Assuming she'll be by when her shift is over, I sit on my bed and lean against the wall, unable to purge my mind of the letter Katya sent. It was four pages. I barely made it through the first.
Do I owe her? Should I finish reading it before I delete?
I'm too tired and emotionally drained to know how to handle it. My gaze settles on the pad of paper and pen on the Pelican case I use as a suitcase in a corner. It acts as a table in the tiny room. I have a few student pen pals who sent letters over for class assignments that I keep in touch with every once in a while. It's normally easier to handwrite responses, since my computer time is dedicated to work.
If I could say anything to Katya, without consequence, what would it be? She has no qualms about destroying me, no concerns about consequences. What if I took the same approach, just once in my life? What if I told her exactly what I feel and think?
We've never even had a friendship. The brittle relationship we do have isn't going to survive her letter - that much I know. So does it really matter what I tell her?
I stretch and grab the pad and pen. I start writing and stop after her name. I'm drawing a blank, despite the amount of things going through my head. It's probably my detail-oriented nature, but something tells me I need to read all four pages before I start. She has a way of surprising me, and part of me hopes there's something less poisonous in the letter.
Someone knocks at my door.
"Come in," I call.
Harper enters. "Good time?" she asks.
"Always."
I set the paper aside, warmth stirring within me for a different reason than anger this time.
Fuck you, Katya. I can't help thinking of her even now, when I'm about to spend the night with another woman.
I stand and strip off my shirt. Harper sits and unties her boots.
"Is Colonel Lawrence still here?" I ask casually.
"No. His replacement is here. A civilian named Petra." She looks up at me. "You want to talk to her?"
I debate responding. On a base this size, everyone will soon know if I show up on the doorstep of the psychologist assigned to the FOB to help monitor the mental health of those assigned here. Anyone can talk to her, but a lot of people avoid the shrinks for fear of looking bad or weak in front of everyone else.
I need to get rid of this shit in my head. The guilt, self-doubt, fear.