Daylight's coming. He knows he's going to regret not getting his rest while he can. It's late, and tomorrow he'll have to return to the hell of shouting and death and fires that burn out all the good in the world. He'll have to go back to that hell filled with bullets that take away his brothers-in-arms, and downtime with nothing but his own demons to occupy his mind. His arms tighten instinctively around the soft, warm body in his arms. He takes a deep breath, hoping that with the scent of home and sweetness he'll also be able to somehow inhale her. Because she's the opposite of war, she's everything that's good and light and hope and sugar with a hint of spice, and he doesn't deserve such perfection, but he has it anyways. He's lucky enough to have her smile, the one that puts everything wrong in the world right again, her eyes, clear-bright-beautiful, shining beacons for him on a rainy day. Everything that puts to contrast the stark, cold, and dark place they call Earth, and the one who holds his heartbeat in the warmth of her embrace. He's the luckiest guy in the world.
And he knows it. So instead of getting a good night's rest on his last night in their shared bed, he makes himself stay up and stay awake. Forces his eyes to stay open, all the better to take her in. He wishes he could open up his chest and keep her there, feel her burning out the nightmares and blood-spattered cries of pain-death-horror. But he can't, so he holds her as close to himself as he can. Feels his rough skin greedily leech heat from her soft body, her small form curled up perfectly in his arms. The soft puff-puff of her breath, the sure and steady beat of her heart. The reason he lives, his world, his entire fucking universe.
He wants to weep, knowing he's going to have to leave her soon. Leave their cozy bedroom and her perfection and her beauty. The sky's already starting to brighten, the stars burning out the moments that he's going to carry in his heart to protect against the boys with dirty skin and haunting eyes toting around guns bigger than they are. Tries to forget the cold heaviness of his own heart in his chest as he closes his eyes and squeezes the trigger.
He wants to stay, wants to reach out with his mind and tug the dark fabric of this night back around them. He remembers that as a little boy he was afraid of the dark and wants to laugh. Now the dark is all that he wants, she's all that he wants, all that he ever and can ever want, and he's seen so much worse than make-believe monsters hiding underneath his bed and if he could he would stay forever in this bed with her adorable little sleep-face, her angelic expression. Somebody, he think-plead-prays, anybody, please just slow this down, let me hold her a little longer. This is too hard, nobody should be forced to do this, to leave her to wake to a cold bed alone for the next who-knows-how-many-months. But he'll have to go, slip away in the daylight leaving her with a soft kiss to the forehead. He signed up for this, to protect her from the big scary world in any way he can. Even if that any way is the cold metal of his weapon and the soft clink of his dog tags against his breastbone.
Swallowing the lump of his heart that's bursting with feelings for the beautiful woman who had somehow deemed him worthy of her care and her love.
We both knew this day would come. All along, our last night. He starts to slowly slip away from her as much as it physically pains him to do this. Gets to his feet as slowly as he can, stalling as the first few rays of early morning sun shine through the window to illuminate his world. I will leave, I will leave, he promises himself. I just need this last memory to keep me going. This is why I'm fighting, this, this, this. He drills it into his brain, etches in every last detail and wrinkle of her sleep-clothes. With a heavy sigh, a soft but lingering kiss and the emptiness where his heart used to be, he tugs on his clothes and grabs his duffel. At the door of their bedroom he looks back at the angel who keeps his heart and soul one last time, then turns the icy doorknob and leaves before he breaks down to his knees and can't.
In the quiet stillness of the night, he lay down on the bare dirt. In the midst of a warzone, it was as safe as he could get, and there was something almost peaceful about the downtime. After rechecking his gun for the hundredth time, he sighed and flopped back down. Looked like it was gonna be another night of a whole fat wad of nothing. He knew he should be thankful. Boredom was better than the alternative. He'd take staring off into space over the danger of ambush any day. But downtime could be worse than the brief moments of action in that it wore down on you. Constantly having to be alert and wary, never being able to relax completely. Isolated with your unit with nothing to entertain you but memories of bloodshed and screaming.
He pulled the crinkled and worn picture out of his pocket. It had travelled with him ever since he had to leave her, a constant reminder of just why he was out here. He could barely make out the image in the dark, but he knew her face by heart anyways. It was just nice to have a physical connection to her, even if it was only a photo that had clearly seen better days. He looked up at the stars, imagining her bright smile and warm eyes, playing with the worn, plain silver ring on his finger.
Letting his hand, with the picture still in it, fall over his chest, he lost himself in his memory of going home for the blissful leave and soaking up every last drop of her attention. He couldn't get enough of her presence, so very much there. He knew he had to get his fill during those amazing days, because he'd have only those memories to carry with him over his deployment. The pain of their last night was eclipsed by far of her, her, her. Of course, there were brief moments when the unit had the pleasure of being able to webcam with the ones who meant the most to them, but they were too short and too far in between. Besides, having her intoxicating presence there with him couldn't possibly be compared to having to see her pixelated, distorted image on a computer screen.
He sighed; reminding himself he couldn't afford one minute less of precious, precious sleep. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? He had to be ready. He had to be able to defend himself and his brothers-in-arms. Had to be able to get back and kiss her. Had to get back to her.
He closed his eyes and dreamt of her.
A few days later, she of the bright smile and warm eyes was breaking down. The words kept repeating over and over in her ears, but she couldn't hear them, not really.
Because he just couldn't be dead.
No way. Impossible. The fog of denial was buzzing in her ears, white noise protecting her from the harsh reality. No, no, no, no, no. Not dead. No way. Can't be. He isn't. No. Just no. She didn't even notice the tears streaming down her face, couldn't hear her own ragged sobs. She curled up into a ball against the wall and rocked herself back in forth. She shook her head violently; trying to deny it so hard it didn't exist anymore. Maybe if she denied and wished hard enough, he would come back to life.
She could feel the ghost of his warm, comforting touch on her shoulder. See him crouching down in front of me with soft, kind eyes. Hear him telling her comforting words, gently soothing her the way only he could. Hush, now. It'll all be alright. I'm right here beside you. We'll make it through. She looked up, only to see nothing but air. Another round of sobs, her face buried in her arms.
She didn't move. She wouldn't have ever moved if he hadn't appeared. Talked to her with that honeyed voice of his, urging her through basic routines needed for survival. Taking care of her even in…she couldn't say it, not even a week later. She didn't return any calls. Unplugged her phone after the first few days. She liked to think he was just away…away she could deal with. Pretended he was still out on deployment. Only, she just didn't have a date to count down to.
She tried not to think too much. Mainly, she just tried to ease the hurt a little. The deep, aching pain. It was like instead of him, it was her heart that had perished. She'd cried herself out that first day. After the shock. She just felt weary, bone-tired now. And grief. Always the grief. She almost wished she still had tears, if only to have the cathartic experience of the physical manifestation of her pain.
She carried around the photo everywhere. Their favorite one, shot candidly. He was turned three-quarters to the camera, a brilliant smile on his face. Her answering smile was thrown over her shoulder as she carried on a conversation to someone standing on the cameraperson's right. The look, the one they always shared, captured and immortalized forever. It said everything. It was their own secret language, communication without any words. But more than anything, it said 'I love you'.
I love you, did you take out the trash?
Of course I did. Love you.
Thank you, honeybee. I can't live without you.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
No matter how much she tried to pretend everything was still the same, she was only deluding herself. Her body knew instinctively that a huge chunk of her was carved out. Gone. Missing.
Her heart had been ripped out in the same moment his had stopped beating.
His funeral, though, was unavoidable. She wore all black, a color that she'd never understood before but now realized was the very epitome of the grief she felt. The gaping hole in her that only he would ever be able to fill was just like a black hole, unavoidable and all-consuming. She cried through the whole thing, more black, black, black, sliding down her cheeks. Evidence of her attempt to hide the ugly sorrow from him, her last attempt to look as beautiful as he deserved. With every shot fired in honor of his death she could only flinch and sob harder, imagining how he must've felt when the brightest flame she'd ever seen was snuffed too early and too harshly.
That night, she curled up around that picture, comforting herself with what little she had left of him. Wearing his shirt, hugging his pillow, trying not to break apart at the seams. Tears slipped out, blurring her vision, and she quickly wiped them away, not wanting to lose his image the way she'd lost him. This happened night after night, while she went through the motions like a robot. Soon, his scent was slipping away from his clothes, but she still found comfort in being closer to him. Even if it was something as small as this.
She had considered joining him in the land of the dead. Many times. But she just couldn't bring herself to do it. He would appear, his voice low and soft in her ear, telling her to live for the both of them. And she just couldn't deny him that.
So night after night, she let herself hurt. The pain was still as raw and aching as it had been that first week. By now, the photo was worn and crumpled, but she still kept it with her. Still fell asleep tracing his face with her thumb.
Still lived for the nights, when she dreamt of him.
That night, his face was clearer than it had ever been. His smile, bright and sunny, as he laughed with her. The dream was filled with his laughter, and all she could tell of the surroundings were that it was bright and sunny and she felt warm for the very first time in too long of a while and she didn't know if it was the sun or his laugh. She drew closer, following the beautiful, hope-love-everything of him as he drifted farther and farther away. But she followed him deeper and deeper into this lovely warmth, this light so bright it stung her eyes but she didn't care. She couldn't take them off of him, his eyes happy and carefree and not at all like the ones she'd seen before when he thought she couldn't. His thousand-yard stare, the one that told her that he wasn't really there with her but rather in the nightmares he woke shouting from. He looked younger and no longer tormented by the death of his comrades, and it was intoxicating. She couldn't get enough and kept trying to reach out and touch him but by the time his warm, rough, skin was under the very tips of her fingers everything was very, very, bright and then very, very dark.
The next thing she saw was him, close and everywhere. It'd been too long since she'd felt the comforting weight of his arms around her and this time she cried happy tears. This time the emotion filling up her body and spilling out the seams was pure, blind, joy.
She was laid to rest right next to him under the tree they'd said their vows. There were only a few people at her funeral, the same that had awkwardly hung back as they saw her collapse and implode at his. They shook their heads at the cruel fate of the two whose love had seemed like a force more neverending than gravity, but smiled at the thought that they were together again. That somewhere up above they were continuing that blinding love.
"You know," said one thoughtfully, "The coroner said her heart just gave out. But she was the most health-minded people I know. That girl died of a plumb old broken heart, if you ask me. Those two are up in the clouds holdin' each other close right about now, and she is so much better off there than down here."
The man she was talking to was an older gentleman of few words, but he knew truth when he heard it. Still, he felt he needed to say something. So when he got up to give his eulogy a few moments later, he held back the tears he would shed later for his departed daughter and simply, gruffly, said the following:
"My little girl loved that boy with all her heart, and that's the reason we're standing here today. Love. Love so bright it puts the daylight to shame."