Chapter Thirteen - Luke
When my alarm explodes into its ear-shrilling sound, she’s gone.
Everything smells like her. Emma, her tasty cinnamon apple scent. I slam my hand on the clock, then roll over to the other side of the bed. But there’s no escaping the piercing rays of sunlight flickering in through my shitty blinds.
Besides, it’s another day of my lavatory duty and this probably isn’t the time to piss off the commander. As I get dressed in my uniform, I survey the torn-off state of my clothes from the night before with a smile. Last night was . . . incredible. All that pent-up passion in both of us, how easily Emma had submitted . . . No, I couldn’t have imagined the whole thing going better. And the sex itself . . . I can’t remember having sex that good since . . . I don’t know when. I take another look at my floor. Emma’s clothes are nowhere to be seen.
While in the kitchen, filling a bowl with Cheerios and some milk to swoosh it down, I listen for signs of Emma. But the attic, hell – the whole house – is quiet. She’s probably still asleep.
I smile just thinking of her. I won’t wake her up. I’ll just let her sleep a little longer. I’m already a bit late for work (since I’m on weekend lavatory duty thanks to the commander). As I walk through the living room to the door, I hear it.
“For a SEAL, you’re not very observant, boy.”
I jump. Sitting in the dark, uniform and all, is none other than the commander.
“I . . .” I stutter.
“I know,” he says quietly.
“Listen, Sir,”
“I know, colonel. Do you hear me?!” He roars, leaping up.
Standing face to face, his red face quivering, he begins. “I was tired of my daughter’s vague answers to your living situation, so I came here to check things out for myself.”
His dark eyes are boring into mine. I wonder if he has a gun. “And you want to know what I found?”
I shake my head dumbly, and he continues. “I found her . . . My daughter, my Emma – half-naked, stumbling out of your room.” The commander’s eyebrows have lowered so much, it almost looks like he doesn’t have any eyes. I open my mouth to speak, but he gives a quick shake of his head.
“I warned you – I told you. Hell, colonel, I ordered you. And then you go and do this?”
I keep my gaze on the ground as I ask him, “Where is she?”
He shoves me. “You’re really going to ask me that?”
I say nothing, and he continues. “Here’s how this is going to go: Emma’s leaving. I will come for the rest of her stuff tonight. You, however, are never going to see her again. You’re not going to contact her, look for her, and you know what? You’re never even going to talk about her ever, ever again.”
I nod weakly. The next thing I know, the commander’s back in my face. “And you know what else? If I hear so much as a hint that you’re breaking any of these rules, you know where you’ll end up? Afghanistan, just like I first threatened you. And this time, colonel, your chances are up. I’ll send you there for good. Court-marshal you if I have to.” He gives me one more look of disgust before striding to the door. Opening it, he says, “Oh, and one more thing, colonel. You’re on lavatory duty for the next month.”
The slam of the door is the period to his sentence.
***
That day passes slowly, as if the commander himself is fiddling with the minute hand, pulling it back every time it advances. Lavatory duty is as bad as ever. Somehow, over one night, the gunk built up to rancid levels. When I finally pick up Parker and get back home, all Emma’s things are gone from the attic, bathroom, and fridge. I rifle through every drawer in that old rickety place, ransack the bathroom cupboards, comb through the fridge, but there’s nothing. No, Emma has been completely and tidily packed away, removed from my house. It’s as if she’d never existed.
My phone has no messages, but Emma and I had barely communicated through text anyway. There’d been no need.
Meanwhile, as soon as Parker marches through the door, he takes one look around and asks me “Where’s Emma?”
I can only say “I don’t know.” When he asks when she’ll be back, I repeat the answer. Because it’s the truth. I don’t know where she’s gone or if I’ll even see her again.
The worst, however, comes as I’m cleaning my room. Clothes, papers, and sheets all get shoved to the corner of the room for my hasty clean-up. As I shove over my sheets, however, something flops out. It’s gooey and clear. The condom wrapper from last night. It’s when I pick it up to throw it out that I notice. It’s ripped.