I’d been there. For a moment, I’d been in that space where I could flirt with a beautiful woman and pretend that there was nothing more to me than a few tattoos and a tendency toward moodiness.
And then it ended. Just like that, it was over and I couldn’t find my way back to the space we’d been in where we’d just been two normal people.
I'm at The Pint. I'm arguably trying to think about my homework, but the idea of trying to dissect the violence from a surgical distance—makes me physically ill.
"You look like hell."
Eli drops a stack of papers on the bar. "Pot meet kettle."
If I look like I had one too many last night—which I did—Eli looks like he hasn't slept in a week. Which he might not have.
"It’s been a rough week." The weight of those words hits me hard.
“What’s wrong?”
I pick the easiest problem. One that a bartender is probably used to hearing from fellow vets. "I can't sleep."
It sounds like such a simple thing. Such an elegant, simple thing, but sleep is the most important thing. More important than love. More important than sex.
He leans on the bar. "When did you sleep last?"
"About three hours last night. A couple the night before."
"Have you talked to your doc?"
I make a rude noise. "I'm over my allocation of visits, according to the VA."
"No sleep meds?"
I shrug and lean back. "They don't work anymore. One of the guys at the VA told me when they stop working, you're all kinds of f*ck
ed up." I look down at my phone. The screen is black and silent. "I had a sergeant major once who ate Ambien like Tic Tacs."
"Has anything worked since you came home?"
Shame flashes over my skin. He’s been there for a lot of it. But he’d never guess why I really fought. I could tell him. Let the words slip.
Instead, I back away. Finding the safest answer. "I guess I’m used to getting a couple of hours of sleep now." There is resignation in the pit of my belly, coupled with relief. Maybe I’ve been hiding things too long. Maybe…
I shake my head, unwilling to resurrect the secrets I've been trying to ignore since I came home. And I'm trying, really f*ck
ing trying, to avoid the seductive lure of the bottle.
It's hard not being a neurotic train wreck these days. I mean, it's not like I've got a hell of a lot of reassurances that I'm able to walk in this world and pretend I'm a normal f*ck
ing human being.
What can I tell him about Abby? How do I admit that I’ve found a girl I’m over the f*ck
ing moon about, but can’t do anything about it?
“I met a girl.”
“And this is complicated because…?”
“It’s complicated.”
Eli lifts one brow and folds his arms over his chest. I swear to God, I can’t see him as an officer. Maybe a first sergeant. But not as my commander. “It’s not complicated. Boy meets girl. Boy f*ck
s girl. If boy is good in the sack, girl decides she wants to see boy again. If not, she doesn’t call. It’s really as simple as that.”
Heat crawls up my neck at his words.
Eli frowns. “You’re not a virgin, are you? Is that what the problem is? You don’t know how to use your dick?”
“That’s not exactly what the problem is.”
He leans back against the bar. “Now I’m confused.”
I can’t say it. I trust him—it’s not that I worry he’ll tell that dickbag Caleb or anyone else for that matter.
It’s that the words are stuck in my throat. That they represent a truth about my life that I’m in denial about. “I can’t, ah…” I can’t say it.
His mouth falls open after a moment. “Holy shit, you can’t…you haven’t…” He hesitates. “How long?”
“More than a year.”
“You try Viagra or anything like it?”
“No, I’ve been suffering in silence when a little blue pill will fix everything. Of course I f*ck
ing tried it.” I need a goddamned drink.
“Docs?”
“Have no explanation for it other than it’s anxiety.”
“Then maybe you need to relax a little bit.”
I press my lips together. This conversation isn’t really going how I planned it. Not that I planned it. How the hell did my psychoses end up as the topic of conversation?
“You tell her?”
“Yeah, sure. Hi? my name is Josh and I think you’re really f*ck
ing hot, but hey, my dick doesn’t work so you know, we can maybe cuddle and I’ll draw you a picture of a kitten or something.” I narrow my eyes when he laughs. “It’s not f*ck
ing funny.”
“It is when you put it that way.”
“Thanks.”
He slides a beer across the bar. At least he’s a f*ck
ing mind reader. “You like this girl. Just be honest with her.”
“It’s not that simple.”