Chapter Eight
DREW
“So what happened to you while you were over there?” Dr. Emerson asked. “The notes don't go into too much detail about what you went through, but they mention somebody in your unit named Mason Shoemaker –”
I flinched when she spoke and it was almost as if she'd slapped me. Honestly, I would have preferred it if she had. I probably would have preferred a million other things other than her bringing up Mason. I sat on the couch across from her, doing everything within my power to avoid turning the conversation toward her. The temptation to crack a joke or talk about anything other than Mason or my time overseas was strong. And it was apparently my most common avoidance tactic.
I leaned back on the couch and actually felt myself drawing inward beneath her scrutiny. I wasn't one who could ever be considered a wilting flower. I didn't back down from anybody and always confronted things head on. But for some reason, when it came to Dr. Emerson – specifically, Dr. Emerson prying into my past – I just clammed up. Intimidated wasn't the right word, but it was probably close. That uncertainty was a new, strange feeling – and one I didn't care for, truth be told.
And she knew that cracking jokes or diverting the conversation was my way of getting out of talking about myself, and especially about what happened over there – and called me out on it regularly.
“Who was he, Drew? This – Mason?”
I remained quiet for a moment and tried to sink into the couch cushions. I didn't want to talk about Mason. There were things I didn't want to talk about. Things she wouldn't understand. Things nobody who didn't serve, didn't have to do what we had to do, would understand. There were also things I couldn't talk about – aspects of our missions that were still classified. Aspects that helped shape and define my relationship with Mason. It was a fine line and one that I had to tread carefully. A line I didn't know that I even wanted to approach, let alone cross.
“Drew?” she asked softly.
“Mason was my – best friend,” I finally said in a voice barely more than a whisper.
“Oh, I'm sorry.” Her eyes grew wide, her expression one of sympathy. “I'm very sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah, that's what everybody says,” I muttered to myself, avoiding the look in her eyes. “No offense, but it doesn't particularly help. I mean, it's not like you knew him or anything... ”
“No, but I can see that his passing had a profound effect on you. And I'm sorry for that. It's a pain nobody should have to endure.”
I nodded. “I appreciate that. It's just – I don't know,” I said, shaking my head. “I don't know what I mean.”
“Well, what would you prefer I say, Drew?”
I shrugged. “There's really nothing you can say,” I said. “That's not a knock on you, it's just that there's nothing anyone can say to make it better. I watched as my best friend was blown to pieces right in front of me. My uniform was coated in his blood. And the real bitch of it is, that it's all my fault.”
“It's not –”
“Yes, it is. You don't know what you're talking about. You weren't there,” I snapped.
She lowered her eyes and looked abashed. “No, I wasn't there. But from what I know of you –”
I snorted derisively. “No offense, but you don't know anything about me,” I said, my voice rising. “The only thing you really know about me is that I'm really good in the sack.”
Her cheeks colored, but when she raised her eyes and looked straight at me, I could see the defiance in them. I'd crossed a line and had pissed her off. But to her credit, she remained composed and didn't let my outburst rattle her.
“We're getting a little off topic, Drew,” she said. “I know you're angry – and we certainly can talk about the reasons for your anger. I'm sure they're justifiable. But I'm not the enemy here, so let's just take a breath and try to calm down a bit.”
I sighed and slumped back in my seat. She was right. I wasn't pissed at her. She just happened to be there and was an easy target. I felt bad for cracking back on her like I had.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“It's okay,” she replied. “Please, go on.”
I cleared my throat and looked up, but still couldn't force myself to meet her eyes. “It is my fault because what everyone seems to forget – what isn't in the official reports – is that I was supposed to run point on that mission. Me. But I sent Mason out ahead of me instead. I hung back a bit and screwed around because I thought it was going to be boring as shit. It was just a standard recon. We hadn't had any enemy contact in a few days and everything was quiet. It was supposed to be mellow. But guess what? He walked right over an IED that I failed to detect because I figured we were safe and didn't have my head on straight. I sent him out there ahead of me and he got blown to shit because of it. Because I didn't do my goddamn job. That should have been me. Not him.”
My heart felt like it was breaking all over again and my eyes welled with tears, but I fought them off. I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut tight, cursing myself for giving in and crying. Again. And more than that, for crying, right in front of a woman I'd fucked a little more than a week ago. Yeah, I was sure my little display of weakness in her office was getting her all hot and wet for me again.
“Listen, I'm not comfortable –” I said, standing up and heading toward the door. “I have to leave. I can't do this anymore –”
She moved so smoothly and quickly I hadn't even heard her stand up. The next thing I knew though, she was beside me and grabbed my arm. Her grip was tight – she was stronger than she looked.
“You can't keep running away, Drew,” she said. “You have to confront this and do something with it otherwise it's going to keep eating away at your soul. It is going to rot you from the inside out. You're going to change – become a shell of yourself. Is that what you want? Is that what Mason would have wanted for you?
Pulling my arm free, I snapped back, “OH yeah? You're one to talk about running away. You seem really well versed in that,” I roared. “And you don't know shit about Mason, so keep your fuckin' mouth shut about things you don't have the first goddamn clue about.”
She didn't try to stop me again. Instead, she just stared up at me, an expression of hurt upon her face. Her mouth was open as if she wanted to say something. To fight back. I thought she was going to for a moment, but then that moment passed and she didn't say anything. She simply closed her mouth and lowered her eyes once more. With a small sense of triumph – one I knew would fade and leave me feeling like shit later – I walked out the door and slammed it as I left. I strode down the hall, my boot steps echoing off the walls, anger coursing through my veins. I didn't even bother looking back as I walked through the waiting room and out of the building.
I wasn't going back. There was no purpose in it other than to rip the scabs off old wounds rather than letting them heal.
But then, I wasn't sure these were wounds that really would ever heal.
ooo000ooo
That night, I was afraid to fall asleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. I saw Mason staring back at me, that goofy ass grin he got whenever we were cutting up – which was most of the time. He got me in a way nobody had ever gotten me before – or ever since.
We were like brothers – and it wasn't just that brotherhood bond that formed during SEAL training or close quarter combat situations. We had a bond that went even deeper than that. He was more than just my best friend and I loved him. Not a day went by that I didn't think about him. That my heart didn't hurt for not having him in my life anymore.
Back in the day, we'd talk about what our lives were going to be like after the service. We made plans to chase chicks together when we were finally home – being a SEAL had some definite perks. We talked about opening a business together – a food truck or some shit like that. We joked about growing old and fat together.
If there was one thing we were serious about though, it was that we were going to be a part of each other's worlds for the rest of our days. It was a bond that was deep and unbreakable. And because of that, a piece of my soul had gone with him when he died.
I lay in bed, the cobwebs of sleep starting to envelop me. As I drifted off, I not only saw Mason, I heard him too. Heard his voice. And he was laughing.
“I think I'm going to ask her to marry me,” he said. “When I get home, that is.”
We were barrelling down a lonely stretch of road in some Afghani shithole town with a few other guys in our unit. It was a small mission – just a quick arrest of a suspected bomber. I recognized the road and the conversation. It was one of the last missions we'd run together before he'd died.
I looked at him sitting in the seat beside me and wanted to tell him not to take point on that upcoming mission. Wanted to tell him to make me do it instead. Even though I was dimly aware that this was just a dream, there was some small part of my mind that hoped I'd somehow travelled in time and could save him. It should have been me – not him – that got hit by that IED.
But I couldn't change anything. I couldn't affect shit. All I could do was sit there and watch the scene play out.
“Fuck, man. That's pretty serious,” I replied. “What made you decide that?”
He looked up at me, and even though he was there with me, in my dream, he really wasn't there. Even at that moment in time, he was thinking about her. He was always thinking about her. I didn't blame him for it. Carrie was great and I thought she was good for him. She kept him up on Cloud Nine, but also firmly rooted to the ground. She was a unique woman and I was happy that they'd found each other.
“I dunno. We were talking last night, and I just realized I can't imagine my life without her,” he said. “Not to sound like a sentimental little bitch, but Carrie is my everything. We've been together since high school. We've gone through so much, and as we talked about the future, I realized maybe this is it. She's my soul mate. She's the one I'm supposed to grow old with.”
I laughed. “You're supposed to grow old with me, fuckface.”
Mason grinned. “I would, but you can't give a blowjob worth a shit.”
We laughed and drew a grin from the guys in the front of the Humvee. That was typical Mason – always quick with the comeback. It's how he'd earned his call sign – Joker. A little cheesy and cliché, but a well-earned nickname.
“You believe in that shit?” I asked him. “About soul mates and shit?”
“Yeah? Maybe? Hell, I don't know,” he said, looking away from me as if he was almost embarrassed that he'd say some new aged, corny and campy shit like that. “I don't know, man. I guess being out here has changed me. Seeing the things, we've seen and doing the things we've done – it's done a number on me. I remember that when I passed through SEAL training, I came out ready to kill and drink the blood of our enemies.”
I laughed. “Yeah, training has a way of doing that,” I said. “They know how to fire you up, but good.”
He nodded. “They do,” he replied. “But I'm not that guy anymore. If anything, being around so much death and destruction has made me realize how precious life is. And how much I actually have to lose. In a weird way, all this killing and death has made me a little more human – it's definitely made me more sentimental and crap.”
“I'd say,” I said, rolling my eyes. “You sound like a fuckin' Hallmark commercial mashed up with a motivational speaker. In other words, you sound like a first-class little bitch.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Mason laughed. “I'm serious though. Everything we've gone through over here has made me really realize how much I love and appreciate Carrie.”
I was giving him a ration of shit, but on the inside, I couldn't have been happier for him. He deserved to be happy. To feel loved and appreciated. Mason was one of the good ones and deserved nothing but the best.
“I know you're serious, brother,” I said. “And I really am happy for you. Carrie's a good girl. You two make a great couple.”
We normally didn't talk about shit like that. We kept it to video games, hot women, sports – you name it. We didn't get sentimental. That wasn't our way and it hurt too damn much. Especially since my girlfriend and I had broken up before I'd shipped out. She was somebody I really cared about, but she wanted someone who was going to be there for her, all the time, at her beck and call. She was upset when I told her that I was leaving and I couldn't be that for her. I had responsibilities and she couldn't understand that.
I'd asked her to wait for me. Told her we'd be able to keep in touch all the time. I promised that when my tour was up, that I'd be there for her twenty-four/seven. I would never leave her side if she didn't want me to. But she wasn't willing to wait for me. Wouldn't even consider it.
To say that it hurt, would be an understatement. I remembered feeling like I'd been kicked in the nuts by a mule.
“You'll find someone someday, Drew,” he said quietly. “No doubt about it. And she'll be somebody worthy of you. Somebody who can put up with your stupid ass.”
“I already have, Mason,” I said. “I've found that woman. And my God, is she fuckin' amazing in the sack.”
“Oh yeah?” Mason raised his eyebrow, curious.
“Yeah. It's your mom. She is an absolute mattress stallion and we couldn't be happier together,” I said, turning the conversation back to the same inane shit we always joked about. “Which means that you're going to need to start calling me Dad.”
Mason shook his head and smiled, “Whatever makes you happy, Drew. Whatever makes you happy,” he said. “Although I know you're full of shit because my mom has a little taste – which automatically rules your tacky ass out.”
I woke up drenched in sweat, Mason's face still emblazoned in my mind. That's the way to remember him, they told me. I remembered him happy. And he was never as happy as he was when he talked about Carrie and the future he planned to have with her. A future that would never materialize now. All thanks to me.
I saw Carrie at his funeral – but she didn't know the full details of what happened. There were elements of our missions we couldn't talk about. And it killed me to know that she didn't have the full story. But then, if I had told her the full story, she'd have killed me herself, I had no doubt. She'd know it was my fault that Mason was dead every bit as much as I did.
During the service, she was overcome by grief and fell to her knees, sobbing as f her entire world had fallen apart. And in a way, it had. All because of me.
All because I sent Mason ahead of me when I was supposed to be the one on point. All because I didn't think to check the area before I'd sent him on ahead.
And Dr. Emerson wanted me to believe it wasn't my fault?
Bullshit.
But as I stared at my ceiling, feeling lost and confused, I yearned to talk to her about everything I was thinking and feeling in that moment. I wasn't sure why, and perhaps my reasons were more personal than for therapeutic, but I just wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to hear what she had to say.
Because I hated living like this. Every single day was hell, and perhaps my Captain and everyone else was right about me needing help. And if anyone could help me, I thought that it would be her. There was something about her was just – special. I couldn't put my finger on it. But she made me feel comfortable. She made me feel like I could open up and that it would be okay. She made me feel like she'd listen to me without judging and that she genuinely had my best interest at hear. She was good at what she did.
And I didn't mean just the sex either.