Love Her - Andrea Johnston Page 0,1
side of the building last night. Walking her to the door, I wait with my hand on the doorknob, watching as she slips her feet into her shoes.
Leaning down, I pull her to a side hug, her arms wrapping around my waist. After just a few seconds, she steps back, and I open the door to officially end this date. Or hookup. I did buy her one drink toward the end of the night, so I suppose it counts as a date. Maybe not. As she walks away, I search my memory for her name.
Lisa?
Leslie?
Lyla?
I have no idea. It’s why “darlin’” has always been my go-to nickname for the ladies. Makes things a lot easier. She turns to look at me before opening the car door and wiggles her fingers goodbye. I raise my hand and watch as she slips behind the wheel and drives away.
The coffee pot beeps to alert me my morning fuel is ready. I scan the small living room also known as the scene of the crime. An almost empty bottle of whiskey sits on the raggedy coffee table, two shot glasses next to it. That explains the pounding head and why I woke with a friend this morning.
Picking up the bottle and glasses, I place them on the kitchen counter before filling a cup with steaming hot coffee. Taking a sip, I check my phone for messages and first note the flashing notification of an almost dead battery before my eyes move to the bright red seven above the notifications tab.
With no patience for this before I shower, I plug the phone into the charger and make my way back to my bedroom. I guess it’s a perfect day to wash my sheets and clean the place. Anything to avoid the messages taunting me from my phone.
Being single and a new resident of a small town where everyone you know is in a committed relationship sucks. My friends, those I’ve had for years and the ones I’ve only recently met have never made me feel left out, but the reality is, they all have someone to spend their downtime with while I sit here shooting fictitious bad guys on the screen.
Clicking the small buttons and flicking the thumb stick I chuckle at the groaning coming through my headset.
“Twig, you left me there to die.”
“Big Cat you know I would never leave you behind. But, bro, you’ve got to keep up. These kids don’t mess around.”
His laughter fills the air and I join him. TJ, or Big Cat as he was known in our unit, and I served together for three years before he was injured and took a medical discharge. We’ve managed to keep up with each other through social media, and when we started playing against each other on our favorite video game, we fell right in step with the brotherhood we once had. Most people wouldn’t think we’d be interested in a game like this after what we’ve seen. What we’ve done. All that TJ lost. But it’s comforting. Something we understand and, truthfully, nothing will ever compare to the real life version of this game.
“Okay that’s it for me. I have to head to group,” TJ says.
“How’s that going?”
“Same as it’s been. I bitch and complain about going. The other members eyeball me, and I scowl. They speak and half of them listen. Then I stand and they all pay attention. It’s why I go. If my story can help one of these kids, it’s worth it.”
TJ isn’t much of a talker outside of his core group of friends. Never one to hit the bar scene with us on leave or even join in a poker game on base. No, he spent most of his time with his nose in a book, learning and planning his future as a soldier. Then, one IED changed all that.
“You’re a good guy, TJ. They’re lucky to have you.”
“Nah, man. I’m just a guy who lost his legs and then his way. What about you? Have you considered finding a group near you?”
“I better let you go,” I reply, avoiding his question.
“Connor, we’ve talked about this. You need a safe place to talk about everything you saw. Everything we did. Your injuries. That IED was no joke, man. Your injuries healed but you’re struggling. The isolation isn’t healthy. It’ll eat you up, man. Don’t let it win.”
What he says makes sense and somewhere deep inside me, I know he’s right. Regardless, I know therapy isn’t for