Page 32 of Leave Me Behind
My release is quick and unsatisfying.I need more.I let out a labored breath and stare out into the woods. Wondering why the more I show her who I am, the more she seems to be drawn to me. And more disturbingly, the more I’m starved for her.
thirteen
. . .
Nell
Ian tossesme a water bottle and slaps my back with a huge grin that spreads over his lips. “You fucking slayed out there today, Bunny!”
My smile is slow to reveal itself because I’m not sure if he’s being serious or sarcastic, but his eyes flash with sincerity and my doubts drift a bit further as I rub the fresh bruises on my knees.
“Fall off that hillside, little bun-bun?” Jefferson jests, looking at my dust-covered uniform and messy hair.If only he knew.
I feign a laugh and force my hands away from my wrecked knees. I manage to pull a few twigs loose from my braid. “It’s from laying on my stomach on those rocks all damn day,” I lie.
The base is busy now with the mock hostages. Eren and Pete are tending to them and getting their sleeping arrangements put together before nightfall, which is already upon us as the sun sinks behind the distant mountains.
Bradshaw still hasn’t returned.
My stomach turns and the worry must be evident on my face because Harrison raises a brow at me.What could he possibly be doing out there for this long?
“Don’t worry about Bones. Ever since Patagonia he has to take breathers after every training,” Harrison says indifferently. His blond hair is smeared with dirt from today’s attack. His green eyes burn brightly against the dusk and campfire.
“Breathers?” I ask.
Ian and Jefferson share a grim look.
Harrison nods. “His PTSD after Abrahm is bad. If we weren’t dark forces they would’ve pulled him from the squad. But even then, General Nolan considered it.” My eyes linger over Eren to ensure he doesn’t overhear our conversation about his twin.
He was almost removed from the squad? I can’t imagine how bad it must be for it to get to that point. Dark forces soldiers like us are of little concern to the underground commanders. As long as we’re ready to go on suicide missions and remain non-existent, they don’t give a shit about our mental state.
“What was he like before? What kind of missions did you guys go on the most?” I ask as I take a bite from my MRE and warm my legs by the fire.
Ian sets his gloves on one of the big rocks lining the fire. They’re soaked, I assume, from cleaning them in the river. He mutters, “I’m sure you’ve heard the horror stories about him and most of them are probably true, but he was a lot less of an asshole back then than he is now.” Jefferson lets out a small grunt of agreement.
“Yeah, he was less likely to, uh… cut his comrade’s shirts off, that’s for sure,” Harrison chides. I nudge his shoulder and shoot him ashut uplook. He raises his hands innocently and laughs.
“Malum primarily did all the shit work the rest of the squads weren’t likely to survive. Long operations in foreign countries where we’d stake out in apartments or way out in the middle offucking nowhere like Patagonia.” Jefferson pauses and looks at me, glances away, then holds my gaze. “Why didn’t Riøt show up as planned?” His voice isn’t harsh, but there’s deep rooted pain and a yearning for the truth.
I keep my eyes on his, even if it makes me uncomfortable. “We were given different orders.” I keep it brief. The distrust in Jefferson’s eyes tells me he doesn’t buy it.
“What happened to Abrahm?” I shift the conversation. If I keep it strictly informational instead of getting into the soft human side of it, they’re more likely to share. A tidbit I’d picked up while listening to them speak to each other over MREs throughout the weeks.
Ian leans forward on his elbows and casts me a sidelong glance. “It was targeted.”
My eyes flick to Jefferson and Harrison for more, but they only shake their heads. The loyalty they keep to their fallen comrade and Bradshaw is commendable. They needn’t say it—their meaning is heavy in the air.
It’s Bradshaw’s story to tell.
“What about you guys? You seem fine compared to Bones,” I say carefully. They become sullen and stare at the flickering flames of the campfire for a few seconds.
Jefferson rubs his hands together, a small tick he has when he gets uncomfortable. I meet his gaze as he mutters, “Just because a bowl looks fine doesn’t mean it’s absent of cracks. A horse that stands may not be able to run.”
“So you’re not fine.” Blunt. To the point.
That earns me a firm frown from Jefferson, but he nods. “He was a brother to us all, but we weren’t there in the last moments.” Harrison and Ian shift uneasily, looking around the camp, worried, I’m sure, for Bradshaw to return during this conversation. Are they not allowed to talk about it at all? That seems cruel.
“And Bones was,” I mutter.
