Chapter 16
Mary Cahira O’ Hara July 17th, 2016 Las Vagas, Nevada
Your body is a temple, but how long can you live in the same house before you redecorate?
ANONYMOUS
I open my eyes and check the time on my smartphone. 16:00. There are four texts from Rebecca and two from Sarah. In varying degrees of lewdness and sexual innuendo.
It's been thirty-two hours since we entered this suite. Evan explored, worshipped, and fucked every inch of my body. I had no idea sex would be so… awesome. All of our meals have been delivered via room service because we didn't want to waste time getting dressed when we could be making love. Or fucking. Depended on the occasion. I have had sex on every surface in this hotel suite. Against the bank of windows, on the couch, in the shower, spa pool, kitchen and especially, the bedroom. I have lost count of the number of times Evan has brought me to orgasm. I swear the man has the entire Kama Sutra memorized.
But I'm so sore that I cannot even imagine letting Evan anywhere near my vagina. When I halting told Evan my dilemma he just chuckled in pure male satisfaction, lifted me into his arms and poured me a bubble bath in the huge soaking tub. Evan knelt at the side and lavished all his attention on me, lathering my breasts, stomach, and everything below it with body wash. Then he washed my hair. My head tipped back as Evan poured water down my hair and it ran in rivulets down my tender breasts and nipples. He groaned as I whimpered and then his big arms lifted me out of the tub, drying me off with tenderness and love. I felt absolutely treasured. Once my hair was towel dried, Evan carried me to our bed, and he grabbed the bottle of jasmine and lemon scented oil. "Turn over on your stomach baby girl." I turned over and felt his big strong hands rubbing and kneading all the soreness away. "Other way." I rolled over, and he lavished the same amount of attention on my breasts. I fell asleep wrapped in his arms, words of love whispered in my ear.
I wake up a little later and look at the alarm clock. Crap. I have three hours until Evan's departure to the airport. My flight leaves this afternoon. Sarah and Rebecca are returning with me, but I have a feeling it won't be long before they call me up and tell me they are moving out west. Luke has been stuck to Sarah like glue since we arrived and Frank has been under Rebecca's thrall since they met at the airport. I can't help feeling a little sad at the prospect of losing my friends. I'm hoping the next six months fly by quickly. My orientation at Walter Reed starts in two weeks, and I have a feeling that will help divert me from the pain of losing Evan to this deployment. Plus, I have a wedding to plan.
Evan is sleeping in the bed next to me, and for once I am not tucked into his chest with his arms thrown around him. Somehow the situation is reversed, and I am snuggled up against his back, my bare breasts and nipples pressed against that wall of muscle. My fingers trace the outline of Evan's angel tattoo, and I get my first close-up view of the details. It's breathtaking. The angel has ascended through a bank of clouds with her wings outstretched; face partially hidden as she looks down to the earth below. Long black hair falls in waves behind the angel, and tears streak down her beautiful face. Something about her face feels familiar, but I can't place what it is at first. Beams of light fall through the cloud onto her face and wings, illuminating the feathers and the details. The wings spread out over his entire back and wrap around the sides. There are hundreds of feathers tattooed on Evan's back; the detail work must have taken over a hundred hours. The tattoo artist left the work in shades of black and white, but instead of decreasing the visual appeal, it only increases it. The contrast between the ethereal beauty of the angels' wings and face and the starkness of the black and white tattoo is breathtaking.
I trace my fingertip over the wings and then begin my exploration of each feather. As I take in the detail of one of the feathers, I see scrollwork and realize there is writing visible. CPO E.M.J 1969/06/18-2002/04/20. I still, my fingers trembling a little as I realize that this work of art is a memorial to Evan's loved ones. I understand then why the angel's face looks so familiar-she resembles a feminine version of Evan. I gasp a little when I realize the angel must be a representation of Evan's mother. He said she died when he was only nine years old, but he wouldn't talk about the details. I trace the scrollwork a little further and see six more names initialed into his back and the corresponding dates of birth and death. Four more are clearly Evan's brothers-in-arms because their rank and initials are listed. The next one reads C.H.G. Beloved mother 4/13/65-6/5/1995. Tears well up in my eyes and I have to stifle a sob when I see the last set of initials, D.L.M 12/26/1995-12/27/2003. Beloved brother.
My stomach is in my throat. I can't breathe, and my hands are shaking uncontrollably. My chest tightens like a fist is grabbing my heart and squeezing all the life out of it. My gasping gets worse until I can't make a sound. The nurse in me realizes I am probably experiencing a panic attack, but the knowledge is useless in stopping this reaction. I start clutching my throat and stumble from the bed, lurching to my feet, unsteady and blind in my panic. Somehow, I make it to the bathroom and collapse over the toilet; my hair drooped over my face as I vomit the contents of my stomach until all that’s left is bile.
In the back of my mind, I hear Evan approach and ask if I'm OK, but his voice sounds like it is underwater. My brain is replaying all of our conversations, trying to come to a grip with this reality. How did I NOT KNOW? My mind is screaming at me, and my heart is breaking as I examine everything we have shared in the last twelve days. I told him I was sick and that my boyfriend died, but I never divulged more than that. Evan said his brother died but never told me his brother's name. I suddenly realize that David even showed me a picture of the two of them when we first met. But the scrawny, pimply faced teenager in the photo bears no resemblance to the powerfully built man that spent the last two days making love to me. Hell, they even have different last names. Why would he have a different last name?
I realize I must have spoken aloud when Evan asks, "A different last name than who? Cahira are you OK? What happened baby girl? One minute you were tracing my tattoo and the next minute you ran out of bed like the room was on fire. Are you OK?"
I shake my head glumly and get back up leaning over the sink. Evan gets a washcloth and wets it, laying it across my neck. I shrink away from his touch, my subconscious reacting to the knowledge that I have betrayed David with his brother.
"Cahira, you are starting to scare me. Was I too rough last night? Did I hurt you,” Evan's voice laces with concern.
I shake my head and reach for the toothpaste, brushing my teeth before I realize the stupidity of my actions. Evan is not going to care if my breath is clean once I tell him. Hell, he will probably never speak to me again.
The last thought sends me right back into panic mode, and I slide down the wall and bury my face in my knees, holding onto my legs for dear life. Evan kneels down next to me and wraps his arms around my shoulders, but I pull away.
"Cahira, please. Whatever I did, please tell me. I'm so very sorry. I would never deliberately hurt you. I love you,” his voice is pleading now, hoarse with emotion.
I'm not sure how long I sit there, sobbing my pain and fear away but eventually the crying slows down, and I start to hiccup in between little gasps. Evan offers me his hand, and I take it this time, allowing him to pull me into his arms.
"Shhh, it's OK little warrior. I'm here, and I love you. Whatever is wrong I’ll fix it,” his warm breath is against my temple, voice husky in my ear.
I shake my head at the hopelessness of Evan's statement, still not daring to look at him, every fiber of my body taut with emotion. He rests his head on mine, his breath stirring my hair, pushes his big hands through my waves of curls, running his fingers through it over and over again. I bury my nose in his chest, breathing in the scent of sandalwood, pine, and leather, feeling the hardness of his muscles, the beating of his heart. Trying to memorize every detail. I let myself stay there longer than I should, knowing that it will probably be the last time this big, beautiful man with his hard exterior and his heart of gold hold me in his arms.
Finally, Evan pulls back, takes me by my shoulders and studies me, his eyes searching my face with intensity. I look down, trying to blink back the tears that are still trickling down the side of my nose. Shame and fear threaten to overtake me again. Evan runs a finger across my cheek, wiping away the tears with his fingers, tucking a piece of hair behind my hair. He lifts my face up to his with a finger tucked under my chin; his voice is quiet and insistent now.
"Cahira, we are going to sit down on the couch so you can tell me what’s wrong.”
He leads me by my elbow to the couch and motions for me to sit. I sit, shivers of dread run down my spine, butterflies turning over in my stomach, my palms sweaty and shaking. Then Evan sits down next to me with his right leg tucked under left thigh. He turns on the couch so that he can see my face and it creaks a little under our weight.
He says only, "Tell me Cahira. I want to make this right."
My heart is still racing, but somehow I muster up the courage to answer, blowing out my cheeks before I answer with trepidation. "I didn't know Evan. I swear to God I didn't know. I never put two and two together until this morning. I don't know how I missed it, but I guess I just didn't want to see it."
Evan runs his hands through his hair, then asks in confusion, "Cahira, I'm sorry, but I don't understand. What didn't you want to see?"
I close my eyes briefly, trying to process what I want to say. Then put my hand on Evan's cheek, reveling in the feel of his skin under my fingers, tracing the laugh lines around his eyes. I drop my hand to my lap and stand up, shuffle over to my suitcase like a 90-year-old woman. Anything to delay the inevitable. I pull out the small gilt jewelry box my father gave me for my eighteen birthday and lift the lid slowly, my hands trembling.
"Cahira, I'm pretty sure there isn't a cobra is hiding inside that jewelry box,” Evan laughs with amusement
"Don't be so sure," I mumble under my breath and remove the ring nestled in the center. My hand closes around it in a fist, my fingers clenched and shaking. My brain has somehow detached itself from my body; I'm now watching events play out for someone else. I turn back around and walk over to Evan; sure all color has drained from my face by now.
"Cahira, please you are scaring me. What's going on? Tell me I didn't hurt you." I hear Evan’s voice catch at the end.
I shake my head but can't respond verbally. There is no way I can say these words out loud to the man I have come to love and want to spend my life with. Instead, I slowly turn my hand over and open my palm to reveal the sapphire and pearl ring I've been clutching.
Evan's sharp intake of breath makes my heart sink to my feet. "My God," he exclaims, "Cahira, what are you doing with my mother’s ring? I haven’t seen this since the day she died. How the hell did you get this? I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me,” a sudden note of hardness enters his voice.
Somehow, I find the strength to answer, my voice growing increasingly shaky. I stand there and watch as the love this man held for me is replaced by shock, betrayal, and then… hatred. "Evan, when I was 16 years old I was diagnosed with low-grade Pilocytic Astrocytoma. It's a kind of brain tumor. I received treatment at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, where I fell in love with a young man named David Mc. Donald. I was by his side on the day he died. He gave me this ring and told me to contact you and return it. Which I tried to do, but all my letters were returned unopened."
"NOOOOOOO! Cahira, please tell me this is some sick joke," anger and nerves shake his voice. “Shit. This isn’t fucking funny. Stop fucking with me. You aren’t her. You aren’t David’s Mary. Tell me this isn't true," his voice is demanding now, almost savage. Bronze eyes flash ominously, his body coiled as tight as a snake's. "Tell me I didn’t just fall in love with the girl my brother wanted to marry. The girl my brother ran away with. The girl that let him die away from his family and friends.” He chokes on his words, eyes burning with tears and a desperate appeal in his eyes. “Please. I’m begging you. I can’t love Mary. I can’t love her. I need you Cahira.” He breaks down then and sinks to the floor, kneeling at my feet as if he is my supplicant.
I close my eyes and lace my fingers through his hair; the words seem to drag themselves from my throat. “I wish I could tell you what you want to hear but I can’t. I’m Mary. Or, at least I was Mary. I’ve been Cahira since the day David died in my arms,” the answer is barely a whisper but it seems like I am screaming in the silence of the room.
Evan grabs me by my hips and buries his head in my waist, kneeling at my feet as his body shakes with sobs. His grief pours out and washes over me, drowning me in sorrow. I have no more tears left to cry and have to stand still as the man I love realizes that I am the one person in this world he hates.
"Evan, please," I whisper, a sob strangling my throat again. "There is so much you don’t know about the day David died. So much you don’t know about the events leading up to it and the aftermath. Please, I’m begging you to listen to me before you walk away,” even I can hear the resignation in my tone.
Evan jerks away from me as if I am suddenly in flames and I put a hand to my throat, dread rolling through the pit of my stomach. I search his face and see that hate has replaced the sorrow. The word, ‘hate’, might as well be stamped across his forehead.
"Don't fucking touch me!" Evan hisses out, in a voice that is laden with fury, as he stalks towards me with his fists clenched at his side. When he jerks his arms towards me, I flinch and cover my face, preparing myself for a blow that never comes. When Evan's voice reverberates through the room again the fury is gone, instead, his words are all hard edges and ice.
"Nothing you can say can replace what you took from me. I didn't get to say goodbye to my brother. You fucking bitch. Do you know how much I have hated you? How much I wanted to destroy you after he died? How could you?"
My voice sounds subdued and desperate when I respond. "Please, listen to me. It was David's choice to leave. He knew he was dying and he wanted it to be on his terms. David didn't want to die in a hospital room. He tried convincing your dad and step-mom but they wouldn't listen. They kept telling him to fight and David didn't want to fight anymore. He wanted to die. David was tired, so very tired of fighting. David's cancer beat him and he knew it. So he did the only thing he could. He died on his terms. We had been trying to get a hold of you for weeks. Neither of us had any way of knowing you would show up hours after we left."
I hear the pleading and simpering in my voice and I feel disgusted with myself. I didn't do anything wrong. But I can't help myself, I kneel on the ground and abase myself at Evan's feet, I'll try anything to get him to listen. "Please. I'm so sorry. I never meant to take your goodbye away. I was only sixteen years old. In love with a boy. Not this passionate, all consuming love that we have. But it was still special. It was sweet, wondrous and tender. Listen to me. Please. I'm begging you."
His lips curl up in a sneer, contempt dripping from his mouth. "I can't believe I fell for your lies. You heartless bitch. Was this a fucking game to you? You destroyed one brother and had to sink your claws into the next one in-line? Well, guess what? There are no more brothers left for you to ruin."
Evan is slamming stuff into his suitcase as he screams at me, taking the drawers out of his dresser and dumping the contents into his suitcase. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with his toiletries, then empties out the nightstand next to his side of the bed. "We are through Cahira. I don't ever want to see your face again. I have my mom's ring back now but you can keep the engagement ring and my house key. Add them to your little trophy collection."
I crawl back over to him, sobbing and crying, grabbing on to his leg and begging him to stay. Pathetic and desperate and clinging. Everything I promised myself I would never be, would never do over a man. But I am clutching Evan’s leg as if my life depends on this outcome. Because it does. If he leaves now I will be broken. A husk of the woman I wanted to be. A whisper.
"Evan, please, I'm begging you. Listen to me. I can explain."
"You disgust me. Get off and show some damn dignity. Enough of your games." Evan shakes my arm off his leg and he pushes me away so that I fall back onto the carpet. He looks down at me with cold eyes, smirking as he speaks. "At least I got a good fuck out of this. More than David got, apparently."
Then the door slams shut behind me and my world collapses. I keen out my grief until I collapse on the floor exhausted. Rebecca and Sarah find me two hours later, empty, catatonic and broken.
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