Page 70 of Hopeless
“It was 2:11 a.m. when I walked out of that bunker with Micah draped over my shoulders.”
The swishing stops, and she pushes upright. I opt to look at the moon rather than the dark orbs of her eyes.
“I checked my watch and could see the helicopter taking off. And I knew what time I needed to be back at our extraction point to get on the transport back out. I knew that if I kept going further back into that tunnel system, I wouldn’t make it out in time.”
I hear her sigh.
“But I kept going anyway. I could hear him screaming. And I—” I swipe an agitated hand over my mouth. “Fuck, I just couldn’t leave him there, you know? He was our mission, and I could hear him. He was rightthere. I couldn’t leave.”
“Would you do it differently if you could go back in time?”
“No.” My response comes instantly. I repeat myself to drive the point home. “No.”
“Then why do you sound like you’re beating yourself up about it?”
“Because everyone treats me like I did something heroic by refusing to turn back, and that’s … that’s not what it was.”
I cup my hands and splash my face.
A few beats pass as I wait for Bailey to ask me what I mean, but she goes back to turning in the water, arching her slender neck back to dip her head into the chill.
“They train us differently for JTF2. Choose us differently. It’s more psychological, not just physical. We’re prepared differently. I have this strategy, a way I break things down in my head, and it works. I mean, of course, some of the shit I’ve seen has fucked me up, but it’s mostly manageable if I’m being honest.”
Bailey hums thoughtfully, trailing her fingers through the water. I don’t feel like she’s psychoanalyzing me, or judging me, or even trying to help me. She’s just here, listening.
Actually, as she picks a twig up off the surface of the creek and tosses it to the shore, I’m not even sure if she’s listening. But it’s better this way.
“I would lie in bed and force myself to think about all the worst outcomes while falling asleep. Like, the first time I would kill someone. I’d look at it, force myself to wallow in it for a minute, really feel it. And then I’d shift to thinking about how I’d cope with those feelings, where I’d tuck them away when it was time to move on. So many times I felt like I’d already faced something when it actually came. I think it desensitized me.”
“Shit, and here I was counting sheep.”
I huff out a laugh.Only Bailey.
“So I had this plan for myself. I programmed it in. Set it and forget it. I knew what I’d do if we found Micah Lane. I’d stop at nothing. I analyzed what I’d do—the actions I’d take—if I became a POW. I mean, shit,” I scrub at my hair, glancing around the peaceful riverbed. “I even made peace with dying. The prospect of death doesn’t bother me anymore. I don’t fear it. The cave—sure, it haunts me some days. But not the way people think. The worst part of it all is that for all my obsessive mental preparation, I never let myself analyze what it would feel like to beout, living life as a civilian. To be … ”
“Famous?” Bailey says it with a light giggle. Even she knows that’s a stretch.
I snort. “I doubt that’s the word for it.”
A grin stretches her lips. Only Bailey would smile after that story. “Infamous.”
I grimace. “Isn’t that kind of bad?”
Her finger shoots up. “Notorious!”
“Not that one either.”
“I got it … ” Her hands make a sweeping motion. “Legendary.”
I submerge my head underwater to keep from bursting out laughing.
When I come back up, she adds, “Fabled.”
“Jesus, Bailey.”
“Renowned. Famed. Celebrated!”
Now I do laugh. “I’m engaged to a thesaurus.”
