Copyright © 2017 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
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Chapter 1 – Darren
The chilly mountain air felt refreshing as it breezed past me, tussling my hair and threatening to push me over with each powerful blow. As strong as it was, I welcomed the brisk gusts of wind that reminded me that I was still alive.
I never imagined that I would be so content, living all alone off in the mountains, away from civilization. It’s funny how one single event can alter the course of your life in an instant.
Sitting on the deck on the back of my house, I looked out at the majestic, snow-covered mountain peaks far off in the distance. It was like watching a movie that had been paused on a frozen frame. Nothing moved despite the wind billowing all around. In fact, other than the wind, there was a calm silence that permeated the air all around me.
I sat back and closed my eyes, letting my mind drift like the dry tree branches were drifting in the wind. I almost jumped out of my chair when my phone, which was sitting on my lap, began to vibrate.
Guess I can’t get a fucking moment of peace, even when I try, I thought.
When I looked at the caller ID, my heart sank and I let out an involuntary groan. I thought about letting it go to voicemail, but I knew from my past bad habit of ignoring phone calls that that would only lead to an endless barrage of calls and messages until I answered, so I decided that it would be better for me to just get it over with and answer the phone.
“Hi, Harlow,” I answered, dryly.
“Hey, Darren. God, it’s good to hear your voice again. How have you been?”
“Been good. What’s up?” I asked, curtly.
“I just wanted to know how everything was going for you,” he said. “I’ve been trying to reach out to all of the guys who were treated by Dr. Davis. I’ve been trying to reach you guys ever since he treated me. What he did was wrong and his victims need to band together and support each other and make him pay…”
I chuckled at the irony of his word choice. He definitely did pay, alright. In fact, the house that I was living in was part of the payment that I got from him after he was brought up on fraud charges.
I remember it like it was yesterday. My phone rang and it was a call from Dr. Davis’ attorney wanting to offer me a hefty settlement in exchange for my silence and an agreement not to sue him.
I was depressed. I was convinced that I could never have a normal life again. I felt that the accident and treatment by Dr. Davis made me look like a monster, a freak of nature meant to star in some horror movie. I did the calculations and determined that the amount of money that Dr. Davis was agreeing to give me was enough for me to live out the rest of my existence in quiet solitude, away from people who might mock or shudder in horror at the sight of my face.
So, I jumped at the offer and never looked back. Then, I made some wise investments with the money, backing some tech startups that a friend of mine who owns a venture capitalist firm advised me to support, and the money grew even more. Soon, I had more money than I even knew what to do with.
Therefore, I didn’t like Harlow’s choice of the word “victim,” either. I was no goddamn victim. I’m Darren King, and I could survive anything. Could, and have. Sure, I have some emotional and physical scars to prove it, but, I wasn’t one to sit around at some support group and moan about my condition— if that’s what Harlow was getting at.
I was someone who knew how to face my problems head on and take action to improve things. I couldn’t change the past but I could damn well make sure my present and future were as good as they could be despite it.
So, this phone conversation that I was having with Harlow was an annoyance that I would rather not have to deal with. Plus, I could risk violating the settlement agreement I had made with Dr. Davis if I said too much.
“Hey, look, man,” I said. “I understand that things turned out badly for us. I really do. But, I finally have some peace and a chance at somewhat of a normal life. I made my home in the mountains, away from the prying eyes of people and I am very happy here. I came here to escape people. I really don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“I know what you mean,” Harlow insisted, “but Dr. Davis shouldn’t be able to get away with what he did to us. If it weren’t for him, you might not feel like you don’t have a place in normal society. He ruined our lives and we need to stand up together to make sure that he doesn’t ruin any more.”
“Hey, man, why can’t you take the hint?” I asked through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to talk to anyone. And that includes you. I work hard every day to try to forget that day that our helicopter went down, so I don’t need you calling to remind me exactly how much my life has been ruined.”
“Hey, we’re on the same side here, Darren. What happened to us isn’t something that you can just easily forget.”
I could hear the hurt in his voice, but I didn’t care. He kept pressing the conversation no matter how many fucking times I tried to get him to shut up about it. I felt he wasn’t respecting my need for space.
“Just leave me alone!”
I hung up the phone before he had the chance to say anything else.
I jumped up from my seat on the deck and began pacing. I was angry and wanted to find a way to relax.
My mind went back to the last time that I’d been able to relax, when I was in bed with a beautiful woman. That had been so long ago. But, my cock still stiffened at the thought.
I walked slowly to my room, my hardening member guiding the way. Once in my room, I closed the door, pulled down my pants, and sat down. I looked down at my dick, veins bulging from my own excitement. I’d been blessed with a big cock but today it looked particularly enlarged, as if reminding me it had been neglected, and trying to thank me for paying it attention.
I spat on my hand and started running my hand up and down the length of the shaft. The quiet smacks from the lubrication of my saliva made me imagine the women that I used to sleep with. I could see their perky tits bouncing up and down as they slammed their wet pussies up and down on my cock. I could hear their guttural cries of ecstasy as our bodies writhed on the bed, sending us into wild fits of powerful orgasms.
But, no matter how much I tried to have my own orgasm, rubbing my dick faster and faster, I just couldn’t cum. After almost an hour of trying, my dick went limp and I gave up.
How disappointing, I thought. I curled up on the bed, thinking about how pitiful I had become. I was angry at myself.
“Even my dick is broken,” I said aloud, to nobody in particular. It seemed like the accident had left every part of me dysfunctional and deficient.
My mind drifted back to that day, the day that had changed my life forever. I could still hear the whirl of the helicopter blades overhead as my fellow SEALs and I sat at the ready, eyes combing the Afghanistani desert below us for signs of life from our fallen brothers, hoping that we could rescue those still surviving, with grandiose thoughts of becoming heroes spinning around in our minds.
Some had expressed fear but I had been too pig headed to feel that. Instead, I only felt the thrill of excitement until it was nearly too late.
All of a sudden, shots rang out and I could hear the pings against the metal of the helicopter followed by the flashing red light and alarm going off.
“We’ve been hit! We’ve been hit!” someone yelled out. I remembered the panic in the eyes of the SEALs sitting in the helicopter with me as we stood waiting for the eventuality of our situation that we expected to result in our deaths.
As the helicopter went down, right before the moment of impact, I sent up a quick prayer that it would all be over quickly. I felt every bit in the impact, and then extreme heat as a fire exploded around us. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable.
Then, I could feel myself beginning to float. I thought that my soul was leaving my body until I realized that I was being pulled from the rubble of the downed helicopter. I could feel the fire burning my skin. I felt like I was melting.
It turns out I hadn’t died. I had just passed out. Ramsey Bradford had pulled me out and threw me on the ground right next to his brother, Harlow, who had been badly burned and injured, too.
I remembered our eyes meeting and wondering if his would be the last face that I would see before I died. It would seem fitting, since my fellow members of the Navy SEALs had become like my family, my very life. We had trained together, fought together, gotten into some tough situations together. And right now, we might be dying together.
A few moments later, the helicopter exploded with some men still trapped inside. Some medics finally arrived and hauled me off for medical treatment.
As I was laying there in the stretcher, I couldn’t believe my life had just replayed itself in my mind as if it was going to be over, yet I was still alive. I had a glimmer of hope. I felt like I was one of the lucky ones. I had survived. I was going to be okay.
But, now that I was remembering all of this, I realized that “hope” was a strong word and reality had not lived up to what I had envisioned. When I considered how everything had gone after that. The way that everything changed. The way that women would gasp and take steps back when I approached. The way that no one ever looked me in the face. The way that the people who I cared about went out of their way to avoid me, I realized that I would never be truly “okay” again.
Dr. Davis had told me that the telltale signs of the injury would fade and soon I would look almost like normal again. But he was obviously a liar and a fraud, so what he said didn’t count. A couple other doctors had expressed similar things to me but it was probably just to fill my head with hope.
I felt certain that everything about my life was doomed for good. And now, laying on my bed with my limp dick in my hand, I knew that that probably included me not ever being okay sexually again.
I couldn’t help but to feel sorry for myself. Sometimes I think it would have been better if I had died on that helicopter. A man with an ugly face and a limp dick has nothing left to live for. Despite all my attempts to push forward with life as I knew it post helicopter crash, I always seemed to be reminded of my limitations. The fact that I was here thinking about it all over again was Harlow Bradford’s fault. I should have ignored his call and thrown my cell phone into the snow so that he couldn’t reach me again.
I had abandoned myself to a life of isolation— and I should have known that would have to include no cell service. If it wasn’t for having to keep in touch with my doctors and housekeeper who also cooked food for me, I would have thrown away the damn technology a long time ago.
It was a good thing I hadn’t tossed it into the woods, since I needed it, but I’d learned a valuable lesson. I should avoid all calls from Harlow. And any non-necessary calls at all, for that matter.
I had nothing against Harlow, personally. I knew he felt guilty because he had introduced me to Dr. Davis. Dr. Davis promised to restore the physical appearance and ability of veterans injured at war with his break-through technology that combined plastic surgery, skin grafting and physical therapy. He paraded Harlow all over the country as his example of someone he could fix. He had Harlow sign up other veterans left and right for his revolutionary treatment.
Then, it was found out that Dr. Davis was a fraud, who was using Harlow for his own financial benefit. He was exaggerating how bad off Harlow was when he had first started working with him, and taking credit for Harlow’s own natural abilities in recovering. Therefore, he was over promising and under delivering, and it was schmucks like me who got the bum end of the deal, because we thought we were getting good treatment when it was all just a sham.
That wasn’t Harlow’s fault, though. He was a nice guy who wanted the best for everyone in our unit. I shouldn’t have yelled at him but he couldn’t seem to realize that his way of dealing with things was not the only way. Perhaps I would call him up and apologize to him. But not yet.
The more pressing issue was that I hoped I could get into a better mood soon, and not wallow away in depression. I was determined to continue being a survivor rather than a victim. And when I wasn’t feeling the part, I was used to faking it until making it. This time, though, I just wasn’t sure how long I could keep the act up.