Page 27 of All I Have Left

GRAYSON

“ I ’m not going,” I grunt, moving my body to try and see around the wall that is my sister so I can lose myself in this video game Ethan talked me into playing while wishing Frankie would fucking listen to me.

As my luck would have it, she doesn’t. She never has so I’m not sure what made me think today would be the day.

Ethan rolls his head in my direction, his eyes wide. He probably can’t believe I’m denying his girlfriend.

“Yes, you are.”

I don’t lift my eyes from the video game. “Nope.”

Frankie stomps and then kicks my calf. “Goddamn it, Grayson. Knock this shit off.”

I set the controller down on the coffee table.

Not only did she kick the leg I had surgery on less than a month ago to remove shrapnel from my calf, she’d interrupted me playing this game and damn it, I’m pissed about that.

Why can’t I play Xbox for thirteen hours straight?

There’s nothing wrong with it as far as I’m concerned.

“I’ll go change.” Ethan gets up and leaves the room.

“Pussy!” I yell out, only to be smacked upside the head by Frankie .

I grab her hand midair as she pulls it away and yank her forward until she falls onto the couch. “Stop hitting me.”

She catches herself on the cushions, her hands planted near my thigh. “You’re getting up and you’re going.”

My brows pull together in my best version of I-hate-you-right-now. “Why? So I can run into that motherfucker again? No thanks.”

Scrambling up, Frankie stands in front of me again, blocking my view of the television. “Honestly, Grayson, I doubt she’s even going to be there.”

“Oh yeah?” I stare up at her. “And what if she is? Then what?”

She plants her hands on her hips. “Then we try to get her alone and talk to her.”

I snort. “I tried that.”

“And because it’s Evie, our friend, we keep trying.”

“She’s not my fucking friend.” Anger rushes through me with a wave. It’s damn near uncontrollable. I look down at my hands and realize they’re shaking. Drawing in a breath, I let it out slowly. “I’m not going.”

I’m being an asshole, but can you blame me?

Don’t answer that.

“Yes, you are.” She gets in my face this time and forces me to look at her. “I’m not going to let you lock yourself away. You haven’t been out of this house in a week.”

“So what? That’s my fucking choice. Not yours.”

She inhales slowly but doesn’t respond. Her eyes are full of disappointment. As if she can’t believe I’m acting this way.

“You go for her.”

“She made it pretty fucking clear it’s not me she wants.”

“No, you said some pretty shitty things that she heard. I can’t blame her for being a little bit mad at you over that one.”

There’s certainly some truth to that statement, even if I don’t want to admit it.

But it also doesn’t make up for the fact that she left with that piece of shit.

My lips part and I suck in a rush of air, realizing I should go for her.

Because if she’s there, then maybe I can see if she’s okay.

Know that she’s at least safe. I lift my hand and run it through my hair.

There’s a long stretch of silence between us before she finally says, “You’re the strongest person I know, but you’re being a pussy right now.”

I almost laugh. If only she knew. Blood rushes to my head as I drag in another breath, trying to push the violent thoughts away.

I don’t like it, but it’s my reality that they’re there, and present.

Demanding to be heard, seen, recognized.

My heart feels like it’s working its way into my throat, threatening to jump out of my body.

At this point, I’d let it so I didn’t feel any of this pain from knowing my girl is in the arms of a monster and willingly staying there.

How could she? Why would she? That’s still something I can’t shake.

I saw the sinister look in his eyes, the hatred.

He’s destroying her because he can and she won’t let me help.

It’s no different from everything I experienced for the last year.

Wanting, no, needing to do something, and powerless to do so.

I can’t imagine being able to talk about what happened in Iraq, I’m sure of it. I can’t even allow my thoughts to return to that place without being paralyzed with fear and anger. Yet here I am, reliving it every day because the situation is the same to me.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Frankie sighs and sits next to me. “Grayson, she’s in trouble. I know that, you know it, Ethan knows. We are going to do something and if by chance she shows up, maybe we can.”

I’m not convinced.

“Go away.”

She kicks at my leg. “You’re a dick.”

Frankie leaves the room when Dad comes in and sits next to me. I roll my eyes. “Are you here to lecture me too?”

“I wouldn’t use the word lecture.”

No, he wouldn’t. My dad never lectures. He talks to you. It’s one of the things I love about my parents. They never tell you anything. They have a conversation and give you where they’re coming from and then let you decide.

Dad’s eyes move to the beer cans scattered across the coffee table next to the game controller and my cell phone in pieces next to it. I broke it when all my calls to Evie when unanswered. “How are you doing?”

“Awesome.” I wave my hand around the room that I’ve pulled the blinds shut on and tried to close myself off from the world. “Can’t ya tell?”

He cracks a smile, but it fades easily. It’s replaced with apprehension. I assume. I don’t fucking know what he’s thinking. “Are you still taking your medication?”

“Yeah.” I reach for the half-empty beer in front of me and finish it. “Sometimes.” I’m not though. I said I would to get my mom who checks on me every night off my case about it.

“You’re not supposed to drink with them,” he points out, angling his head in my direction.

“Whoops.”

“Are you dealing with it?”

“With what?”

“With what happened over there.”

I love how he says “over there” as if he’s not sure how to say it to me. As if the words Iraq, or war, or whatever else you want to call it will suddenly set me off. And you know, there’s probably some truth to that. It will set me off.

When I don’t say anything, he adds, “You need to deal with it.”

“Deal with it?” I snap, my eyes drifting to his. “I live it. Over and over again. I don’t need to talk about it.”

“You’re never gonna be able to move forward until you face the past. If you don’t, it’s going to control you and come out when you don’t want it to.”

How can he say that? He hasn’t been through this kind of shit.

I want to yell, and say, “You’re an excavator.

You haven’t watched a man die. You haven’t seen kids die at the hands of your enemy.

” And until that happens, I can’t listen to him.

That’s why I can’t understand these therapists trying to help.

Until you’ve been there and experienced what it is you’re trying to teach someone, you will never understand what goes on in their mind.

The scary parts that even they don’t want to face.

The blackout moments when they know their battle is over and they must succumb to whatever it is happening to them.

Like I am now.

I think part of him can tell by the way my knee is bouncing and the tenseness of my body that I’m done with this conversation. He doesn’t let it go. “Grayson, you need to cope with the mental and physical reminders in a healthy way or you’re never going to be in a relationship with someone.”

That one earns him a snort. I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees. My eyes drift to his. “I’m a fucking mess,” I grunt. “Being in a relationship is the last thing I need.”

My heart drops at his words though. Completely defeated already, I don’t want to hear this. It’s the truth. One I hadn’t considered until now. All I knew when I returned was what I thought I needed and assumed I’d find it in the one I left. But I hadn’t. Instead, I found more anger and confusion.

His hand meets my shoulder and squeezes. I want to pull away from his touch, but I don’t. “I want to see that you’re going to therapy.”

Fighting through emotions I can’t get a handle on, I nod, knowing if I don’t, he’s going to say something to Mom, and she’s the last person I want to piss off. She’s worse than Frankie.

He drops his hand to his thigh and stands. “Now go get dressed. You haven’t seen Aiden in years.”

“I’ll catch up with him another time,” I mumble, noticing Frankie in the kitchen behind him giving me the evil eye. “I don’t need to be at a party.”

Dad frowns, glances at Frankie and then back to me. “You need to go.”

“Why? What does it matter if I’m there or not? ”

“Because he’s family.”

“And if he shows up?” I don’t have to say Shane’s name for him to know who I’m referring to.

“Then we deal with it together.”

Dramatically, I flop back against the couch and cover my face with my hands. They’re not going to stop. Without warning, my thoughts shift to her again and the idea of seeing her, even if it’s just a glimpse, has me going to change.

After I’m dressed, I stare at the bottle on my nightstand. I hate sleep because of nightmares and those pills are supposed to cure that. Here’s the thing about nightmares. They either remind you of your past, or they prepare you for the future. Neither one I want to face right now.