Chapter summary: Wait. What? She isn't assigned to Schofield Barracks? She lied to me? Okay, why is the room spinning like that? That's not good, is it?

The next few hours were a whirl of boredom and waiting, but I didn't notice the time passing at all, because I was in a light-headed fog.

There wasn't really anything wrong with me, though, so after being stitched up and given a pain-medication prescription I was free to go, unless I wanted to check into the "hospital hotel" at what? one-thousand dollars a night? No, thank you.

One thing floored me. Lauren had left her information at the hospital for payment, listing me as a dependent. Her address was a military one, listing her regiment and company, with an APO AE with a 9-digit zip code.

I didn't know what "APO AE" meant ... maybe "Army Post Office"?

She was going to get socked with a huge bill when she arrived in Afghanistan. I wanted to change the billing information to me, but I suddenly got super-embarrassed and felt everyone was looking at me, and how do I explain the change? A change of address? A change of person?

I left the hospital quickly, blushing, and angry at myself that I let her push me around, using my own shame against me.

It was almost as if she knew it would play out like this.

And she told me not to "play" her, but I was the one who felt played. Knifed, yes, but played, somehow.

I took the bus home.

When I went up to my bedroom, dead tired (bleeding out, medicated and stitched up can do that to a girl, I guess), I got the second shock of my life that morning ... now afternoon.

On my hope chest were five twenty-dollar bills, crisp, probably, I guessed, money Lauren withdrew right from the ATM for her night out.

I ... was ... pissed!

The hell? What was that for? Was she paying for her drinks? This was way too much money! Or did it imply payment for something else? Services rendered? There were no services rendered! I told her I wasn't like that, so nothing happened! Not that I know of. Did she take advantage of me while I was asleep? And then leave a tip afterwards?

I glared at the money for a second, panting, gripping my hands to tight fists.

Then I forced my eyes away, and tried to get a grip.

Maybe she was just guestimating how much she owed for the drinks last night? I mean it was way too much, but she never did see the bill, so how could she know how much she drank, and how much it was?

Maybe that was it.

I opened my top drawer and angrily swept the money in and closed the drawer with a snap.

As if I needed her money! I was doing just fine, thank you! Did she think I was some charity case!

God, Sophie! I shouted at myself, you're really going off the deep end! Get a grip!

I really was, wasn't I?

But I couldn't get ... everything out of my head.

I couldn't get her out of my head, how she was flying off to Afghanistan to get herself killed!

And now I knew why she volunteered to go.

I raced to my laptop and looked up how I could contact her.

She left her address, she left her commander.

She didn't leave her phone number. Maybe she assumed I didn't want to call her. Maybe she didn't want me to.

I called Schofield barracks.

"Good afternoon, Schofield barracks main office, Private Johnson speaking, may I help you please, sir or ma'am?"

"Uhn, ..." the polite, professional tone of the soldier on the other side of the line confused me. I didn't know what I was supposed to say.

"Um," I floundered, "I'm trying to reach a soldier stationed there?"

"Yes, ma'am," the soldier replied, not in the slightest bit ruffled. "May I have the soldier's name, please?" she asked coolly.

"Yes," I said, finally having an answer I could give and not feel like a fool. "It's, lessee," I said, looking at the paper Lauren gave me, "Ess-pee-see Lauren Mallory?"

"Yes, ma'am," the soldier said, "Specialist Lauren Mallory, I'll look up her company and provide you with that information."

"Oh, I have that already. She's with the ..." I checked the paper again, "1st squadron, 91st Calvary Regiment."

The line went quiet.

"Um ..." I essayed.

"Ma'am," the private said, "91st isn't stationed at Schofield barracks. Are you sure you have the correct information?"

I didn't understand what she just said to me. "What?" I asked.

"Schofield houses the 25th infantry," the girl explained patiently, "not the 91st calvary." She paused. "Are you sure you have the soldier's information correct?"

I couldn't believe it. "But she said ..." I breathed, and then I broke off.

I could not believe it. She deliberately lied to me? Why? Why would she do that? She photocopied her military ID, so there'd be no way that I couldn't find out her command eventually.

"She said," I tried again, taking several deep breaths to calm myself. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve angrily.

My neck and shoulder twinged at the sudden movement, and I winced.

"She said," I said, my voice quavering and my body trembling, "that she was stationed at Schofield barracks and was being shipped out to Afghanistan ... today, in fact."

"Oh," the soldier said in understanding, "we do quarter soldiers being deployed, so she's not stationed here, but may have been here on TDY."

I breathed out a huge sigh. I didn't know what 'TDY' meant, but I did know it meant that Lauren was actually at Schofield, and wasn't lying to me.

"Oh, okay," I said, relieved.

Suddenly, I had to sit down.

I did, ... kind of. I fell to the floor.

Then everything went black.

...

"Miss?"

I blinked. My throat felt God-awful. I wanted to swallow, but there was nothing there.

"Miss," a Hawaiian man was standing over me. Paramedic.

I could tell he was Hawaiian, he was as wide as he was tall, and he emanated the patient, gentle nature that only Hawaiians can.

"Miss," he said again, "are you all right?"

"Where am I?" I asked stupidly.

"You are home, miss," he said. He gave my address.

I was lying on the floor, the phone still gripped in my hand. I looked at it; the line was dead.

I tried to prop myself up.

"Easy, miss, easy," the man said, resting his hand as large as my chest on my shoulder.

My uninjured shoulder.

"Thirsty," I whispered.

The man looked up and nodded to his partner who ambled over to my kitchenette and got a glass of tap water.

I noticed I had an IV in.

"What's this," I looked at the tube.

"Sugar water," he said, "it's standard, miss, to treat hypoglycemia and dehydration."

"Ah," I said.

His partner propped my head up and gave me the water in small sips.

"Miss," the man said, "I need your permission to transport you to ER."

"Wahiawa hospital?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"I just came from there." I said.

He was quiet, then nodded. "I have your permission to transport you to the hospital?"

I closed my eyes for a second. "There's nothing wrong with me. I just fainted, right?"

The man frowned. "I can't give a prognosis, miss. That's why you should go to the ER."

"Yeah," I said. Of course he couldn't tell me I was all right, because if I wasn't he'd get his ass sued off.

"I have your permission?" he asked in clarification.

"No," I said. "I'll be fine. I just need rest, is all."

And I didn't need to be doing was to be calling Lauren and getting all worked up about where she was or wasn't stationed.

He looked unhappy.

"How did you ...?" I began to ask. "Oh," I said, "they called 911, right?"

"Yes, miss," he said, "we were routed here on an emergency response call."

I sighed, leaning my head back. "Tired," I mumbled, "can I go to bed now, please?"

The EMT looked more displeased. "Please let the drip finish," he scolded.

"'Kay," I said.

It took a while. The EMT removed the IV, and provided support for me to clamber into bed.

"What time is it?" I asked weakly.

The EMT checked his watch. "Four-fourty-five," he said.

Of course. Opening time. Ted'd be walking over already.

"Uh," I said.

"Miss," he said, "I strongly recommend you go to ER when you are able or you receive a consultation from your doctor."

"Okay," I said, "thank you." I was eager to get them out of my place. I had to open up the bar, ... and I had to pee.

It actually took a while. The Hawaiian wrote out receipt for services rendered. An emergency response? One hundred fifty bucks! And he had me sign and initial that I declined transport to the hospital.

I did so from my bed.

"Please do rest and stay hydrated, miss," the large Hawaiian EMT said with concern in his voice.

"'Kay," I said, and put my head on my pillow.

I was relieved to see them go and waited for them to drive off, their red-red lights flashing then disappearing as they cut them off as they drove off.

I sighed a big, tired sigh and clambered out of bed, staggering, almost crawling to the bathroom.

...

I unlocked the front door to the bar.

Ted was standing right outside, of course.

"Everything okay?" he asked, frowning with concern.

"Just dandy," I said, and turned to the bar, holding myself carefully erect.

I pulled him a Blue Moon without asking.

"Nice scarf," he said.

"Thanks," I slid his glass across the bar to him.

No, not like the Westerns, silly, just across from my end to his, all of, oh, one foot.

"Colorful ...," he remarked, then grasped at words: "shiny. Is it silk?"

Wasn't Ted just the fount of words today?

"Yeah," I said, "I guess."

Ted shrugged and took a swig of his beer. "It's nice. Makes you look pretty."

I gave him a glare of drop it! but then I sneaked a peek in the mirror.

I did look pretty, I guess. Huh.

But, much more importantly, the cut and stitches were hidden from view.

"Got a date?" he asked.

I stamped my foot and tsked. "Ted! No, okay?"

Men! Could they, like, ever take a hint?

"Uh," he said, "okay," and took another sip of his beer, turning to the TV.

Whew. Okay, that conversation was done finally, thank God!

I reflected that it was probably the longest one we had in a long time.

I had to sit down.

I circled around the bar and sat at the short side of the 'L.'

Ted looked over at me. "Serving yourself tonight?" he asked and smirked.

That was Ted's version of a 'funny.'

I rolled my eyes. "Maybe," I said.

"Uh," he said, his eyes returning to the TV.

...

Actually tonight was a busy night, unfortunately. Regulars and non- kept coming in and staying and ordering, and I was kept busy, and was, at the same time, nearly dead on my feet.

As the evening drew to a close, I was almost screaming inside myself: I was so tired I was in agony. When it was closing time, I nearly propelled Ted, 'Old Faithful,' out the door, and it took everything I had in me to see him off instead of just turning and slamming the door shut.

But I'm a Filipino, and you wait at the door to make sure a person gets on their way safely. It'd be rude to do otherwise. And Filipinos would rather die than be rude.

If you were rude, it shamed your parents, and if you shamed your parents ...

Well, you just never did that. You couldn't.

Ted left, looking a little hurt that I was so eager to close the bar exactly on the hour.

I actually did crawl up the stairs, leaving everything at the bar as it was. I'd take care of the mess tomorrow, I promised myself.

I hit the bed hard, and was out like a light.

As I was falling asleep, I cursed myself. I didn't get in touch with Lauren. I didn't get to tell her to take her God-damn money back.

I didn't get to tell her good bye.

A/N: Actually this wasn't the chapter I was supposed to write. But then this moment came and hit me so hard that it was like the fainting spell that hit Sophie.

She tried to contact Lauren and tell her off, ... and she couldn't.

The military ... well, sometimes bureaucracy is more difficult to navigate than you think it would be, and what happens when you can't tell off the girl you're pissed at?

Ooh! Nothing like a little unfulfilled pissed-off-telling-off tension to keep the home fires stoked, huh?

Actually, it's called 'UST,' and it's not about being 'pissed-off' or about 'telling-off.' It's about ... something else entirely.

You can look it up.

p.s. Okay, this has nothing to do with this story, but just so you know: it is so frikken cold outside with this wind-chill bringing it down to double-digits negative, that the walk home from the bus stop tonight, I thought my tits were about to freeze off, and I think every guy on the bus thought I was really ... interested in him. If you know what I mean. I wasn't, okay?

p.p.s. AND I just realized a nagging something: this story is a lot like the story A Proper Send Off on literotica-dot-com, and I only realized it after I finished this chapter and then titled it. The thing is: girl, bar, soldier, deployment, both stories have these same elements, but, please bear with me here, they aren't the same story, they aren't the same characters (at all), their confidence is different and their pasts and motivations are (very) different. But credit where credit is due: A Proper Send Off is one of the best stories on literotica-dot-com, and you should go and read it. I'm sending the author, SweetestThing, a note/apology/explanation for my story, and I hope she understands. Her story is awesome. And different than mine. And awesome. Go read it.