I could just about handle them when I first came back to England and was forced to embark on life as a civi again, but then my already bullshit life got turned upside down once again. Now the memories, combined with my own imagination and the guilt, almost swallow me whole.
It’s why I don’t allow women to stay over. They don’t need to see the darkness that I manage to fight in daylight but that consumes me at night.
The day passes in a haze of memories and ink. I lose myself in my art.
The only contact I allow myself to have with her is that one text. I typed and retyped it over and over, trying to find the right words. But there weren’t any.
In the end, ‘thank you’ was all I could come up with. I had no idea if I was thanking her for the time we spent together, or for understanding this morning. Whatever it was for, it just felt right.
If it weren’t for meeting Jonathan who discovered my hidden talent and then him introducing me to Zach when we were on leave, I’ve no idea what would have become of me. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t actually be here now. Without a way to vent, to lose yourself, there’s no way that one person can deal with that much loss in such a short time.
My leg tingles just like it does every time I think of my boys and how lightly I came out of the explosion that day. Two of us walked away. Two. But six years on, I’m the only one who’s still here to tell the tale. It’s a sobering thought and one I’ve clung to many times over those years. I want to keep their memories alive, even if I never talk about it.
I’ve lost contact with their families now, who I hope have managed to rebuild their lives, and my only connection to Jonathan is Zach. We always raise a toast to him when we get together. To our fallen friend, the one who helped to put us both on the right tracks and find ourselves in ink.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring down at the tattoo covering my entire left leg. I remember Zach working on it as if it were yesterday. Then I place my hand to the one covering my heart. I might not be able to see that one so clearly, but it doesn’t mean it hurts any less as I think of the person it’s for.
A lump forms in my throat and I know that I can’t stay here alone tonight, feeling like I’m about to drown in the memories of those I’ve lost.
Pulling on some clean clothes, I walk through my empty apartment and out the front door. I don’t have a destination in mind, I just walk. It’s a hell of a lot better than lying in bed, waiting for my nightmares to claim me.
I walk for a while before I approach the surf shack. I glance up at the roof of the building and know exactly where I need to sit and think.
Up there is the most peaceful place in the world, watching the waves crash in.
“Good evening, Corey,” one of the waitresses sings as I walk through the front door. “Table for one?”
“Actually, do you mind if I just go and sit up top for a bit?” It’s not the first time I’ve done this, but usually it’s Rachel who greets me and allows me special customer privileges.
“Sure thing. You want me to bring you anything up?”
“Nah, I’m good thanks.” She nods and stands aside so I can walk out the back and to the stairs that lead to the roof terrace.
The last thing I expect to find when I reach the top is another figure sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the building and staring out at the inky night sea beyond.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll just…” I trail off as he turns toward me. “Colton?”
He narrows his eyes at me as he pushes to stand.
“Corey, Austin’s cousin,” I offer when I can see him trying to place me.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says like he has a fucking clue. I’m sure he meets hundreds of people on a weekly basis; he has no reason to remember me. “Having a rough night?”
“Something like that. I’m sorry for intruding, I’ll leave you to it.”
“It’s fine. I can share.” He lifts a bottle of Macallan and suddenly things feel a little lighter. “Go get a glass. We’ll shoot the shit, see if we can solve the world’s problems.”
Moving before he changes his mind, I dash back down the stairs.
“So what has you up here, wanting to outrun the world?” he asks after pouring me a very generous amount of whisky.
A laugh falls from my lips.
“I’ll take that as it being a woman?”
“When isn’t it, man?”
“You’ve got me there.”
“You in the doghouse?”
He lifts his glass. “Guilty. I just prefer this place to Baxter’s kennel,” Colton jokes, draining his own glass in one. “Hit me with it then, man.”
I think of Harlow and where I should start. “I met this woman,” I sigh.
“Harlow?”
I glance over at him. He looks too amused and invested in this already for my liking.
“Y-Yeah. You know about that?”
He raises a brow. “Rylee might have mentioned it.”
“Brilliant.”
“She’s just happy to see Harlow happy… or it might be that she’s happy Bailey didn’t get her way. I can’t remember exactly.”
“I think I dodged a bullet there.”
Colton chuckles. “Oh man, you’ve no idea. So what’s the issue?”
What is the issue? I’ve been asking myself that since I freaked out this morning. She told me it was fine, that she understood.
