Goddamn it. Just when I felt like he was letting me in.
I silently stew in my snit and wait for him to come back so I can throw my sass in his face. I hear him moving around farther in the apartment, assuming since it’s going on ten at night that he is locking up and shutting everything off. I hear the alarm beep and watch as the keypad next to his bedroom door lights up a few times. I know he has some top-dollar program wired into his place. The touchscreen alone makes my head hurt.
My frustration builds when he still doesn’t come back. I wait, listening to him thump around in another room. I can hear things being moved around, but as much as I try, I still can’t place the sound.
When I see him walk through the doorway, I’m ready to go all hurt, pissed-off, and sexually frustrated crazy chick on his ass, but when I see him carrying a medium-sized shoebox, I snap my mouth shut and try to calm myself down.
“I imagine, had I walked back in here empty-handed, that you would have been breathing fire in my direction.” Obviously not a question since he doesn’t let me respond before continuing. “I meant what I said the other day, Em. I’m ready. To let you in. And I’m ready to fight to be worthy of you. In order for me to do that, I need to accept that you want me to let you in—regardless of how much it kills me to show you all the monsters that live inside me. Each and every one of them can be found in this godforsaken box, and I think, at this point, that it will help more than hurt for you to see where I’ve been coming from. This is that baggage you wanted to help me carry, Em.”
When he places the box on my lap, I’m almost afraid to open the top. But afraid or not, this is the moment I’ve been praying for. The moment when we take another one of our baby steps…together.
His face is soft but slightly worried. My apprehension grows, but I know that, if I don’t take this step, we will never move forward. I also know how hard this is for him, and if I reject this simple act, then he might never open up again.
“Okay, baby,” I whisper and watch as his body visibly feels the impact of those hushed word.
He sits on the corner of the bed, next to my hip, and faces me. The box light is against my lap. I search his eyes a few more beats before I lift the lid. I’m not sure what I anticipated, but a box with random papers and trinkets definitely wasn’t it.
“What—”
“Right. Besides the fact that all of this is worthless junk, to me, it’s a reminder of everything I’ve failed, harmed, or basically touched and fucked up. A physical reminder—something tangible—to remind me what happens when I believe that monsters aren’t real. I can’t tell you how many times I would come home from denying us—this—and dug this box out. This pile of shit is my pain, the baggage of burdens and ruined pasts that I carry deep within me. I could throw it out tomorrow, but, Emmy, this stuff will always be a part of me.”
My heart breaks for him. His pain has always been so obvious. The fact that he holds it even deeper than I ever imagined scares me to death.
“Is this…” I start, picking up the medal thrown carelessly in this mess of junk. If this is what I think it is, there is no way it belongs in here.
He reaches out and gently takes it from my grasp. “Medal of Honor. I never felt like I deserved this—part of the reason that it’s in here—but it also didn’t seem fair that I came home with this token of valor when it’s my fault that two men didn’t make it home alive.”
“Can I ask how you came to receive this when you claim you aren’t worthy of it?”
His eyes never leave the bronze medal resting between his fingertips. He strokes it almost reverently before speaking, “After the explosion, I was the only one of the three of us still conscious. Badly injured, but I was the only chance we had. I’m not going to go into the details. It really isn’t something I want to go over, but it was bad—real bad. I don’t remember much of it, but when the nightmares come, I’m right back there—dragging my brothers under our enemy’s fire while my body slowly gives up—until we’re finally picked up. I lost my leg that day and two families lost damn good men.”
“I can’t even fathom how that equals unworthiness in your eyes, baby,” I whisper and reach out with my good hand to clasp his arm. “Look at me,” I demand.
He turns his head. His eyes are troubled, but he looks right at me.
“You’re a hero, Maddox. You were then and you continued to be even when you didn’t believe it yourself. You made sure that their families had their loved ones home and you did that by putting aside your own personal welfare. You could have left them there and gotten out safely, but you didn’t. You went above and beyond.”
“I’m not worthy, Em, because it never would have happened if my head hadn’t been swimming under the shitstorm I’d left brewing at home.”
I take a deep breath before speaking; trying to figure out how to express what I feel in a way that he’ll believe me. “Do you honestly believe that?” He nods. “I believe that you do and I hate that. I have no doubt in my mind that, if you looked back now with a clear mind, you would see that, even if you’d been your best that day, you still could have missed something. Baby, you don’t deserve this burden. I understand that you need someone to blame, but place that on the people who placed the bomb that triggered this all. Do you think every soldier who goes into the battle zone has no stress, no worry, and no distractions? I highly doubt that. You were the sole survivor of a terrible, tragic accident, but you survived. Be proud that you were able to overcome and get your men home.”
“I-I don’t know if I can do that.”
“Well, then, I just have to help you.” I give him a small smile and squeeze his arm. “Do you want to keep going?”
When he nods, I return it with my own before bringing my attention back to the box.
The next item I pick up is a letter, and after reading it, my blood is boiling. I understand grief. I’ve watched it up close and personal within our group, but what I don’t understand is using that grief to lash out at those who do not deserve it.