Page 107 of The Soldier

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HOURS LATER, I’M home. I toss my bag on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. The medical teams were amazing but therewas nothing nice about it. Having to tell them I had intercourse with another man earlier in the night, then went to a second man’s hotel room after, made me feel and sound like a slut.

I’m not, but I can see how it looked.

I needed to use his bathroomI said way too many times, just digging a deeper hole.

“You don’t have to explain,” Briar said, rubbing my shoulder as the nurse glanced between us.

“She’s right. Nobody can take away your consent regardless of the situation.”

I gave her a smile and nodded.

Didn’t really make me feel any better.

I also realized part way through that having Marshall there with me would have been a nightmare. I’m almost certain he would’ve needed looking after more than I did.

But he wasn’t there.

He hasn’t called.

And clearly I’m someone he’s moved on from.

Thanks for the orgasms, asshole.

Tears fill my eyes once more and I push them away angrily. My skin is red and raw on the corner of one eye from wiping with it the back of my hand. My nose is red. I look...well I look exactly like what I am. Hungover, a sexual abuse victim, sleep deprived, and heart broken. Worse, I feel lost and like someone stole my fucking confidence.

Not once did I make a vagina joke and that’s a goddamn tragedy.

“Did you message your mom?” Briar asks, sliding onto one of my bar stools in my kitchen.

“Yeah.” I sigh and grab my phone out of my bag to see if she’s replied. It’s a toss whether she is hungover or going to some church thing with her fellow grieving widows.

Yes, still. It’s been like twelve years. She’s so stuck in the past. Look, I lost my dad that day too, but you can’t spend the rest of your life grieving, or you miss out on what else it has to offer.

Maybe I just haven’t fallen in love with the right person. There are eight billion people on this planet. We don’t love one pet and never love another. I see that as selfish.

The universe tests me when I see Marshall’s message and my tummy does this weird little flip. Who knew it was possible to hate someone and want them so much at the same time.

I swipe and read it over and over and over.

Baby. I need to see you. To hold you. Message me when you’re ready. M x

A cry escapes my throat without warning.

“What? Is it him?” Briar demands, half climbing off her stool.

“No. Yes. It’s Marshall. Mom hasn’t replied.” I sniff.

Briar was with me all day so she heard me confess I’d had sex with Marshall at the party. She didn’t respond but I know she’ll have an opinion. Everyone does. It’s human nature.

“Is that man your boyfriend. Husband?” the nurse had asked.

“No.” I had quickly replied. “We are...”

“Pretending not to like one another.” Briar intervened and the two of them shared a knowing smile.

They know nothing.

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