Havoc (15 page)

“It's OK, Clint,” Haven tries to lie to me.
She's not very good at lying. I'm grateful. There are enough
deceptive and misleading people that I already have to cross paths
with. I don't need to come home to it. “I don't need a
babysitter.”

“Could've fooled me.”

The comment clearly hurts Haven's feelings.
She buries her head down, and I can see insecurity appear. She
doesn't deserve the attitude from Le Le. Haven doesn't even know
that we've got history, which is the real reason for the harsh
tone. No one reserves the right to hurt Haven. No one.

“Enough.” I demand her to knock it off. Le Le
complies, knowing my disapproving tones all too well.

“What is it you always say? 'A Marine is only
as good as his word'?”

“And I'm a damn good Marine.” The words bite
me in the ass as I finish the sentence like a robot programmed to
say it immediately.

Le Le touches my elbow, strokes it with her
nail. God I, wish she wouldn't touch me. There's not enough soap in
the house to get rid of the stench of tramp. “So are you going to
be a damn good Marine and go with me?”

No. Just say no. Break your word. Break your
code. If there's ever been an all-right time not to stick with your
honor, this is it. I close my eyes for a moment, still hesitating.
There's no reason to break my word short of death, even if I wish I
would've never agreed to go.

My angel speaks up, “I'm going to take this
inside.”

“Haven–”

“It's OK, really,” she whispers, taking the
dessert Tupperware away from me and quickly disappearing into the
house.

The moment the door shuts, I rumble, “Let's
get a couple things straight, Leighyani. First off, I'll go because
I keep my word. Second, if you expect us to be friends, then you
show those who matter most to me more respect. And last, do not
ever speak to her like that again. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.” The word barely slips out of her
mouth before I'm heading in the house.

“Haven,” I call out as I go through the
door.

She turns her back to me as I place down the
remaining dishes on the bar. Her body language is screaming at me
that she's upset, uncomfortable, angry. Is she angry at me? She's
livid at me. Disgusted with me. Did I just change from protector to
traitor? The only good news I can pull from this is finally seeing
her having emotions aside from fear and sadness.

“I can explain.”

“No need,” she insists, struggling to light
the gas burner. “You don't owe me an explanation.”

She keeps punching at the stove, faster and
more futile, unable to get the burner to cooperate. I can't stand
to see her so upset. It's my fault she's a wreck. I'm going to fix
it—right now. I place my hand on top of hers and whisper in her
ear, “Alpha.” Together, we push the burner button in and turn,
unleashing the fire from under the pot. For a moment, it feels like
she's at ease.

I turn her so she's facing me, lift her chin
to meet my eyes, and adjust my tags, which are tucked into her
shirt. “You deserve an explanation.”

“I–”

“I want to give you an explanation.”

Retreating backward, I lean against the
counter space across from her. She seems so upset. I don't want her
to think I'm trying to keep her here against her will. I would
never do anything against her will. After a moment, I realize she
wants to hear what I have to say and am glad.

“Le Le.” The nickname alone brings out a
brief flicker of fire in Haven’s eyes. Quickly, I restart,
“Leighyani and I grew up together more or less. Obviously, there
weren't many kids in this neighborhood, and believe it or not, it
wasn't easy for me to make friends after my mom died. In middle
school, she was more like having a little sister to watch over and
most of high school too. Our senior year, she started dating this
guy named Jeff. Oversized, kicked off the football team, in and out
of juvy. One day, she got mouthy, and he got handsy. The next day,
Jeff was in the ER with a broken arm and a minor concussion. Gave
his parents, the ER nurse, and the doctor some sob story on missing
his footing and falling.”

“You hit him?”

“I almost put him in a body bag. She thanked
me for what I had done, even though she hadn't asked. Told me she
wished I’d just ask her out already so she could stop dealing with
jerks like him. I told her that would be a bad idea. I told her I
was more of a one hit, two if it was the good sort. I told her I
didn't want a girlfriend. I didn't need a girlfriend. I told her I
wasn't much better than the assholes she was associating with,
other than I wouldn't put my hands on her unless she asked me to.
She continued to push at me and tell me it was OK. She said she
didn't mind if we would just get together for a bit. Promised that
she wouldn't get attached. So I gave in. We started having
sex.”

That was the beginning of my trial-and-error
approach to emotions. I had never had steady sex with the same
person before. I had never really been on dates before either.
There were good times between us, sneaking out to go on late-night
car rides, skipping school to see the first showing of movies,
hanging out downtown by the skate parks. We shared moments that
meant more to her than me. I took each getaway for what it was, a
moment away from Sir, a second away from the jail I had put my mind
in. That wasn't enough for her. What I should've known before I
gave into her was that nothing is ever enough for a girl like
her.

“I was already enrolled to join the Marines
upon graduating. The day after I graduated, it was time for me to
leave. She begged for us to be together. She complained that I was
no better than the other guys who had come along and just slept
with her to fill a notch on their belts. I tried to tell her that I
warned her. I told her I was leaving for training and didn't know
when I would return. She said she'd wait for me. Promised to be
faithful, prove to me that she was different than all the others.
Twenty-two weeks I was gone. We exchanged many phone calls and
texts in the beginning. A little bit of Skype. It didn't matter,
though. It all started to dwindle. She said it wasn't that she
didn't want us to be together. It was just that she was getting
busy with school. I honestly didn't care. I knew the idea of us as
a couple was unrealistic, not only because I wasn't interested in
her like that, but I believed to be a damn good soldier meant
leaving everything that could hold you behind. Leighyani was trying
to hold me back. So when I got home . . .” The retelling of this
story removes another brick from the wall in my mind. That was the
last time I ever felt like a human before Haven. I don't want to
relive the anger or the fact I let myself be exposed like that, yet
I can't help but let her in. I want to let Haven see behind the
curtain, even if I don't I wanna look.

Flopping back onto my bed, I stare up at the
ceiling. Exhausted. Thankful. At unexplainable ease.

Knock.

Sir's face appears in the doorway. Wasn't it
enough he picked me up from the airport with Mindy (who was in
hysterics)? I figured that was the only reason he made the trip
anyway. Then again, he also made the trip to San Diego to see me
graduate. Mindy probably guilted him into that too.

“Go see Leighyani. She's been waiting for
you.”

I don't move. Going to see her seems like a
bad call but a necessary one. Things need to be over. The sooner I
get this over with, the better. A Marine should be focused on his
mission. His duty. Nothing less.

“Marine, did you hear me?”

My head strains to look at him, “Yes.
Sir.”

As he leaves, I hop to my feet. It'll be just
like a Band-Aid. Quick rip off, and I'm done. Taking the stairs
quickly, a melon smell stings my nose. Must be the scent of his
latest girlfriend.

I head two doors over. She must be home
visiting her parents. Two knocks and she answers the door in a pair
of red shorts with her university’s name and a black top, her bra
strap peeking from underneath it.

“Baby, you're home!” Her squeal is high
pitched. Didn't miss that. “I missed you so much!”

A lie. If she was as devoted and in love with
me as she keeps claiming, she would have at least shown up to see
me graduate. She was invited.

Her recently glossed lips land on mine and
search for acceptance. I engage as little as I can, and she pulls
away, eyes bulging like I have something different in mind. I do,
just not screwing her.

“I know what's on your mind . . .” she
purrs.

Always sex with this girl. Apparently, that
must be the only thing I can think of. I should introduce her to
Glove. She yanks me by the hand and whips us around the corner, up
the stairs, and to her bedroom at the end of the hall.

The second the door closes, she reaches for
the hem of her tank top to peel it off. Before I can say anything
to stop her, her pink-cased cell phone begins ringing loudly and
obnoxiously with some trendy pop song I tend to skip on the radio.
The song sucks.

Leighyani leans around me, swipes it, and
lets her eyes cut left and then right. This is one of the many
signs that lets me know there's something she's not telling me. “I,
uh, have to take this. I'll be right back.”

And as quickly as she came into this room,
she's gone. Taking a deep breath, I relax. Having her in the other
room gives me time to conjure up the most polite way to tell her
it's over without emotionally destroying her forever. Geez, I knew
this was a bad idea when we started sleeping together. Gut. Always
go with the gut, Grim.

Slowly pacing around the room, I notice a
golden condom wrapper peeking from under her bed, barely visible
since her red silk sheets are drooping down. Cautious, I approach
slowly, very well aware I could be wrong. It could be something
else. It's not. It's a Trojan condom wrapper right next to a
Houston Texans hat. She hates hats. Says they don't flatter her
face or her hair.

Backing away from the bed, I roll my eyes.
She's been sleeping with someone else? So all that talk about
wanting only me, being faithful, was bullshit—bullshit that, had I
not been caught up in the temporary notion that maybe I wasn't as
dead inside as I thought, I had somewhat believed. Bullshit
that—what the hell is that smell?

I swing around and notice the faint smell of
expensive cologne lingering near her bathroom. With the tip of my
foot, I push the door open, hands in my pockets. Do not touch a
thing, Grim. Everything needs to stay exactly where it is. Observe
just like they taught you in the corps. My eyes scan past the
scattered makeup, hung-up bras, and hair products to the large,
lost white sock, clearly too big to be hers, in the corner by the
toilet. Her laundry hamper is doing a poor job of containing her
clothes. I notice a pair of boxers rolled up in it, trying to hide
under a white sweater.

I hear her footsteps approach, and the door
swings open, “Sorry, baby, I–”

“You know, Le Le, I gotta go. I'm supposed to
meet a couple of guys from the corps in twenty minutes.”

“Oh.” Her voice sounds almost hurt. And I
almost care. “Come on. I'll walk you down.”

I should be thankful she's giving me an out,
that none of this will be my fault. She wanted this fucked-up
relationship. She wanted to be attached to me. Now she wants to be
free. Perfect for me. No more pretending to give a shit. No more
having to make a meaningless effort.

The door pops open, revealing to me a
shit-eating grin on a face that always manages to make my skin
crawl just a little bit, “Clint.”

“Howard.”

“Didn't know you were home.”

“Not surprised.”

Immediately, I notice how tense he is. His
hands twitch, and his weight keeps shifting between his feet. He's
always been a shifty bastard, but even this is a bit much for him.
If I cared, I'd dig deeper, but I hate him almost at the level I
hate Sir.

Leighyani leans against the doorframe, hands
on her hips, “What's up, Howard?”

“Just need my Texans hat.”

His hat. His sock. His boxers. I freeze. My
memory clicks like the clip of a gun snapping into place. His
smell. Now Leighyani is his girl. His alone.

Haven gasps.

“After I couldn't avoid her anymore, I told
her it would be best if we went back to being friends. No more talk
of a future. No more being faithful to me. No more sex between us.
She was furious at first, eventually started dating, and I assumed
got over me despite her recent revamping of her supposed interest
of me. That all happened three years ago. I didn't want her then. I
damn sure don't want her now. So, please believe me when I say
there's nothing to worry about.”

She offers me a tender smile as the boiling
water swishes and pops behind her. My eyes stay glued to hers. The
idea of looking anywhere else is not one I'm willing to entertain.
I just let out top secret information about who I really am, and
she didn't run. She didn't flee. She didn't even flinch at it like
it was that abnormal. Maybe she could love me too.

Post a light conversation and a delicious
meal of shrimp linguine with zucchini and a sun-dried tomato sauce,
fresh garden salad, and homemade bread sticks—all of which I just
want to say tasted restaurant worthy—I suggest we sit down on the
couch for a little R&R. Without any argument, Haven grabs her
latest book, Jane Eyre, throws her legs over mine, and shifts in
close. My arm is resting behind her on the back of the couch, but
my fingertips lightly touch her silky hair. Wow. It's amazing how
fast her body is healing.

A simple click, and the TV pops on, the
mindless escape from reality so many crave. It dulls the senses
much like drinking, yet without the hangover or extra calories. I
prefer bad sitcoms to anything else, but once in a while, I'll
watch the news to try to understand what the rest of the country
thinks is going on in the world.