Page 8 of Pretend
Those words are in my head every fucking day.
The visuals and sounds of evil, the darkness, the stress. The layers of war interrupt and overload my brain like a plague without a cure.
Even with what I’ve experienced, I’m still addicted to multiple things.
I’m addicted to war, the adrenaline it gives me to work, to defend and protect, and take bad guys out. I’m addicted to numbing the darkness that creeps in with bourbon, cigarettes, sex, and painkillers.
But then my phone buzzes, snapping me out of the dark thoughts I always get consumed by when I return home. Exhaling the intense breath I’ve beenholding, I look at the television, and it’s gone black. It only runs black when I haven’t been flipping through channels or touched the remote after thirty minutes.
Fuck.
How long have I been holding this gun, staring at the wall? I swear I blinked, and time flashed by.
I drop the gun, placing it on my thigh, turning the safety back on.
My phone chimes again, and I give in. I checked my missed notifications and was unsurprised to see Kane on the screen. I tolerate Kane. He’s the one I talk to most on the team. I hardly speak, so that’s saying something.
It’s the group chat I’m in:
Kane: Whispers?
Whispers is a popular strip club in downtown Bloomings. Service members tend to occupy the lounge very often. It’s known for that.
Two minutes later,
Kane: Phantom of the Opera, you there, bro?
Me: Already miss me? I’m flattered.
Lopez: I miss you bebecito. Come out to Whispers tonight. Let’s celebrate another fucking job well done.
Me: Fine, I’ll come out to play. Only if we stop by El Devine first.
3
ALESSIA
PRESENT DAY
I sipmy iced coffee while I flip through my romance novel. I’m sitting at a table in front of the window at Chrome Beans. A small indie coffee shop that calls my name every time I need alone time or a break from the chaos in my head.
It’s eight at night, and while I read, the smell of fresh coffee and baked pastries helps calm my nerves after another busy day at work. It’s not too busy at Chrome Beans, but it’s not slow by any means. I spot a few college students typing away research papers or studying hard on their laptops and groups of friends here and there chatting away.
Twenty minutes into reading, my phone pings, and my heart skips a beat. A part of me hopes it’s Jack telling me he’s going to cook dinner tonight or asking me why I’m not home yet. He’s been acting a little more aggressive thanusual, and I’m hoping this will be some type of start to change the tone of our relationship.
The distance feels like a breath of fresh air in a way.
Unknown: Why the sad face?
Confusion sets in as I narrow my brows at my brightened phone screen. It sits on top of the table before me, and I re-read the text for a few seconds. Gripping my book tight in my hand, I study it.
What an odd thing to say from an unknown number. I grab my phone slowly, dragging it among the wood, and look around to see if it’s Jack playing a weird joke on me.
But nothing is out of the ordinary in the calm scenery surrounding me. I even look outside the clear windows of Chrome Beans but see nothing but cars driving by in the darkness and people in their own bubbles as they walk the sidewalk.
This text…something about it sends a chill up my spine.
Is someone…watching me?
