Graham’s shoulder brushes against mine. "I can tell you one thing I'm not," he says. "Yours."
I want to cheer. But I want to get away from the violence I see in Todd's eyes more.
Todd shifts tactics. It’s a technique I’ve seen before so many damn times. Really, abusers need a better playbook.
"Would it matter if I said I was sorry?" Todd’s voice is smooth silk, and I squeeze Graham's hand, letting him know I'm here for him.
"I can't have that conversation right now," Graham says.
It's so easy to say what you'd say if it were you. That you'd tell the man who hit you to burn in hell.
It's another thing entirely when you're standing next to your best friend and he has to confront his nightmare. He's not alone. For whatever it’s worth, I’m with him. He doesn’t have to face this alone.
And if that is the only thing I can do, then damn it, this is what I will do.
"Can I get my things?" Graham asks.
Todd says nothing. He steps aside and holds the door.
A gentleman. Too bad he didn't remember these values before he put his hands on my friend.
I bite my tongue. I'm not here to run my mouth, no matter how much I want to tell this guy off. I'm moral support, and damn it, I'm going to be f*ck
ing moral.
God bless him, Graham is fast. He's back in what feels like a heartbeat. Maybe two.
"Guess you were serious about just getting the watch, huh?"
His smile is tight. I'm calm and collected on the outside. Inside, I'm a shaking, terrified eleven-year-old, wishing someone loved me enough to stand up for me.
But that never happens.
It doesn't stop the want. The hope for the fairy tale prince who loves me enough to help me slay my own dragons instead of expecting me to let him do the slaying.
It's a stupid fantasy.
Outside, the darkness feels comforting. A warm, safe space, free of flagrant violence.
"Are you okay?" Graham asks after a long silence.
"Shouldn’t I be asking you that?" I look over at him.
He holds his hands up. They're shaking and his eyes are filled. His smile is tense. "I got the only thing I can’t replace." He swallows and waits until I finally look up at him. "Thank you. For going with me. Having you there tonight kept this from turning into a shit show.”
"It's part of the BFF handbook or something." I reach over and squeeze his shoulder. "I’m glad you got it back,” I whisper.
He smiles sadly. “Me too.”
A little piece of my world is okay. Graham is still hurting but he’s safe.
And I didn’t fall apart, didn’t shatter.
I very much want to see Josh. I need to feel his hands on my body, feel his fingers slide over my skin. To wipe the memories away and replace them with new ones.
I cannot change the past.
But I don’t have to live in it anymore.
Josh
I'm a little drunk. I didn’t mean to get drunk but it was that or stare at my phone, sick with worry.
She texts me and tells me she’s okay. I want to meet up with her. I want to see her. To confirm that yes, she is okay.
I don’t, because I know she needed to do this. And I’m not going to let my own psychosis ruin something she needs to do herself. And a tiny sliver of shame slides over my spine. Of doubt that what we'd shared the other night was just a fleeting thing, a passing hookup destined for the memory banks to be recalled when I was too drunk or too f*ck
ing sad to avoid taking that stone from my ruck sack.
But I’ve reached the point of not knowing what else to do with myself. I can’t sit at the bar any more.
I step out into the darkness.
And I am not so drunk that I miss Abby walking up, momentarily caught in the shadows cast between the overhead lights.
I see her.
She is beautiful. A soft mix of shadows and light. A beacon in the dark haze of alcohol and fatigue.
She doesn't turn away. Instead, she walks toward me. There is a hesitation in her movements.
"Hey." My best pick-up line.
"Hey."
"How did things go with Graham?" I honestly want to know.
"He got his dad’s watch back."
There's something more, something she's not telling me. She's chewing on her inner lip, her hands stuffed in her pockets.
And just like that, the hypothetical violence we dissect in class is very real once more. "Is he okay?"
She tips her chin and looks at me, her golden eyes filled with sad questions. "You really are one of the good ones, aren't you?"
I pause, her question breaking through the haze in my brain, and I have to think hard on what I actually said, in case it was something deeply inappropriate. It takes me back a little, pushes behind a defense for a moment. To a place I'm not comfortable being pushed. "For asking if your friend is okay?"
She swallows and doesn’t look away. It's one of the things that draws me to her. She went into a shitty situation tonight. For a friend. As a soldier, that kind of loyalty speaks to me, calls to me. Draws me closer to her.
As someone lost, looking to find his way home again.