Return to Sender

***

All rights reserved. This book, or any portion
thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the
express written consent of the author or publisher.

This is a work of fiction and is intended for mature
audiences only. All characters within are eighteen years of age or
older. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are
either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead,
actual events or places is purely coincidental.  

© 2013 Harmony Raines

Silver Moon Erotica

Smashwords Edition

***

Marcus folded the letter carefully, he had spent two
days writing it, struggling to find the words he wanted to say.
This was the most important letter he had ever written to Christie,
hell, it was the most important letter he had ever written in his
life.

He sealed the envelope and addressed it carefully; he
certainly didn’t want this one going astray. Then he got up and
left his barracks to hand it over to be posted before he had a
chance to change his mind. He had poured his heart into that
letter, something he had always struggled to do, having been
brought up by parents who taught him to always keep his emotions
under control. They were not something you showed other people,
they were a weakness.

Yet over the last six months of exchanging letters
with Christie he had begun to open up, to express things he had
never had the courage to before. It had taken time, after all she
had been a complete stranger when they had first started to
correspond, but now they knew each other inside out, even though
they had never met.

That was what his letter was about, he was returning
home from Afghanistan in two weeks time, and he wanted to meet her.
From the previous letters she had sent he was sure she felt the
same way, but naming a time and a place was something else, it was
a commitment.

Deed done, he returned to his temporary home and sat
down on the bed. He couldn’t take it back now, it was done, and now
all he could do was wait.

***

“Hey, Marcus, there's a letter for you.”

A week had passed; this was it, her reply. Nervously
he reached out for the envelope, and then his heart hit the ground
as though a mortar had been aimed at it. The envelope was his. He
turned it over to read the words, “return to sender, no longer at
this address” written in a neat hand across it.

He stood staring at it. How could he have got it so
wrong? The relationship they had nurtured in their letter writing
seemed so real, so honest, how could she simply move and not let
him now. The words of his parents came back to him, they were right
after all, you couldn’t trust anyone with your heart, it was best
to just wall it up and not let anyone in.

***

Christie sat looking out of her window, the light was
fading from the sky, evening was settling in and any minute now
Sarah Jane was going to be knocking on her door. They were supposed
to be going dancing, to cheer her up, but all she wanted to do was
stay inside and hide.

Let’s face it, all the men would be falling over
themselves to dance with, Sarah Jane, she was after all stunning to
look at, unfortunately that was all that seemed to matter to men
these days. More and more people seemed to judge you by what was on
the outside, not the inside. So no one really got to know Christie,
because no one ever wanted to dance with Sarah Jane's fat
friend.

However, Christie knew she couldn’t sit here forever,
she had to move on. But to what? If a man who had shared so much
with her, but had never even met her, could dump her, then what
hope was there?

She jumped at the sound of the door, even though she
had been expecting it. “You have to pull yourself together.” She
chastised herself.

“Are you ready for some fun?” Sarah Jane flounced
into the room wearing the smallest dress Christie had ever
seen.

“I can see you are,” Christie stated flatly.

“If you’ve got it flaunt it.” Sarah Jane smoothed her
dress down over her slim thighs. “And tonight I have definitely got
it.”

Sarah Jane, ever tactful. Christie wondered sometimes
if Sarah Jane only hung around with her because it made her look
better against Christie’s curvy body. Men actually felt sorry for
her, having to hang around with such a moose. Christie chastised
herself for her unusual catty thoughts, it wasn’t Sarah Jane’s
fault that Christie had such a curvaceous body, rather than being
stick thin.

They had been friends since high school, and had
always kept in touch, although Christie had other, more mature
friends now. The two of them had shared some fun times, and many
hours with Sarah Jane crying her heart out when she had been
dumped. She always found Christie a good shoulder to cry on, and
Christie was a good listener, never judging.

“I’m really not feeling up to this,” Christie
said.

“Nonsense, it will do you good,” said Sarah Jane,
helping herself to a glass of wine from the fridge. “It’s time you
got over your soldier boy.”

“I still can’t believe he stopped writing,” said
Christie. It had been three weeks now since she had heard from him.
The last time she had written back to him she had implied she would
love them to meet when he started his leave, obviously this had
overstepped the line of their relationship and she had never had a
reply.

“Probably for the best, it’s all very well writing to
each other, but it’s just fantasy isn't it? I mean when you meet in
the flesh it would be, well, different.” Sarah Jane took another
large swig from her glass.

“What do you mean, different?” Christie asked.

“Well, he’s a young, fit soldier,” Sarah Jane said,
sounding a little worse for wear already.

“And?” Christie wanted to know what Sarah Jane
actually meant.

Her friend stood looking at Christie, her critical
frown telling Christie all she needed to know. “You're probably not
his type.”

“Not his type,” Christie repeated.

“No.” Another gulp of wine.

“And who exactly is my type?” Christie asked.

“Oh, I don’t know, but a soldier just back from
Afghan would want someone a little fitter, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t think. Not everyone is like you, Sarah
Jane, some of us look a little deeper than what's on the outside.”
Christie was on the defensive now, hurt by what her friend thought
of her.

“Yes, well some of us are more fortunate than
others.” She threw her head back and downed the rest of the wine in
the glass. “Right, are we ready to go?”

Christie stood speechless, looking at Sarah Jane,
then, trying to keep her voice steady, she said, “No, we are not
ready to go.”

“But you'll make us late; you'll have to pay for a
taxi at this rate.” Sarah Jane left the empty wine glass on the
side and now stood pouting in the mirror, refreshing her lip
gloss.

Christie knew she would end up paying for it anyway,
she always did. For the first time she looked at Sarah Jane and
realised she wasn’t a real friend at all. They had grown apart and
Christie no longer wanted her as a friend, because friends didn’t
speak to each other like that.

“I think you should go, Sarah Jane,” said Christie
picking up the dirty glass and moving towards the sink.

“You're not coming?”

“No, I am going to have a quiet night in.”

Sarah Jane looked like a petulant child. “That will
make a nice change for you,” she said nastily. Grabbing her bag she
headed for the door. “And to think I felt sorry for you,” she said
as she slammed it behind her.

Christie stayed where she was, too shocked to move.
There really must be something wrong with her, first Marcus, and
now Sarah Jane.

No, that was being unfair, Sarah Jane was not a real
friend, but Marcus, she had really thought there was something
special between them, but she had seriously misjudged him. Now she
felt stupid about all the things she had shared, with a stranger,
in her letters. His replies had seemed so genuine, Christie now
assumed she had been his entertainment while he was away, the sad
woman who wrote to strangers.

Groaning inwardly she suddenly had an awful thought,
what if he had shared her letters with his army mates? Well
hopefully they had a good laugh at her expense.

Feeling sad, Christie went to the bathroom and wiped
all her make up off. She then headed to her bedroom and got into
her comfy sweats, chocolate and a movie seemed in order. Drawing
the line at a rom com which would only make her more miserable she
settled for a thriller instead. Settling down she managed to
temporarily block out her misery.

About an hour into the movie there was a knock at the
door. She wasn’t expecting anyone. “I bet it’s Sarah Jane, come
back to apologise,” she thought, pulling herself up off the
sofa.

Looking down at her clothes she sighed, if Sarah Jane
saw her like this she would be more convinced than ever that she
was right about Christie. Well she could think what she liked; she
was not going to change at this time of night.

Christie went to the door and opened it, her jaw
almost dropped to the floor. There stood the most handsome,
athletic guy she had ever set eyes on, outside of the movies. He
had dark hair, and dark sexy eyes to match, his shirt gripped his
well toned body in all the right places, convincing Christie that
he had a genuine six pack.

His eyes met hers and he smiled, she automatically
smiled back. Who wouldn’t if they were confronted by such a sight
on their doorstep? Her eyes wandered over his body, taking in the
way his denim jeans hugged his hips, then they went to his hand,
and her smile faltered.

In it he held a letter, one of her letters, she had
been right, Marcus must have shared them with everyone and someone
had come to laugh at her. Don’t be stupid, she thought, no one
would come to see a complete stranger, no matter how
entertaining.

Yet if this wasn’t one of Marcus’s army friends
standing, looking so drop dead gorgeous, in front of her, then it
had to be someone else. The only someone else she could think it
could be was the man himself. Yes, that had to be it; the godlike
man in front of her was Marcus. Butterflies set up home in her
stomach, and she felt quite sick, this was not how she imagined
their first meeting would be.

“Hello, Ma'am, sorry to bother you at this time of
night, but I’ve come a long way. I was wondering if you could give
me the forwarding address of Miss Christine Barnsley?” he asked.
His voice was deep and commanding, yet set with a tone that made
you trust him and want to help.

Christie simply stared at him like an imbecile; her
mind couldn’t work out why he was asking for a forwarding address
when she stood there in front of him.

“Ma'am? Do you have that address?” he asked again,
his voice still calm and even.

“I’m sorry,” she said dragging her senses back to
reality. “I don’t understand why you need the forwarding
address.”

“Oh, of course. Well, we wrote to each other while I
was serving abroad, I’m a soldier. However the last letter I sent
her was returned to me, I guess she moved and for whatever reason
didn’t inform me.”

“Excuse me?” Christie was beginning to think this was
some kind of a joke, and Sarah Jane had put someone up to this to
make a fool of her.

“I sent the letter, and it got returned to sender, no
longer at this address, see.” He explained carefully, holding the
letter out for her to see, and sure enough it had those exact words
written on it.

“I didn’t write that,” Christie said, looking hard at
the letter.

“I see, well perhaps someone else in the building
did.” A little exasperation began to creep into his voice.