Evan Arden: Otherwise Occupied Part 17

"I'm sorry I left like that. I didn't want to." I tried to turn and look at her, but the throbbing inside my temples forced my eyes closed and sent me back to unconsciousness.

"What the f.u.c.k?"

I hear the sound of a woman's laugh all around me.

"I've always wanted to try this. You were in the military it's just like the quarter test on the bed after you've made it up.

"What, on my a.s.s?"

"Exactly!"

The giggles are back, and they join my own laughter as Lia flings a quarter at my a.s.s over and over again. Every time she misses, it clangs on the floor.

"I can't find it!" she calls out.

I roll over to help her look, but the wooden floor of the cabin has turned to sand. As my hand reaches into the dry grains, I feel the round, metal object but can't quite reach it with my fingers. I push to the side of the bed but lose my balance and fall. Sand fills my mouth...

When I woke, I really had no idea how long I had been out only that Bridgett was still there with me. I recognized her scent immediately and found it comforting. I didn't even bother to open my eyes. My fingers twitched slightly against her side, and I pushed my nose into the skin of her neck.

Her soft voice curled into my ears. The sound was far away, muted and windy-sounding. After a minute or so, the words took form and began to make sense.

"I can't really do that...I would have to wake him up..."

My eyes opened a crack to see her with one of those cheap flip-phones held to her ear. Her expression was worried, and her fingers tensed minutely against the device as she spoke softly into it.

"You'll have to take my word for it," she continued. There was tightness around the edge of her mouth. "I don't know if...no, Mel, he's just sleeping...he's been using me pretty hard."

She s.h.i.+fted a little, and her hand came up to the back of my head. Her fingers moved through my hair.

"No, I can't. I really don't think he wants people knowing where he lives..."

I ran a hand up the side of her body as I stretched and yawned. For the first time in a long time, my head was not pounding so hard that I couldn't hear anything in my ears outside of my own heartbeat.

"Is that your pimp?" I mumbled against her skin.

Bridgett's head turned to look at me, her eyes widened, and she nodded once. Her teeth bit into her lower lip as she watched me. I held out my hand, palm up, but she just continued to look at me and not move.

"Give me the phone," I eventually said. I could still hear the pimp's m.u.f.fled voice coming from the phone in her hand.

"Okay, Mel," she said quietly, "he's awake, and he says he wants to talk to you."

She moved the phone away from her head and out towards me as her teeth continued to try to pierce her lip. With an exaggerated sigh, I took it from her and held it close, but not too close, to my mouth.

"What's the a.s.shole's name?" I asked loud enough for him to hear through the speaker.

"Um..." Bridgett cleared her throat. "Mel...um...Melvin."

I placed the phone against the side of my face. The device felt hot, like she had been talking to him for a long time.

"Melvin, this is Evan Arden," I said smoothly and emotionlessly. My throat was still dry, and I hoped I wouldn't actually break into a coughing fit, which definitely wouldn't help with the reputation. "Is there some kind of problem?"

"Uh-uh-um..." he stammered.

"Excuse me?" I said in the same deadpan voice. I swallowed a couple of times to coat my throat in moisture.

"I was just checking up on my b.i.t.c.h," the pimp said with a little more confidence. "She's been gone for some time, and"

"Melvin," I interrupted, "did one of my guys pick her up and say he was bringing her to me?"

"Uh...yes. Yes he did."

"Do you think if I kept your property for an extended period of time, or returned it damaged, that I would refuse to compensate you for that loss?"

There was a long pause before he answered. I had the feeling he was choosing his words pretty carefully at this point.

"Um...you...ah, no, I never thought you'd do that," he said. "You've always been a good customer."

"Do you think I'm somehow not good for the money all of a sudden?"

"No! No, man not at all!"

"Do you think that I want to be disturbed right at this time?" I asked.

"Uh...no..."

"Do you think calling your wh.o.r.e and hara.s.sing her when she's with me is in your best interest?"

"No," he replied softly. "No, sir."

"Then why are you calling and interfering with the business of my d.i.c.k?"

"Sorry, um..."

"Don't call again," I said. "I'll bring your b.i.t.c.h back when I feel like it."

The phone closed with a click, and I tossed it on the floor before I wrapped my arm back around Bridgett and nestled against her soft body. That warm, comfortable feeling was all around me, and I didn't want it getting chased away by being p.i.s.sed off at her troll of a pimp.

She said nothing as I dozed a little but couldn't seem to actually get back to sleep. My hip hurt, and I had the feeling I had been lying like that for way too long. I grumbled as I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling.

"Do you want to try to drink something?" Bridgett asked.

"Not really."

"You should."

"Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn," I told her.

Again, she was relentless and eventually convinced me to drink from a bottle of water. After a few minutes, she was convinced it wasn't coming back up and made me drink some more. With the partially empty bottle sitting on the nightstand, she sat close to me on the edge of the bed as her fingers traced the side of my face.

"You don't feel as warm," she commented. "Will you let me take your temperature?"

I shook my head.

"Come on," she coaxed, "we've done this before."

"We have?" The next thing I knew, there was a thermometer in my mouth. I didn't even recall owning one, but it was suddenly under my tongue and going beep a minute later.

"Normal," Bridgett announced as she beamed at me like I had just won a f.u.c.king triathlon. "That's good! Do you feel better?"

"I feel like I've been run over by a tank," I replied honestly. I closed my eyes and tried to bury my head against the side of her body. I was tempted to go back to sleep, but the ache in my hip wasn't going to let me.

As I lay there and contemplated the idea that I just might survive this s.h.i.+t after all, Bridgett's fingers moved up my back and into my hair again. They traveled down my cheek and over my jaw. There was several days' worth of growth on my face, which I absolutely f.u.c.king hated.

"I should get a shower and shave," I announced, but the actual idea of standing up to get to the bathroom was less appealing than the idea of having my body magically groom itself without having to move.

Someone should invent that.

Bridgett's fingers ran the opposite way up my cheek, which made sounds like sandpaper over a two-by-four, and I grumbled again.

"I think it's kind of hot." Bridgett giggled.

"I hate having a scratchy face," I replied. "No stubble in the Marines. It's worse than needing a haircut."

"You really seem to have liked being in the military," Bridgett said.

"Yeah, I guess," I replied with a slight shrug.

"So why did you leave?"

I should have ignored her or told her to just shut up, just like I did with anyone who asked me about that s.h.i.+t. Maybe it was because I still wasn't in my right mind or something, but for some reason I opened up my mouth. I went against all my good sense and actually answered her question honestly.

"I was...discharged," I told her. I closed my eyes and look a long breath through my nose. It was already more than most people knew, and I still had a strange impulse to tell her more.

"You didn't want to leave," she finally said softly.

I wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement.

"Not really," I said. "I had been in the desert a long time. They just..."

My chest rose and fell with another deep breath as my fingers tensed against her hip. Visions from my dreams came back into my head, causing the back of my neck to sweat.

"They just decided after what I had been through that I was no longer fit to serve."

"I'm fine, sir."

"No, son I don't think you are."

"I'm a Marine," I remind him. "I'm perfectly fine."

A hand on my shoulder that is supposed to be comforting isn't.

"No one expects you to just walk away from that unscathed, Evan. Consider it early retirement for a job well done."

Fingers over my cheek again brought me back to the present. Another long, drawn-out pause ensued until Bridgett finally asked in a whisper I could barely hear, like she thought I might kill her for uttering the words.

"What did you go through?"

I felt her body still beside me. She didn't quite go tense, but I could tell she was just waiting. She didn't know what she was waiting for, but she knew there was more, and she was going to try to out-patience me, and I let her. I never should have I never should have let her get as close as she did. I never should have said anything at all to her.

It could only end in tears.

Or blood.

"I was a POW," I finally told her. "I was captured and held for a year and a half somewhere in the Middle East Iraq, Afghanistan, or possibly both. I couldn't really tell, and the people who did it weren't exactly forthcoming with a lot of information. Once I was found and brought back to the States, the Colonel didn't think I was fit for the military anymore."

"You were...captured?"

I could barely hear her words, but I knew what she was saying I'd heard similar reactions many times. It was part of the reason why I didn't talk about it. It was everyone's initial reaction the disbelief that seemed to turn itself to some sort of plea to be told it was all a sick joke.

Like anyone would joke about that s.h.i.+t.

"The rest of my unit was killed a mile from our camp," I told her. "Since I was the only officer, they figured I must have information, so I was taken prisoner and tortured for eighteen months."

"Oh my G.o.d," she whispered under her breath.

"Don't do that," I growled. I turned my eyes on her and glared. "It was years ago. I don't want that s.h.i.+t from you, got it? That's just why I left they said after all of that, the doctors didn't think I was fit for combat any more, and I didn't want some f.u.c.king desk job, so I was discharged."

My head was pounding again, and my chest ached with the labor of breathing. Aside from that, I still felt absolutely grimy, and talk of what had happened to me just made me think of sweat, sand, and dust.

"I need a shower," I muttered as I tried to push myself back out of bed.

As soon as my feet hit the floor, I got dizzy and stumbled. I didn't quite fall, but I had to put the palm of my hand on the mattress to keep the floor from coming right up to my face.

Bridgett practically had to walk me all the way to the bathroom. Once I was there, the dizziness left just long enough for me to take a p.i.s.s in private. I turned on the shower but immediately starting cussing the d.a.m.n thing out when I couldn't get the temperature right.

"How about I help you?"

Bridgett opened the door and moved up beside me. She reached around, adjusted the water, stripped, and then got in with me.

"I need to shave first," I told her as she reached for the bottle of shampoo.

She looked up to my face.

"I'm not sure I could do that for you."

"I can do it." I wasn't sure, but it was going to drive me crazy if I didn't. She got the razor for me and helped me lather up my face, and then I used the little round mirror in the shower to make sure I didn't miss anywhere.

I felt a thousand times better.