Tortured

  “No more cartwheels for you,” he whispered like it was an order as his hand reached my breast. He groaned as he kneaded it, pressing his erection into my back. “You need to take care of yourself. Or I’ll have to.”

  His other hand tightened around my wrist just barely, but it was enough to make me wince. It was so sensitive, even to the lightest touch.

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” I managed to get out as he let go of my wrist to work my skirt up my body.

  “Dinner can wait,” Crew rasped, pushing me to the floor as he rolled over me, freeing himself from his slacks. “Your husband can’t.”

  “Camryn, what’s taking so long?” Crew’s voice echoed up the stairs, seeping beneath our bedroom door. “How many dresses are you going to try on before you decide on one?”

  “Just getting my shoes!” I hollered back, standing in front of the full-length mirror hanging on the back of the door. There was a crack running down it from a couple of years ago, but it still served its purpose.

  Contrary to what Crew thought I’d been doing, I’d been standing here for the past ten minutes, staring in the mirror and trying to remember the girl I’d been before. The one from six years ago. The one who could smile without thinking about it first, the one whose light eyes popped against the contrast of her olive skin, the one who could look herself in the eye to see who she really was.

  Ten minutes in front of that mirror, and I still hadn’t been able to look myself in the eyes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to. Not with the guilt I bore. Not with the skeletons. Not with the secrets. People who liked themselves could look themselves in the eye in the mirror. People who didn’t could barely stand to look at any part of themselves in the mirror.

  “Camryn, really!” Crew’s voice was impatient, for more reasons than my seeming inability to pick an outfit.

  Today was the day of the homecoming celebration. The day he’d be back. The day I’d see him for the first time, with my own eyes, his own eyes looking back.

  “Coming!” I shouted, stuffing the tags curled in my fist into the pocket of my denim jacket before I threw it on. I kept Brecken’s dog tags hidden in a soap box in the back of my bathroom cabinet, but every once in a while, I pulled them out. When I needed comfort. When I needed clarity.

  When I needed to give them back to their owner.

  Throwing the door open, I rushed as fast as I trusted myself to move down the stairs in my wedge sandals. Grace had been in short supply the day I’d been created, and I was already accident-prone enough without galloping down a steep set of wooden stairs in three-inch heels.

  “Whoa. Look at you.” Crew was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes scanning me as I approached. “I haven’t seen that dress in a while.”

  I glanced down, holding out the skirt like it was no big deal. “Hot summer day. Seemed like a good day for white.”

  Crew continued to inspect the dress like he was reading some story written on its layers. “Is that why you’re wearing a jacket? Because it’s such a hot day fitting for a skimpy white dress?”

  My brows came together as I looked down to make sure I’d put on the dress I thought I had. It was a simple linen summer dress. Knee-length, no cleavage showing, not cut close enough to hug the body. It was strapless, but the denim jacket took care of that perceived “skimpy” component.

  “Do you think I should change?” I asked, not really caring since it would give me an excuse to stall for another five minutes.

  “No. We’re already late and this thing is practically taking place out our front door. That will have to work.” Crew was messing with his tie, shifting in place, almost looking nervous, which was unusual for him. This was a big day for more than just myself.

  “It’s just a dress.” I took his arm and gave it a light squeeze. “It doesn’t mean anything other than it was the first one I touched when I reached into the closet.”

  “And it’s just the first day Brecken Connolly is back in arm’s reach.” He masked his harsh words with a soft smile as we moved toward the door.

  “Crew …”

  “I know, I know. I’m the one you chose. The one you married.” He held the door open for me. “But can you blame a guy for being a little anxious about his wife coming face to face with her first love, the same guy who’s been deemed a national hero?”

  I matched my smile to his, brushing his chest as I passed by. “No, I guess not.”

  “I’m feeling a little territorial. Especially with you in that dress.” He closed the door behind us, following me, but I was frozen on the top step.

  Tangle Root Road, the street we’d all grown up on, had been closed off for the day, so a spread of tables, chairs, food, and people could celebrate the return of a hero. Red, white, and blue streamers, balloons, and ribbons were stretching all up and down the block. An endless cluster of round tables surrounded by handfuls of chairs were dotted down the road, the rectangular food tables stationed in the center of it all.

  As if that wasn’t enough, the people. My god, it looked like everyone in Medford had shown up for the homecoming. Kids were running up and down the sidewalks, friends with drinks in hand shared stories, and women bustled around the food tables, shooing flies and the brave child trying to sneak a drumstick.

  “Looks like it’s going to be one hell of a party. Too bad I have to leave early for my shift.” Crew took my hand, winding my arm through his, and started down the steps. I went with him.

  “I’ll make sure to save you some food,” I promised, even though I knew he was talking more about the other part of the feast—the drinks.

  “Forget the food. You just make sure to crawl into bed in this dress so I have a nice present to come home to tomorrow morning.” Crew’s hand drifted behind me, skimming beneath the hem of my dress. Then he spanked my butt hard enough to make me flinch. “Panties gone.”

  He was waiting for some kind of confirmation from me, so I managed a smile and made sure everything was back in place when we made it to the sidewalk.

  It was like the news of Brecken’s return had turned him into an insatiable organism that couldn’t get enough sex. There hadn’t been a night in the past two weeks when I hadn’t been awakened by him grunting above me, his powerful thrusts knocking the headboard against the wall until the drywall had cracked. In the morning, he’d bend me over the bathroom sink after crawling out of the shower. On his days off, he’d grab me as I was walking by and coax me to my knees in front of him, pulling at the roots of my hair as he took his pleasure with the acquiescence of my mouth. He couldn’t get enough of my body. He couldn’t spend enough of himself inside my body. He needed the reassurance that I was his, and all I could do was give it to him. Because there wasn’t another alternative.

  “What time is it?” Crew asked as we moved from the sidewalk onto the street.

  A few of the neighbors waved when they saw us. Everyone knew Crew on the block, and everyone loved him.

  “A little past three, I think,” I said, focusing on breathing as I scanned the crowd. He wasn’t supposed to arrive until around four, but still, I could feel something charging in the air.

  “Damn it. So much for draining a couple of beers before my shift. With my luck, it would probably be the same night the chief decided to do a random piss test on us.” Crew shook his head, clapping one of our neighbors on the back when he held out a beer for him as we passed.

  “Probably not the best idea to drink before you have to go to work. Especially when that works involves a gun and bad guys.” I said it in a teasing tone, but Crew must not have picked up on it.

  “I’ll drink when I choose. I’m a grown man. I don’t need your commentary on it.”

  My hand fell away from his elbow. I knew he was stressed about everything, but damn, he was already taking it out on me with his dick. He didn’t need to act like an actual dick too.

  “I’m going to check with Lisa to see if she needs any more help with the food. Will you check on—”


  “Yeah. On it,” he practically snapped, already moving toward the Johnsons’ yard, where a herd of kids were running through a sprinkler.

  Doing my best to put Crew’s mood behind me, I moved through the crowd. A few of the other detectives and officers’ wives were milling around, clustered together, but I didn’t know any of them very well. Crew hung out with the guys all the time, but he wasn’t as interested in the couples’ date nights. When I waved at the wives, a couple of them waved back while a couple of others looked like they were trying to place me.

  “Look at you. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Teresa, the checker from Gus’s, was going around the salad table, sliding serving utensils into the endless variety of dishes.

  “It’s nothing. Just an old dress I needed to dust the cobwebs off of.” I swept the front of the skirt with my hands.

  “Cobwebs or not, I’m sure one lance corporal won’t complain.”

  “Teresa!”

  “What? He probably hasn’t seen a woman in half a decade. I know you’re married and off the market, but a man can look.” She winked and waved one of the serving spoons at me. “And he’ll be lookin’.”

  “That’s what Crew said too.” I sighed, grabbing a few spoons to help.

  “Jealous?”

  “What do you think?”

  Teresa kept moving down the table. “Has he lifted his leg and marked you yet?”

  My nose wrinkled. “Not that I’m aware of?”

  “Then he’s not in the blind jealous category, so that’s not so bad.”

  When I stuffed a spoon into one of the coleslaws, I noticed something on my forearm. Unrolling the cuffs of the jacket, I kept moving down the line.

  “What about you? Nervous?”

  My breath came out all at once. “Blind nervous category.”

  Teresa laughed, wiping her hands on her apron when she reached the end of the table. “Have you peed on yourself yet?”

  My forehead creased. “No?”

  “Then that’s not so bad.” With a wave, she bustled into the crowd like she was on a mission.

  Teresa, Lisa, a few other ladies, and I had been responsible for putting the food together. I hadn’t planned on volunteering for any part of the party—because I knew how Crew felt about it, as much as he tried to disguise it—but when Lisa called me up one night, begging me to put together a list of Brecken’s favorite foods, I got sucked into it. Brecken’s family had long ago moved out of the house they’d rented when we’d all grown up, and no one knew how to get ahold of them anymore, so the task of putting together Brecken’s favorites fell at my feet. Who else knew him better than I had? The girl who’d almost married him. Before marrying one of his friends.

  God, how was I going to explain that? How was he going to take that?

  Would he even care? He’d spent six years in an Iraqi prison. I doubted his thoughts had been consumed by me and getting married when he got out of there. Survival. That had been on his mind. Not me.

  I knew enough about POWs to know he’d come back cracked in places that had been whole before. The point of those camps was to break the body to ultimately break the mind. From what I’d heard, they’d done their damnedest to break his body. How far had they made it into his mind? Part of the way? Halfway? All the way?

  I’d find out soon. Either way, whoever he was today, whatever was left of him from yesterday, I’d find out.

  I heard his arrival before I saw it. The hoots of children, the buzz of voices, the drum of shoes on asphalt, the echo of hands applauding. While everyone moved toward the black sedan that had just rolled up at the end of the block, my feet melted into the street, the courage I’d broken from my reserves with them.

  The crowd converged around the car like a swarm, voices cheering, hands still clapping, kids thrusting little flags into the bright blue sky.

  It was too much for me. Stimulation overload. I couldn’t imagine how he felt. If he felt anything. My hand covered my stomach as the crowd erupted in a surge of noise as I could just make out a head break above the herd. It wasn’t buzzed like it had been before, but it wasn’t as long as it had been in that picture of his rescue.

  I knew it was Brecken. It might have only been the top couple inches of his head, but I knew. He’d always stood above any crowd, for more reasons than just his height.

  He didn’t move for a while, probably unable to thanks to the swarm circling him, vying for photos, handshakes, and autographs. My heart ached right then, enough to make me gasp. I hadn’t realized it still resided in my chest until that moment. I was certain it had flown off to Iraq with him, but now it was back, hurting in my chest like it was struggling for life.

  I stood there for I didn’t know how long, waiting. For what, I didn’t know but waiting just the same. The crowd finally dispersed, though it was only thanks to a couple of uniformed police officers making a hole just big enough for Brecken to emerge from.

  My lungs collapsed when I saw him. All of him. Nothing between us. No cameras. No screens. No frames of glass. He looked exactly as I remembered—that was the first thought I had as he broke through the crowd.

  A moment later, I took off the glasses of my youth and first love and realized he didn’t look anything like I remembered.

  The fundamentals were still there: same height, same shade of brownish-blond hair, same blue eyes, but that appeared to be all that was the same.

  When he took a couple more steps, I realized he was walking with a limp. He was trying to hide it, but he favored his right leg with every step. His gaze wandered for a minute, staring at the houses lining the street like he was trying to remember them. When he made it to the gray one beside me, his focus changed.

  One hundred feet back, hundreds of people gathered around him, a lifetime of consequences circling me, when his eyes found mine, I felt life rush into every vein. Energy charged into every nerve ending, power surfaced in every muscle fiber. Like I was present for my own resurrection, I felt him bring me back to life, one broken step at a time.

  His eyes never wavered. His trajectory never varied. He moved toward me like he was taking the final steps in a six-year journey to get here.

  I didn’t notice the figure approaching from the corner of my eye. I didn’t hear him coming either. His hand ensnaring mine was hard to miss though.

  My chest felt like it was petrifying when I witnessed the look that cast over Brecken’s face right then. His feet stopped moving, his body freezing as his eyes roamed from where my hand was encased inside another’s, up to see who it was beside me.

  It was quick. It was fleeting. But I didn’t miss it. The look that settled into Brecken’s face when he saw Crew beside me, holding my hand, his wedding band catching the light of the sun. Apparently there had been something left to break in Brecken Connolly, because I witnessed it shatter right there on the street we used to race our bikes down as kids. The same street where he’d pulled me into the shadows to kiss me until we both felt the world fall away beneath our feet.

  In that moment or two it took him to recover, I felt a lifetime pass. A lifetime I’d planned on and had to run a knife across.

  When he started moving again, his steps were heavier, like he was dragging something behind him. The whole time though, his eyes never looked away from mine. It was like he wanted me to see. Wanted me to know.

  The crowd stayed back a ways, some of them trying to focus on something other than the ghost moving toward me.

  Beside me, Crew broke the spell. “Fuck me. That’s what six years in an Iraqi prison camp will do to a soldier.” A low whistle echoed from his lips as he watched Brecken approach.

  The closer Brecken got, the more I felt the ground beneath me firm up, so I was standing on it instead of sinking through it. The closer he got, the stronger I felt. Maybe that was because I knew that to get through this, I couldn’t fake strength this time—I’d need the real thing. The same kind that had gotten him through the past six years, I guessed.


  Brecken stopped a ways in front of us, staring through the distance between us with a furrowed brow. I would have said something—I should have said something—but my throat was clogged with a ball of emotion. The same rainbow of emotion I’d been warring with ever since finding out the first boy I loved was still alive.

  He wasn’t in his fancy marine clothes like he’d worn at the celebration in Washington. Instead, he was in a long-sleeve dress shirt and pair of slacks. I couldn’t help noticing that we were the only people in long sleeves out here in the sweltering heat. The only people looking like they were trying to hide, or actually hiding, something. It was so strange to see him with hair longer than a fraction of an inch. His aunt had started cutting it short when he was in grade school as a means of keeping it simple, and the marines had cut it shorter.

  He was thin. Even though his clothes tried to disguise it, he’d lost probably thirty to forty pounds of the bulk he’d been carrying around ever since puberty, when the rest of the boys would have killed to have a muscle bulge, or moderately display, in their bicep. He still stood tall, though his shoulders seemed to fold forward more than before, his skin a shade of alabaster only a person who’d seen little, if any, of the sun in years could attain, and his eyes … they were hazy, cloudy almost. Still blue, still able to look right through me, but changed. Different. Like someone else was looking at me behind those eyes.

  “God, this is awkward.” Crew cleared his throat as the silence dragged on between the three of us. Stepping aside, he lifted an arm at me. “Hug her, man. It’s okay.”

  Brecken’s jaw worked when Crew motioned at me. When Brecken’s eyes reached mine, there was a question in them. I answered it by moving closer, my arms already falling open, tears already raining down on the inside. He limped forward a step, then another to meet me, his own arms opening, welcoming me. As I stepped into the border of his embrace, I felt the heaviness of the past, the guilt of my mistakes, slip away. His arms didn’t feel the same as they formed around me, but the feeling that came with them felt exactly the same.