Tortured Read online

  Tucking the blanket around myself, I slid out of the car, leaning over the open door. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be waiting.”

  He’d started to jog backward. “Waiting as in a few days until some other guy makes his play?”

  My eyes rolled as I gave him a look. Brecken and I’d been together since I was fifteen and he was seventeen. Even before that, we’d been inseparable, no one able to come between us.

  I cupped my hand around my mouth. “Waiting as in forever.”

  “I won’t keep you waiting that long. Just long enough.” He was shouting now, the rumbling buses muffling his voice.

  “Long enough for what?” I yelled back.

  Even with this much distance between us, I didn’t miss it. The look in his eyes. The tip of his smile. “For you to agree to marry me the moment I get back.”

  The breeze played with my hair, sending it away from him, like forces out of our control were already pulling us apart. “I will!”

  He paused just below the bus steps, his eyes consuming me from a hundred yards away. “It’s, I do, Blue Bird. I do.” He grinned and handed his bag off to the person stuffing them into one of the outside compartments. Then his hands cupped around his mouth, and he dropped his head back. “I do, too!”

  His voice echoed across the parking lot, earning the attention of more than just me.

  That was it. He climbed the stairs, turned the corner, and disappeared inside the bus. I wouldn’t see him for a year. I might not see him ever …

  My jaw tensed as I put a stop to that train of thought. Wedding vows and rings were the last things on my mind as his bus lurched away from the curb.

  “Just come back to me,” I whispered to no one. “Just come back.”

  Graduation day. It was probably the most overrated, underwhelming milestone in a person’s life. All this buildup, years of school to get there, only to be handed some piece of paper while faking a smile as someone snapped a photo.

  My view might have been jaded since Brecken wasn’t there to experience it with me. His graduation two years ago had seemed like a much bigger deal, way more worth celebrating, but that was probably because we’d been together. Instead, all I’d had in the crowd was my dad, who instead of clapping when I was awarded my diploma, slouched deeper into his seat and stared around like he was looking for where the booze was being served.

  Oh, well. I could cross that mile marker off my list and move on to the next. Whatever that was. I’d been so focused on getting through each day, I hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about what came next. At least other than being with Brecken. Did I want to go to college? Did I want to go straight to work? What did I even want to do? Those were questions I needed to work on filling in the answers to, but they could wait another day. Tonight, I was planning on eating my weight in onion rings and milkshakes.

  Half of the graduating class had wound up at the local burger joint to celebrate, and the other half had wound up out at Miller’s Point, kegs and condoms galore. That had never been my scene, not that it would have mattered if it was. My dad was as against underage drinking as he was sex outside of marriage. What could I say? My old man served his moral agenda with a hefty side of hypocrisy.

  “Picture to mark the occasion?” Crew Graves slid into the half foot of booth beside me, holding his phone in front of us as he threw his arm around me and leaned in.

  I didn’t miss how, across the table, Gina and Sierra’s attention went from each other to the boy snapping a picture beside me. Crew was “that guy” of our graduating class. At least that was how I’d heard him described, not that I held that opinion personally. Like Brecken, I’d pretty much grown up with Crew. He lived down the block with his parents, so the three of us had been friends until it became obvious that Brecken and I were becoming more than just friends. Crew eased back after that, but I still counted him as a friend. Brecken did too. Crew was a little hardcore, one of those guys who went from cold to hot after one bad call from a ref or someone shouldering by him in the hall, by accident or otherwise. Good guy, just one whose temper ran on the hot end of the scale.

  After snapping a couple of shots, Crew lowered his phone and didn’t make any move to go back to the table he’d come from, where the rest of the football guys were belching their way through the school anthem.

  “Brecken still kicking ass?” he asked, seeming ignorant to the gaping stares of the girls across the table from us.

  Which had me fighting a smile. I supposed Crew was cute in his own right, a little too “cute” for me, but I understood why girls’ heads turned when he passed.

  “Always,” I answered with a nod, breaking a few of my fresh onion rings apart so they’d cool down faster. The grease was still popping across the batter.

  “Miss him?”

  “Always,” I said with a sigh.

  “Hey, two months are already down. Ten more to go. You’ve got this.” Crew nudged me, snagging a butter knife from across the table to cut the rest of my onion rings in half so I didn’t have to keep burning my fingers.

  “I know that’s supposed to make me feel better, but two months have felt like two years. I don’t want to think about getting through another ten.”

  The noise in the diner was deafening, so Crew had to lean in closer to hear me. For some reason, I found myself almost uncomfortable with having him so close. Brecken was the only guy I’d ever been close to, the first one I’d held hands with, the one I’d lost my virginity to, and having another guy so close felt awkward. Like someone was trying to shove me into a pair of shoes that didn’t fit.

  I slid more into the booth, which only smashed me up against Damon. He was a nice guy, but one who didn’t seem to believe in personal hygiene.

  In the midst of my scooting and shifting, the collar of my dress got pulled a ways down my shoulder. Crew’s eyes dodged there. “Damn, Camryn. What did you do to yourself? Charge into McKenzie without wearing shoulder pads?” Crew tossed a wadded up napkin at his former teammate, Todd McKenzie, who was tipping the scale closer to four hundred than three hundred.

  “Last day of gym class. Ran into a volleyball pole.” The answer came instantly, easily, as I shrugged. “Couldn’t leave high school without one last accident in gym.”

  Crew chuckled, reaching for the bottle of ketchup for me. “Coordination is not your ally. Maybe in your next life.”

  “Maybe,” I mumbled, squeezing a stream of ketchup over my onion rings.

  “So he’s doing good though over there? Keeping his head down and staying toward the back?” When I scooted my tray of onion rings, offering Crew one, he tossed one in his mouth.

  “Yeah, right,” I said with a snort. “He’s already been promoted to lance corporal and is leading a firing squad. You know Brecken. He doesn’t know how to keep his head down. Or stay in the back.”

  Crew nodded as he chewed, giving me a sympathetic smile. Brecken was who he was. I couldn’t change that. I didn’t want to change that. I just wished I could roll him up in bulletproof bubble wrap.

  “So what’s your plan after this? High school chapter is officially over. What’s the next one?” Crew blocked a French fry that had gone off course and was flying toward my face. After smearing it in a glob of ketchup, he fired it back at Watson.

  This place was mayhem. I couldn’t believe we hadn’t been kicked out yet—Miller’s Point was probably tamer than the scene in the diner.

  “Once Brecken’s back,” I shouted above the noise, “I’m going to be moving out to Oceanside where he is.”

  Crew threw his arms out when Watson spun around with a pissed look. When he saw who’d thrown the fry, he wiped the ketchup smear off his cheek and took a seat again.

  “What’s your dad going to say about that?” Crew asked, glancing at the television hanging in the corner absently.

  I shrugged. “He can’t say anything because we’ll be married.”

  Crew’s head twisted my way, his mouth falling open a little. “Wow.
Really? Eighteen and married?”

  I gave another shrug, dragging half of an onion ring through some ketchup. “He’s who I want to be with. What does it matter how long we wait or don’t wait to get married?” I paused, making sure the shoulder of my dress hadn’t twisted out of place again. “We’re going to be together either way.”

  Crew was quiet for a minute. At least his words were. His thoughts, not so much. “Okay, so other than marrying Connolly and moving to California, what’s your plan?”

  Since Gina and Sienna were still staring at us, I offered them some of my onion rings. No takers. “I don’t know yet. Haven’t really gotten there yet.”

  It had taken me thirty minutes to figure out what dress I wanted to wear today. Big life decisions were out of my mental scope right now. With Brecken gone, I just felt kind of … lost. Like my North Star had been pulled out of the night sky, throwing off my whole course.

  “Nothing? No idea what you might want to do?”

  “I don’t know, I guess I’d kind of like to be a teacher.” I stuffed an onion ring into my mouth to give myself a minute. Brecken knew that I was considering teaching, but it wasn’t something I’d ever shared with anyone else. Mainly because where we came from, kids were happy to get a job at the local grocery store where they might be eligible for benefits after putting in a couple of years. It was a working-class bunch that did what they had to, not what they wanted to. “Kindergarten, first grade. I love being around kids, but the thought of four more years of school is nauseating right now. I don’t know.”

  “Four years is a long time, especially if you’re getting married so young and will probably start popping out babies.” Crew twisted his graduation cap around so his tassel was hanging down the back of his neck.

  “I didn’t say anything about babies.”

  “Yeah, but it’ll happen,” he said, all matter-of-fact.

  That made me twist in my seat and give him a not-so-sweet look. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because you just said you love kids.” His shoulders lifted beneath the shiny blue graduation gown. “And Brecken loves you, so he’ll go along with whatever you want.”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I went with your garden-variety shrug.

  “My point is, don’t go to school for four years, rack up thousands in school loans, only to become a stay-at-home mom in a few years.”

  My gaze wandered to the television. News. Whenever I flipped it on, I had to flip it right back off. It was usually about some place or some people getting blown up, and I didn’t need that in my life right now. “I didn’t say I was planning on being a stay-at-home mom.”

  “You’re not going to be one?” His dark eyes told me they knew better.

  “I don’t know. Again, haven’t gotten that far.” My appetite for fried food and milkshakes vanished, so I scooted the rest of my plate in front of Crew. “By the way, 1950 called. It said it wanted its assigned gender roles back. Oh, and don’t forget to include the black-and-white television.”

  Crew laughed as he worked on my onion rings. “Okay, okay, I’m old-fashioned. I like the idea of bringing home the bacon so my wife can stay home and be with the kids. If she wanted to,” he added when my mouth started to drop.

  “That’s not old-fashioned,” I said, blinking at him. “That’s primordial.”

  Something flashed in his eyes, his smile faltering for only a moment. Then he laughed it off.

  “What exactly do you have planned for bacon-bringing?” I asked, scooting a little closer to Damon.

  “I’m going to apply to the police academy.” He sat up taller in the booth. “I might not be fighting terrorists on foreign soil, but I’ll be doing my part to take down bad guys on the home front.”

  I clapped, making an impressed face. “I can totally see you doing that.”

  “Girls love a guy in uniform.” His eyes settled on mine for one moment too long. “Or so I’ve heard.”

  I was back to staring at the television as a distraction when someone burst from the booth in front of me, blocking my view.

  “Hey, Pilinski! Turn the volume up!” Wilson shouted as he shoved out of the booth. “Those terrorists bastards got some of our guys. My brother’s in the army over there. Turn it the fuck up!” Wilson stormed toward the television as fast as his body would take him, but Pilinski had already dialed up the volume.

  The diner went quiet as the Breaking News banner flashed across the screen.

  I recognized the two news anchors talking on the screen. I even heard the words they were saying, but those words wouldn’t take root. They wouldn’t process.

  “Those cock suckers!” Wilson drove his meaty fist into the wall beside the television. The cooks from the kitchen had even paused to stick their heads out to see what was going on. “They took four of them. Four of our marines.”

  My throat collapsed in on itself, making it impossible to breathe. When I swayed in my seat, Crew’s arm reached out to steady me, but I was shoving against him to get out of the booth. I needed to know. I needed to hear. I needed to see his name, because I already knew. I could feel it deep inside.

  “I’m sure it’s not Brecken. There are probably thousands of marines over there right now,” Crew said, following me through the crowd of silent bodies.

  What I didn’t say was that I knew it was. Of course it was. If a marine had been taken captive, it would be Brecken Connolly because there was no way in hell he’d let one of his brothers or sisters be taken instead. It was what I loved about him. It was also what made it hard to love him.

  Wilson was stationed directly in front of the TV when I made my way to him. As soon as he saw me, he cleared some space for me to be up front.

  “It’s not him,” Wilson said, nudging me lightly. “Even if it is, I pity those fools who thought taking Brecken Connolly prisoner was a good idea. Pity those fools,” he repeated, more to himself than to me.

  Crossing my arms, I slid closer so I could hear what the newscasters were saying. When the images flashed across the screen a moment later, I realized I didn’t need to hear the words to understand what had happened. My heart took off when I saw the recording of four marines on their knees, burlap sacks tied over their heads, a couple of them looking like they were barely able to stay kneeling. It was a poorly made tape, the foreign words barely discernable in the background. The four marines had been lined up in some dark room that looked more cave-like than manmade.

  People around me started to whisper. A few girls from my class wiped their eyes as the newscasters’ voices spoke in the background. Something about this marine squad being captured, demands being made, negotiations in the works, but I didn’t really hear any of it.

  All I did was stare at the screen, where those four bodies hovered seemingly right in front of me. He was right there. In arm’s reach. Half a world away, in hostile hands, in the worst kind of situation a marine could ever imagine finding themselves in, there he was. Right in front of me.

  As the reporters listed off the names of the POWs, my heart stopped beating. I never felt it restart. Two privates, Garcia and Armstrong. One private first class, McVay, Kristen McVay. Finally, the squad leader—Lance Corporal Brecken Connolly.

  For one collective moment, I felt the whole diner stop breathing with me. I felt everyone experience the same measure of sorrow settling into my insides.

  For one instant, they knew my pain and shared it with me.

  “He’ll be okay. He’ll make it out of there.” Crew’s arm came around me, his hand rubbing at the outside of my arm like he was trying to stimulate my circulation.

  That was when whoever was filming the video panned in close, to where another enemy soldier was holding up the tags around each marine’s neck to confirm who they’d captured. Brecken’s tags were covered in dried blood, no hint of silver left to shine through.

  My tears had always felt warm on my cheeks, but these ones felt cold.

  “He’ll make it back,” Crew
repeated as the diner started to come out of their fog, curses and outrage stabbing the silence.

  A dozen different protests were on my lips right then. POWs didn’t make it back from over there. Public beheadings had become all the rage. The country he’d been captured in didn’t abide by the Geneva Convention and the so-called Rules of War. A dozen more protests followed the first batch.

  But as I stared at that screen, I reached out my hand until it was touching the spot where Brecken was kneeling, and I nodded. “I know he will.”

  I watched the person I loved die.

  I witnessed his murder.

  It might have been through the filter of a television screen, but I watched the life of the person I loved most in the world leave this world. I watched his blood paint the ground beneath him. I watched as his head was severed from his body.

  I watched Brecken die.

  Even though he’d been the one who had lost his life that day, I’d lost mine as well. Six years later, I still hadn’t recovered it. Brecken was part of me. Still as much a part of me as I was.

  At first, I couldn’t sleep. When I tried, I’d wake up screaming, the image of his murder so vibrant in my mind, it was as though I’d been inches in front of him. I had the smells that went with the scene, the sounds, the sensations. I must have been there with him, in spirit or subconscious or some similar explanation. If nothing else, that gave me comfort when little else did.

  They held him for a month after the capture. Doing whatever they did, getting what information they wanted, not getting whatever information they wanted … then they disposed of him, like a student dumped a textbook when the class was over and its use expired. Like a human life was worth so little. Like that human soul wasn’t everything to another human soul.

  It was a living nightmare. One a person could never wake up from. One that had become as much a part of me as Brecken had been, almost like the horror of his death had filled the places the peace and happiness of his life had filled within me.