Connor’s name was written on the top in his familiar, messy handwriting.
I nearly fell, and probably would’ve if Deck hadn’t grabbed my arm. He guided me further into my room, and I didn’t object. All I did was stare down at the bound book. The last piece of my brother. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
I felt the softness of the mattress as Deck made me sit, and then the floor creaked as he started to walk away.
I looked up at the retreating figure. “I wish it was you, not him.”
He gave no reaction to my words, and really, I hadn’t expected any. It just came out. And I did hate that Deck was here instead of Connor. I hated that he could walk back to his family and laugh and hold them and my brother couldn’t.
He turned his head and met my eyes. For a second, I thought I witnessed remorse, but it was so quick I could’ve imagined it or maybe I hoped to see it from my brother’s best friend.
“Yeah.” His whispered tone was barely audible as the door shut, and I listened to his steady, booted steps walk away.
The front door opened, and the screen door screeched. Both shut.
I had no idea why I did it, but I walked over to the window, parted the white sheer curtains and watched as he walked down the path. The tension in his back. The stiffness of his stride.
He stopped at the side of the car and stood still for a second. I couldn’t see his face or what he was doing until he slammed both fists into the roof of the car. Then his head dropped forward and his shoulders slouched.
My fingers curled around the delicate material of the curtains, and I didn’t realize how hard until they ripped from the rod and fell to the floor, leaving the window bare.
As if he’d heard it—but I knew that was impossible—Deck turned. Our eyes locked. It felt like he could see right into me with that direct gaze. I felt naked and vulnerable, unable to look away, trapped. He gave me these wounds. Wounds that would never heal. Deck was now part of the darkness inside me I’d never escape from.
His nod was barely distinguishable before he broke the connection and opened the car door.
I watched his lean form curl into the driver’s seat.
The engine came to life with a loud purr.
Life. Something Connor had lost.
I turned away just as I heard the squeal of the tires on the street.
My perfect world had just been thrown into destructive chaos.