Page 45 of Nathan
“Sorry, I just had to clean up the place a little.”
“Why?” The corner of Nathan’s lips lifted. “You realize that I can only see your face, right?”
“I know, but…” I looked around the room again. “I’m usually pretty tidy, but today has just been the weirdest day. I canceled the press tour, and now I’m in my suite trying to decide which tropical island I should escape to and what books I should bring to read. I’ve literally done nothing except eat, sleep, watch TV, and feel sorry for myself. I thought about putting on make-up just now, but I don’t have the energy.”
“You don’t need make-up, and maybe doing nothing is what you needed to do. It’s called self-care.”
“Is that so? I thought self-care was beauty treatments, exercise, healthy eating, staying hydrated, and getting lots of sleep.”
“Well, you did say you slept, so there’s that.”
With a series of small nods, I agreed, “True. It hasn’t been a complete waste. However, I’ll be paying the price for sleeping during the day tonight when I’m tossing and turning with my brain driving me insane.”
A moment of silence between us told me Nathan was getting ready to tell me his side of the story.
“Do you still want to know what happened?”
“Yes.” It came out a little breathy because I’d forgotten to inhale air.
“Joe Gomez came to Ireland to teach us combat techniques. From the beginning, he was different from any other combat instructors I’ve had. He was cocky and arrogant, throwing names around to impress us.”
“What kind of names?”
“He told us that he’d taught the FBI, CIA, the US Navy, Marines, and what have you. He even bragged that he was training well-known MMA fighters. I didn’t like his attitude, but I’m always open to learn new things so I went along. In my group there were twelve of us and two were females. After the first day, I addressed the two women and asked if they were all right. I’d watched him insist on teaching them different techniques that all involved him overpowering them and getting between their legs, on top of them, or close behind them. I could tell they were uncomfortable, but they tried to make light of it, and so I dropped the subject.” Nathan looked down and his brow creased. “It kept getting worse. On the third morning, a few of us men pulled the women to the side and told them to speak up. We pointed out that Joe was sexually harassing them. Still, they brushed it off. In the military, women are often afraid of being seen as soft, and they tend to overcompensate by enduring more shit than anyone else. I told them that if they didn’t report it, I would. I wish I had, but they assured us that they could handle it. Joe was such a dick, and I reached a point where seeing my female comrades groped and mistreated pushed me to a boiling point. I don’t tolerate abusive people, and it triggered me to see the women unable or unwilling to stand up for themselves. That’s why I felt compelled to do it for them.”
“Is that when you attacked him?”
“What he describes as an attack was really just me pulling him off one of my comrades and telling him to stop raping her. He was the one who made it into a fight.”
“But he says that you tried to kill him.”
“Look, I’m a soldier, and when you break it down, I’m trained to protect myself and immobilize anyone attempting to hurt the people under my protection or me. My first instructor used to say that a soldier’s role in society is to administer death responsibly. Joe Gomez is an instructor who has trained in martial arts since he was a kid. He knows how to demonstrate techniques in a controlled environment, and he’s a skilled fighter, but there’s a big difference between us.”
“And what’s that?”
Nathan was on a couch, and he leaned back his head, giving me a frog’s-eye perspective of him.
“Hey, I can’t see you.”
“Oh, sorry.” He raised his hand, and I had a better view of his face as he continued talking. “Joe isn’t a soldier. His focus is on him, his pride, and the respect he feels entitled to. As soldiers our ego and pride has to take a backseat. They humiliate us enough times as newcomers that we learn to understand that pride and honor are separate things. And then as we prepare for our first deployment they ask us to sit down and write a just-in-case letter that will be sent to our loved ones if we get killed abroad.” Nathan sighed. “Writing a letter like that forces you to face your mortality, and for me, it brought a sense of peace because it forced me to reflect on why I chose to be a soldier. My need to protect others made me willing and able to surrender my fear of death. We all die at some point, but if I die protecting a person, cause, or country that I believe in, then there’s honor in that. I heard Joe say in court that I looked at him like I wanted to kill him, but he’s wrong. If I wanted to kill him, he would be dead. I think what he saw was my lack of fear of dying.”
“Have you ever killed someone as a soldier?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed. “Wow. That must be… I don’t know what to say.”
“It happened in Syria. He wasn’t much older than me, but he pulled a gun and shot at the Jeep I was in. The driver got hit while I responded the way I’d been trained to.”
“You killed him.”
“Mhmm.”
“Does it haunt you?”
“Hmm… it’s not something I like to think about, but it’s also not something I’m ashamed of. You can’t sign up to be a soldier and go to war zones and then punish yourself mentally for following your training. We were there to help the peace process, and he mistook us for a threat to himself and his family. It is what it is.”
“I just saw an interview with Joe Gomez. He called you a monster.”
