Jack was fucking livid.
He made damn sure Aubrey knew.
In the kitchen, she braced herself, hearing the door slam shut and heavy footsteps tramp inside. Jack stood in the middle of the living room, meeting Aubrey's gaze as she hand-washed dishes. He tossed a canvas bag to the floor, shedding his sweat-soaked fatigue jacket. The tingling started in her fingers, spreading to her chest, seeing his eyes swollen and red.
He'd been crying.
When Jack got so angry he cried, that's when he was most dangerous. Those stains down his cheeks were the palpable evidence of his breaking point.
Aubrey swallowed hard, trying to rid the cottonmouth while the pits of her shirt dampened with sweat despite the shiver jolting down her spine. She plunged her hand into the pool of hot, soapy water, curling her fingers around the steel handle of the chef's knife she used to chop veggies.
"Hi, baby," she said, soft and sweet. "You hungry? Dinner's almost do—"
Jack snapped, ripping his t-shirt off, "Yes, I'm fucking hungry!"
He balled it up and chucked it at Aubrey. She dropped the knife in the knick of time, snatching the foul-smelling garment before it smacked her in the face. Bending at the waist, Jack untied his boots and kicked them off, stripping from the rest of his uniform. In his briefs, Jack stepped over the pile of clothes and walked into the kitchen.
Aubrey tossed the shirt in front of the washing machine to her right, watching every move he made. The way he slithered around her, Aubrey realized this was a DEFCON-1 situation. Their personal Cold War coming to a head, the both of them one false move away from launching the nuclear missiles.
From the freezer, he grabbed the bottle of vodka. It was the third night this week alone he's gone for the booze after coming home, and that wasn't counting last night when he stumbled in after being at the bar.
She put up with his antics; isn't that what a good wife does? At least, that's what her mother told her. But Aubrey wasn't her mother—the constant drinking was where she drew the line. She refused to accept incoherent ramblings and falling down drunk as normal.
Any other day Aubrey would have pussyfooted around the situation, done everything possible to defuse the situation, but she wasn't in the mood to be discreet.
"You're not supposed to be mixing alcohol with your meds."
"Don't," warned Jack, tossing the cap on the counter. "Just… don't. I'm, uh, I'm not in the mood to hear it from you."
Aubrey bobbed her head, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. She turned on the faucet to rinse her hands of the itchy soap suds, then dried them as she backed out of Jack's way. He'd struck the match to light the fuse on her capricious temper, making Aubrey more desperate than ever to get away from him before it caught and she exploded. Letting Jack ride the wave of his internalized fury was the only way to make it out alive.
Taking a swig from the bottle of vodka, Jack waltzed to the front closet and opened it. Aubrey clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes closed, taking in a sharp breath as she realized what he was looking for.
"Where's my service uniform? It's not in here."
"I wasn't able to get it."
One thing. He asked her to do one fucking thing for him all week, and somehow she fucked it up.
Muttering under his breath, Jack jerked the closet closed and marched into the living room. He turned on the XBOX and grabbed his favorite controller, plopping down on the couch to relieve some stress with a little Grand Theft Auto before dinner.
Unless he's on the battlefield with foggy, underhanded rules of engagement, beating and killing people was frowned upon. Losing his mind in the world of video games, where there were no rules mostly, was how Jack stayed sane.
The first thing he did was beat a man on the Miami sidewalk with a baseball bat. The entire time Jack wishing that's what he could have done to the conniving, backstabbing snake who was Lieutenant Elliot. How did a man like Elliot sleep at night after throwing every one of his NCOs under the bus for a royal fuck up he made? The only reason the NCOs were clobbered with muscle failing, vomit-inducing PT, all the while being screamed at, was because they refused to allow the asinine mistake of a commissioned officer to fall on the lower-enlisted.
"And why not? I need it for next Saturday."
While he kept on with the game, Aubrey weighed the risks and rewards of unplugging the television. He always fucking did this—occupied his attention with booze and violent video games when he wasn't interested in entertaining a conversation with her anymore. Aubrey didn't think it was asking too much to be the one holding his attention when there were issues needing to work out.
"You didn't leave me the ticket for the dry cleaners!" she said, turning back around to check on the steaming rice. "It's an Army uniform; they wouldn't give it to me without the stupid ticket because I'm not you!"
"… I didn't leave you the ticket," he muttered. Taking another pull from the bottle, Jack threw his feet up onto the coffee table. "So, it's my fault, hmm? Look, Cupcake, if you're going to stand there and point out all of my wrong-doings, you're really going to piss me off."
Lights and alarm bells went off in Aubrey's head. Something must have happened on base, leaving Jack forced to take the fall for some-sort of mistake. Her pointing out his mistake leading to her not being able to get his dress uniform from the dry cleaner—over a week before he needed the damn thing—would have left him only mildly irritated any other day.
Still, knowing that didn't change the fact Aubrey's patience with him was already stretched dangerously thin given his actions over the last handful of weeks. He made her skin crawl, the itch was overwhelming, and she didn't know how much longer she'd be able to go without scratching.
"I'm going to piss you off? You're the one who started looking for a fight the moment you walked through the door."
"Aubrey." His voice was a rough growl. That was normally enough for her to get the idea that she needed to back the hell off and leave him alone. "Just shut up, and focus on the chow."
Shutting off the burner under the pot on the stove, Aubrey stomped into the living room and stood beside Jack. She rested her hands on her hips, the thick, blue vein on the side of her neck bulging.
He didn't even have the basic courtesy to pause the game and look at her. Aubrey pushed aside the urge to rip the controller out of Jack's hand and throw it against the wall. If she did, she knew Jack would use the other one to break her teeth.
"No, you don't get to come home upset about something that happened at work and then take it out on me. If you'd like to talk about it like an adult, I'll be more than happy to. I'm not going to fight with you over some petty bullshit. I'll pick the fucking thing up tomorrow." She kicked his feet off the table. "And how many times have I told you not to put your fucking feet on the table?! I paid a fortune for it!"
Planting his feet on the floor, Jack straightened his posture. He took a sip from the bottle, focusing on how the soft fibers of the shag carpet felt between his toes. If he kept his energy on something mundane like that, he'd have a fighting chance to calm down before this blew up worse than it needed to.
The bottle in his hand, Jack looked down at it, then gazed at Aubrey through his peripheral. It took everything he had not to wrap his fingers around the frosted neck and bash her across the face. Jack licked the corner of his mouth, the harsh pop the thick glass bottle would make once it collided with her cheek echoing deep in his ears. He wanted to hear to her cry like a wounded animal—she deserved every ounce of hurt for being the one to push him to this point in the first place.
But was she really?
He took a breath, hating how Aubrey oozed barbed resentment. It's astringent taste made it rough to swallow. Jack felt a tight squeeze around his neck when it hit him like a ton of bricks that it's not her who has been the problem.
It's him.
His head had been so high in the clouds, he stopped navigating real life. All he wanted was to be in Aubrey's embrace and beg her to make the flashbacks end. They've only been getting worse since the live-round training they had at the beginning of the week; the strong claws of his nasty past working extra hard to pull him down.
This time, Jack didn't have it in him to fight off the demons on his own. He needed Aubrey as much as he tried denying it, and yet finding the strength to ask for help was impossible. Demoralizing. Defeating. He's a soldier in one of the most well regarded infantry divisions of the entire armed forces. A hyper focused and disciplined, cold-blooded killer. How fucking pathetic that he needed Aubrey to hold him and tell him everything's going to be okay.
And keeping the secret of heading to Georgia for Ranger screening did nothing to help take the edge off. He couldn't keep it hidden for much longer, especially when she's been extra sweet after he told her about the plan to meet up with Davidson and his wife tomorrow night.
He has to get away from her.
Dropping the bottle on the table with a thud, Jack tossed the controller onto the cushion beside him.
Maybe a hot shower will clear his mind.
Bolting up to his feet, Jack walked to the bathroom without a single word, leaving Aubrey alone and dumbfounded.
Something was up.
No fucking way would Jack turn his cheek to her impulsively kicking him if he was in his right mind. She expected a sharp comment or a kick to the shin at the very least.
Collapsing onto the couch, Aubrey buried her face in her hands.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
The encouragement she tried to give herself failed to penetrate the armor she suited up into in preparation to go to war with Jack. Tears sputtered from her eyes, but Aubrey kept the sniffling to a minimum in case Jack was listening. She couldn't even let herself have a moment of weakness, too afraid he'd worm his way into one of her cracks and bring her foundation to the ground.
It's a phase. Well, that's what Aubrey had to believe. Jack's short fuse and the mood swings made her sick to her stomach. This was all too familiar to how he'd been acting before the bar fight. She ignored the signs for weeks that the combination of drugs the Army psychiatrist regimented weren't working anymore, not wanting to bring it up that perhaps it's time Jack made an appointment for an adjustment before he went down hill again. It would only be futile, anyway. Unlike the U.S. Army, Aubrey had nothing of value to hold over his head, threaten him with. If she told him she'd leave for good, Jack would file the divorce papers first. He didn't need her—she wasn't dumb. She wasn't even sure why he kept her around.
Not sure what else to do, Aubrey rose and hurried into the kitchen. She dug her cigarettes and lighter from their hiding spotsand grabbed her phone. Once she was in her coat and pulled on her boots, Aubrey headed out on to the balcony. The thin layer of snow crunched under her weight as she slid the door closed. Lighting a smoke, she called Sasha.
He answered on the third ring, opting for Russian rather than their mother tongue of English.
"Privyet, baby sister!" In the background, Aubrey heard the deep rumble of club music, distant chatter, and shots being poured. It was almost four in the morning in Moscow—a part of her hoped Sasha was sleeping but his love for vodka and pussy too often knocked business matters down a peg. "Vanya, Dmitri, davai... it's Aubrey. Is everything good? Is it Papa—is he okay?!"
Aubrey closed her eyes, imagining for a moment she was with Sasha in Russia. Thousands of miles from the troubles, her only worries being the way her favorite platform pumps pinched her toes while dancing, and whether the bottle service girl brought the right brands of booze to the table.
It wasn't worth it, she convinced herself. Jumping on the first flight East was the worst thing she could do. Not only would Jack have a stroke, but her father would fly to Moscow too, and drag her home kicking and screaming.
Being responsible sucked.
"Everything's fine; Papa's fine…" Suddenly Aubrey couldn't remember why it was she called Sasha of all people, when what she wanted to do was blow off steam about Jack. "I haven't heard from you in like a week, so I just wanted to make sure you're still breathing is all."
That sounded somewhat convincing.
His rumbling laughter brought a genuine smile to Aubrey's face for the first time in months. Not since the holidays, when she and Sasha were stoned out of their minds during their mother's annual Western Christmas party.
"Much to Papa's dismay,I'm still breathing. Please make me the happiest big brother in the world and tell me you're not calling at four in the morning just to check in, and that you're divorcing that husband of yours."
Aubrey rolled her eyes. She was over the tiresome power struggle between her father and brother, and wished that once and for all Sasha would let go of whatever it is, he harbored for Jack over moving her so far from home. She wished he'd understand they weren't children anymore; with almost a decade of marriage under her belt, she figured by now Sasha would realize Jack wasn't going anywhere soon.
"Nope," she said, taking a drag from her cigarette. "Still married."
"What a way to break my heart. You were meant for bigger and better things, Aubrey Nikolaevna. Not to be following some cyka from one hick town to another."
Sorry to disappoint.
"I'm hanging up now," she said.
"I'm sorry," groaned Sasha. Though there wasn't an ounce of remorse to be found in his words. "I didn't mean it. He's your husband and like Mama said, I need to respect the choices you've made, no matter how fucking stupid they are. Hey, one quick thing… Vanya wants to know if Jack is still afraid of firecrackers."
He cackled with drunken laughter.
"Do svidaniya, Aleksei."
Snapping her cellphone shut, Aubrey flicked her cigarette over the railing onto the snow-covered patch of lawn beneath their fourth-story balcony. Tears collected in the corners of her eyes. She hated him. Fucking despised Sasha for making Jack the butt of jokes when he didn't have a single clue of the sort of demons Jack wrestled on the daily.
As far as Aubrey was concerned, the only cyka in her life was Sasha. He's the bitch for always running to Moscow the second things didn't go his way in Gotham.
And Sasha wondered why she didn't seem to be in any hurry to move back home.
Pocketing her phone, Aubrey headed back inside. She locked the back door and shut off the XBOX and television; shed her coat.
As she strolled to the bathroom, Aubrey left a trail of clothes behind her. She pushed her way into the bathroom. The thick steam made it hard to breathe. Reaching behind her back, Aubrey unhooked her bra, dropping the emerald lace garment into the hamper.
"Took you long enough." Jack thrust open the curtain, popping his head out of the shower. The suds from his shampoo flowed down the sides of his face. He extended his hand to her, wriggling his fingers. "Get that fine ass in here, Doll Face."
An odd relief hit her like a wave at how he sounded like a cartoonish 1920s gangster. Aubrey couldn't help the stupid smile. She grabbed Jack's hand and climbed into the shower with him.
He stuck his tongue out at her before rinsing the rest of the shampoo from his hair. She wasn't sure what to make of the sudden shift in his mood. Maybe a few minutes alone was all he really needed.
Sasha's laughter still ringing loud in her ears, Aubrey caressed his smooth jaw.
"What happened today?"
He grabbed her wrist with one hand, then curled her fingers closed and kissed her knuckles.
"Jack?"
A million and one thoughts raced through Jack's mind. He locked his gaze with Aubrey's, all the while his lips grazed her knuckles again. Seeing the familiar comforting warmth in her eyes, Jack realized for the first time in so long he didn't need to be the strong one. She was stronger than he gave her credit for—she could handle anything he threw at her. And he was tired of carrying the weight on his shoulders.
He swallowed thickly, letting go of her wrist, his hands resting in the deep curve of her sides.
"We were doing flanking exercises, and Elliot fucked up, bad, because apparently at West Point learning how to read maps isn't part of the curriculum. When Major Bradly caught wind that we were technically operating in civilian territory, Elliot said it was the NCOs who messed up the maps. The slimy fuck just watched on as the rest of us got smoked."
Aubrey's heart fluttered. "This won't fuck with you getting promoted, will it?"
"No," he assured. Jack pulled Aubrey close and wrapped her in his arms. "We were following orders. There would have been way more hell to pay if we questioned him during the op. There's nothing for you to worry about." He pinched her ass. "Better to get these kinks out now, than when we're in the middle of a war zone."
Aubrey sighed, hands roaming his slick body. "I suppose you're right. But the more and more this shit keeps happening with him, it just… it makes me so nervous that his next fuck up will end a lot worse than you getting smoked."
Jack placed two fingers under Aubrey's chin, tilting her head.
"There won't be a next time," he said. "The moment our boots hit the sand in Iraq, I won't bite my tongue if I think Elliot's decisions will end up getting either myself or my men killed."
"You're only a Sergeant, Jack. There's no way your commanders will—"
"You let me worry about my commanders, okay? After what happened to Jonsey—" Jack's fingers dug into Aubrey's side with bruising force. The realization of how when they invaded Iraq, as Staff Sergeant he'd be responsible for an entire squad again was almost too much. "I promise I'll come home in one piece again."
Aubrey forced down the lump in her throat. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Jack."
Jack drove his hands into Aubrey's wet hair, crashing his mouth onto hers. He kissed her with a passion like none other; like he was pouring every unsaid I love you into her, afraid the opportunity will never present itself again.
When he pulled away, Aubrey licked the saliva off her bottom lip. He left her dizzy, disoriented. It was almost enough to make her forget about what they'd been talking about.
"I promise. I just need you to trust me."
Despite the knot in her belly, Aubrey wondered what other choice she had.
Not wanting to think about the future anymore, her tongue tickled his chest, licking his nipple and nipping it with her teeth.
Jack chuckled, "What are you doing?"
"Oh, nothing," she crooned. The faux-pureness in her voice brought his cock to life.
Live wires replaced his veins, electricity racing through Jack as her dainty fingers danced along his body. Every time she touched him, it never fails to make him antsy with anticipation. One of her hands slid over his ribcage, down his thigh. Jack planted his hand to the slick tile wall, and grabbed on tight to the shower-rod as she wrapped her hand around the length of his erection, stroking up and down.
Letting go of the shower-rod, Jack's hand drifted down her back, the curve of her thigh coming to a comfortable stop on her ass. He dug his long, slender fingers into the ample flesh, kneading.
Goddamn, he was going to miss this while in Iraq.
"Do you want something, Cupcake?"
"Perhaps." A wicked smile ghosted Aubrey's lips. She lowered down, her knees popping as they hit the bottom of the tub. "Oh, my, my… what do we have here," she teased, curling her fingers around the base of his springing cock, nails softly scratching through the dark, wiry hair. Her grip was just firm enough, and she stuck her tongue out, licking tenderly.
Jack's mouth hung open, losing himself in the pleasure of her handiwork and the warm water beating down his back. She gazed up to him—only arousing him more—closed her mouth and sucked, cheeks hollowing. His fingers dig into the wall, suppressing the itch to grab a fistful of her hair and push her until he prodded the back of her throat.
She swirled her tongue along the head, her wrist swiveling. The other hand roamed his thigh before she cupped and massaged his balls.
"Fuuucking hell, Aubrey," hissed Jack.
She blew him slow, her motions drawn out, turning him into a powder keg. Her head swam listening to his wanton mewls.
"That's it, baby…" he encouraged. Jack flung his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, and squirmed as she found the perfect rhythm, "… just like that."
Jack thrusted his hips forward, a desperate plea for Aubrey to relent on her excruciatingly lazy pace. She swallowed him whole without warning. The fullness of having Jack so deep made her gag in the best way.
When he opened his eyes, wiping the beads of water off of his face, he bit his lip. In the soft light, a mixture of glistening fluids dribbled down her chin. Big, watery doe eyes were staring back at him.
"You're so fucking beautiful on your knees for me," panted Jack. "C'mon, Cupcake, stick out your tongue for Daddy." Aubrey pulled Jack from her mouth with a pop, and she slapped the top of his cock along her flattened tongue as she continued to work his shaft. "Shit… Aubs, I'm gonna... I'm gonna c—"
Jack forgot how to breathe. His abdomen muscles tensed to the point they ached. The stars floating in his vision burst into supernovas so bright, they almost left him blind. Seeing the hot, milky ropes spurt and pool onto her eagerly waiting tongue only made Jack cum harder.
She closed her mouth and swallowed, holding on to Jack's sides for balance as she rose to her feet. Jack snapped his head back to rinse his face in the cold water now jutting from the shower-head. It helped ground him, bring his mind back to center. There wasn't a single doubt that Aubrey's mouth service was the only reason he wasn't feeling as stressed as he had been an hour ago.
Opening his mouth, Jack let the water pool inside to relieve the dryness. He let some of it trickle down his throat, but when he brought his head upright again, he spit most of it out. Gathering Aubrey in his arms, Jack pulled her in close. She stared up at him with unfocused eyes, her body limp against him. He ran his hand down the side of her face, her neck, grazed her collarbone, and cupped her breast. It was an animal response, the way Aubrey arched her back.
"That was... wow," he muttered, brushing his thumb along her nipple, making it hard.
Aubrey pushed her wet hair over her shoulders so it was out of her face. "I figured you could use a little stress relief." She winked. "Can we get out, please? I'm freezing… and starving. I think I can salvage the pilaf."
Jack wasn't quite ready for this closeness to end. Tonight was now or never to tell Aubrey about RASP, and it was safe to assume this would be the last time her beautiful lips were wrapped around his cock for quite some time.
He sighed, then pressed kisses to her cheeks, forehead. The tip of her nose.
"It's my fault dinners ruined, so let's get dressed and I'll whip us up some chow."
Aubrey's eyes sparkled.
"Pancakes?" she pleaded. "I love how you always get the edges crispy."
"For you, Cupcake—" Jack kissed her— "anything."
In all the years they've lived together, Aubrey was sure it wasn't until recently did Jack even figure out where the dirty dishes went. He was hiding something. Cooking and cleaning the kitchen was him trying to soften the proverbial blow, like how he'd showered her with affection and gifts the week before he broke the news to her about his decision to enlist the first time around.
"So—" he sloppily arranged the plates and cups in the dishwasher— "the week after my leave, I'll be heading down to Fort Benning. I shouldn't be gone for more than two, three days."
Aubrey's heart dropped into her stomach, a ferrous wave of nausea threatening to knock her down. When it came to Jack's career in the Army, Aubrey learned good things never happened in Georgia.
"Did—did you get orders there?"
Jack closed the dishwasher, resting his hip against the edge of the counter. This would be such an easier conversation if that were the truth. He contemplated telling her he did. It's not like that's a total lie.
It's now or never.
"Prescreening," he said. "For RASP."
"RASP?"
Aubrey's forehead crinkled, wracking the deepest parts of her brain to decode the vaguely familiar acronym. Jack stood still, watching her jaw drop into her lap, and eyes turn red and glassy as the puzzle pieces came together.
"Jack, no… Rangers? Y—you can't! They'll make you sign a new contract if you make it through."
If?
What the fuck did she mean by if?
Surviving the eight-week course wasn't a fleeting thought for him. It'd be hell, but he'd make it. Good to know she had such faith in his ability to graduate.
"I'm not seeing the downside to a new contract with the 75th. It'll be another six years of housing expenses being covered, plus I'll bring in an extra buck-fifty a month for jump pay. And, instead of only fifty-five dollars, my combat pay'll increase to over two-hundred, Aubs!"
Aubrey leaned back in the chair, never once breaking their eye contact. Her blood boiled, burning her alive from the inside-out.
He lied.
Every sugar-coated promise he spoon-fed to her was nothing more than an attempt to keep her pacified.
"You're un-fucking-believable. When were you planning on telling me? The day you're sworn in? I thought you were serious about us putting down roots somewhere and starting a family!"
"I was serious when we first started talking about it. You just—you caught me in a weak moment, Aubs; my career was slipping right through my fingers when you brought it up… when they charged me under the UCMJ, I thought it was all over for me. My new contract has a thirty-thousand-dollar bonus… it's money we need. You'd be okay with me turning that down?!"
"I couldn't give a shit about the money!" Bolting up, Aubrey rested her hands on her hips.
"That's easy for you to say! You're not the one laying awake at night trying to figure out how we're going to get out of the deep hole you've dug with credit card debt."
"A deep hole. Really?" mocked Aubrey. "Now who's being the dramatic one? It's like… fifteen grand. Every time my dad offers to give us the money to pay it off, you let your pride get in the way and turn him down."
Jack went lightheaded. The swelling indignation burst in his belly, pooling lava in his veins. He lunged towards Aubrey, hand balled into a fist, somehow finding the inner-strength not to punch the utter entitlement right out of her. Taking a step back, he rested his hands on top of his head, bouncing like a boxer in the ring.
"It's my pride getting in the way, hmm? Maybe it's that I know how to take responsibility for my actions, unlike you."
Realizing the dangerous corner she backed herself into, all Aubrey could do now is backtrack. Try to extinguish the fire she started. She was woozy from the rush of adrenaline, and thankful Jack didn't deliver on the slug she very much deserved. Shivering, Aubrey wrapped her arms around her middle.
Jack walked towards her.
"I'm so sorry, Jack—I didn't mea—"
He saw the flash of raw terror in her eyes when he backed her against the counter and rested his hands on either side, caging her in.
"That's the shit you're going to say to me when I was getting shot at by Serb snipers, and you were partying with your loser brother in Monte-Carlo? Don't forget about those trips to Moscow, either."
Aubrey rolled her eyes in the usual theatrical way that lost its charm on Jack six-months into their relationship. "Sasha is not a loser. And for the record, I went to Monaco once while you were in Bosnia… for a weekend. It was his birthday; it's not like we just went for the fun of it."
Jack lifted a hand and Aubrey flinched. He smirked. It's not that he found enjoyment in seeing her cower to him, but it was a nice reassurance every once and in a while. Threading his fingers through her hair, his thumb brushing along her soft lips.
"It may have just been for the weekend, but you know how much I just… hate you being out there all by yourself."
Resting her hands on Jack's sides, Aubrey curled her fingers into the soft cotton t-shirt. She gazed up at him, her eyes glossing with the very innocence and naivety Jack was desperate to protect.
"I'm not a porcelain doll—I won't break."
Jack disagreed, but how on Earth could he tell her that without coming across as some paranoid little bitch. He knew the world at its brutal, ugly core—seen the atrocious annihilation humans are capable of. The destruction he's partaken in, the lives he's stolen, Jack understood he was no better than the rest of them. Aubrey is. She may never grasp the reasons why Jack held her so close and so tight, and she may hate him for it, but so long as that meant Aubrey never had to taste the venom of barbarity, then so be it.
All he hoped was that one day she'd come around to see he's doing her a favor.
"I just want to take care of you, and I don't understand why you're making it so difficult for me to."
"I am not!" she huffed, tightening her grip. Jack felt the rounded tips of her nails bite into his sides. "Sometimes—and it's nothing against you—but sometimes I need just a little freedom, ya know. For what it's worth—" she licked her lips, moving her gaze to the ceiling as her eyes fluttered, silent tears skating down her cheeks— "the way you feel about me traveling with Sasha is how I feel about you reenlisting. I can't do it again… Be alone… wondering if," her voice cracked, "if I'll be one of those women standing on the tarmac watching your casket be unloaded from a plane."
"Hannah. You're worried you'll end up like Hannah."
Aubrey nodded and sniffled, using the sleeve of her sweatshirt to wipe the tears. "We'll figure it out. You don't have to reenlist and join the Rangers for us to get up on our feet. I can go back to work with the State Department; maybe the DoD. You're brilliant, Jack; you should work for the CIA, or as a civilian contractor."
Jack sighed. He cupped Aubrey's cheeks, prodding the corner of his mouth with his tongue.
"Playing the idiot is so… unbecoming of you. Stop acting like this is all brand new information, Cupcake. You've known since the day I graduated from basic how badly I want to go special ops or special forces, and I'm not letting you talk me out of it again. If you stop me from going to Georgia, I'll never forgive you."
His words cut like a knife. Stung worse than a backhanded slap to the face. Aubrey knocked his hands off of her, shoving him backward to escape the cage he cornered her in.
"I've stood by your side with a goddamn smile on my face while you've lived out your dream. What about my dreams? What about the plans I made for my life? I gave up everything for you!" Aubrey turned her back to Jack, wiping the tears of defeat away before facing him again. "I was supposed to go to Georgetown. But I chose you, because for some stupid reason I love you and being your wife was more important to me than college. I know you love me, too… just not as much as you love the Army."
Jack averted his gaze to the peeling linoleum, refusing to watch the fresh round of tear pool in her eyes. Accepting that he's the reason for them was the worst thing he could do—he's supposed to be the one person who didn't hurt her.
He wished there was a way for him to tell Aubrey what she said wasn't true; there's nothing in the world he loves more than her. To the point it made him… angry, which in some twisted way made him hate her all the while. The way his skin tingled and ached to feel the warmth of her soft caress was despising, and so was the fact his mind sank to the vilest depths of hell if he went too long without hearing her gentle, bubbly voice. And like how when he's drowning, frantically splashing at the surface, it's always her hand which grabbed his, pulling him from the murky water before he slipped into the darkness.
This was the first time in their marriage she's thrown Georgetown in his face. He hated her even more now for making him feel bad about it. Jack couldn't even count the number of times he had told her to go to college, reminding her by the time she graduated he'd be out so there was no reason for her to drop everything and follow him.
That wasn't to say he wasn't the least bit flattered by her persistence, stubborn desire to become his missus.
Still, none of that changed the fact it irritated him to the core to hear her bring Georgetown.
"C'mon." A smug grin stretched across Jack's face, his eyes glittering with a devilish amusement that made the hairs on the back of Aubrey's neck stand. "We both know you didn't get into Georgetown on merit. The only reason you got an acceptance letter is because your papa made a generous donation. He underestimated you, though; no one expected daddy's little girl go behind his back and get married instead. I told you to go, Aubrey. I've done nothing but support you, and yet you've supported nothing I wa—"
Aubrey cold-cocked him.
An unsuspecting punch right to the nose.
It was like being struck by lightening.
Jack's brain disabled and then it was like a five-year-old kept playing with the switch, vigorously flipping it on and off. With every beat of his heart, his face tingled with the pricks of a thousand needles. His sinuses were on the cusp of exploding while tears escaped from the corners of his eyes. Bending at the waist, he rested his hands on his knees, fighting to catch the breath that had been so rudely knocked out of him. He tried breathing through his nose, but it was like taking a breath underwater. Wet warmth dripped over his lips, oozing into his mouth, saturating his tongue with a hot metallic relish.
The first droplets of blood splattered on the yellowing linoleum; Jack reached down and dragged his fingers through the viscid puddle. It coated his skin, staining it crimson and making them tacky. Laughter bubbled low in his chest as he rubbed his thumb to his fore and middle fingers, starting as a deep rumble, vibrating his ribs and lungs, morphing into something that was shrill and ear-piercing—inhuman. Aubrey pushed him to the floor.
She bared her teeth and claws, came out to play.
Aubrey stood over him, using her feet to roll him onto his back so he was looking up at her. Jack was still laughing. Blood ran sideways down his cheeks, pooling in his ears.
"Fuck you!" The piquant flames on Aubrey's tongue burned her throat, leaving it blistered and raw. She grabbed the collar of Jack's t-shirt in a powerful fist, ignoring the demonic guffawing. "I never supported you?! You fucking asshole! When your dad said you're too weak to make it through basic training, who made sure you made it to the gym almost every day for a year? Me! I kept blowing the SAT because I was focused on helping you study for the ASVAB!"
By the sight of blood washing over his white teeth, it turned his sinister cackle more menacing.
He wisecracked, "Thank you for your service! Such bravery, and what sacrifice you've made! You deserve the Bronze Star more than I do!"
The grip she held on his shirt tightened, her nails digging into her palm, leaving behind half-moon bruises. She never hated him so much in her life as she did right now. Aubrey wanted to let loose. Let the punches fly until his nose was broken, and he spat teeth onto the floor. She wanted him to hurt just as much as he hurt her, for him to know what the burst of adrenaline felt like, in fear of what was to come next.
When Jack licked the blood off of his lower lip, she noticed the quick glance he shot to the fist she cocked.
He wanted her to hit him.
He provoked her, just like how he provoked the other soldier into a fight last year, except this time he let her dole out the beating.
Aubrey let go of his collar. She stepped over him, pushing the hair clinging to her sweat-dampened face out of the way, taking a seat at the table to light a cigarette. In one of the books on traumatic stress Jack had thrown away before she got the chance to finish, it mentioned something about this. How sometimes people suffering emotionally will seek physical pain to ease the internal agony. This was one thing she wouldn't give him—physical pain.
If she wanted to get through to him, she was going to dig deeper. Much deeper.
"You'll never make it as a Ranger," she said dully.
Partially hoisting himself up, Jack sat with his back against the cabinets. "You don't think I'm strong enough to make it through?"
"I called Hannah last weekend—while you were gone," she started, glancing over at him. Jack's chest heaved from heavy breaths, his eyes darkening the moment she uttered that name. His unalloyed resentment perforating her. "It made me realize how lucky she is. She buried Jonesy, got her flag, and now she just has to focus on doing the best she can to move on. You died that day, too, Jack. Sometimes I wish I was back home with a flag on the mantle because that would be so much easier to deal with that watching you just… erode into this hollow person. I know you're strong enough to make through, but there's no way you'll pass the psych eval." Aubrey stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. "You're fucking crazy."
Using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away some of the crusted blood along his nostrils, Jack hoisted up to his feet. He hawked, spitting bloody sputum into the sink. Leaning against the counter, his fingers bit hard into the edge.
Jack twisted his neck to look at Aubrey.
She thinks he's crazy?
Careful what you wish for, Cupcake.
"Want to know what your, uh, problem is?" he crooned. Aubrey didn't react; she didn't have to. He was going to tell her whether she wanted to hear it or not. "You don't trust me. You've never trusted me."
"I trust you!"
Jack gripped Aubrey's wrist, jerking her up and out of the chair. With all her might she tried to sit again, a vain effort.
"Let me go, Jack!"
He tugged harder, with so much force the joint in her shoulder popped.
Jack forced her hand onto the counter, pushing his weight flush against her so the odds of escaping were slim-to-none. He leaned over, pulling the chef's knife from the drying rack. The cool steel blade shimmered in the cheap florescent lights. Aubrey thrashed, tears welling in her bloated eyes, and cut her cheeks like scalpels as they fell. Her throat ached from the tight knot lodged in her windpipe. There was was no stopping the sharp trembling of her entire body.
"Spread your fingers."
"N—no, Jack," she stammered. "Plea—please stop, please don't do this!"
The more Aubrey writhed, the more Jack leaned into her.
"Spread your fingers." Each word out of his mouth was slow and concise, dripping with vehement wickedness that shot a chill down Aubrey's spine, all the while making her sweat. "I promise I won't hurt you."
"This is insane! You're out of your fucking mind! Let me go!"
Jack had never seen her so afraid before. She was shaking, so much so they were both surprised her knees hadn't given out. It was like every bone in her body had been replaced with Jell-O.
There was a voice in the back of his mind, screaming at Jack to drop the knife and get the fuck out of there. She's right; this is fucking insane. But how else was he supposed to get through to her? He needed to break her down—just like how he'd been broken down in basic training—and built back again, this time stronger.
She'd never doubt him again.
Jack dropped the knife on the counter with a clatter. Before Aubrey caught her breath, his hand wrapped around her neck.
This wasn't the way he usually did when he had her tied to the headboard. His fingers dug into the soft column of her throat, her airway tightening.
He spoke in perfect Russian, "Spread your fingers. You really don't want to find out what's going to happen if I have to tell you again."
Aubrey barely heard him over the whoosh of blood pounding in her ears.
She did as she was told.
Her trembling fingers now fanned out of the counter, Jack released her neck. He picked up the knife again, his heart beating so fast it threatened to shoot straight out of his chest. He didn't feel the pulsing ache in his face anymore the adrenaline was so high, yet somehow he still kept his hand as steady as a rock.
He set the tip of the blade of the slick formica surface between her middle and ring fingers.
There's only one other time he'd done this—in Bosnia on one of his rare nights off from patrol, and he'd gotten blind drunk on cheap vodka—he was convinced was really diesel—with a handful of the Russian forces. One soldier had bet him four-thousand rubles to do it on himself with an AK-74 bayonet.
Easiest fifty bucks he's ever made.
"Do you trust me?" he asked.
Aubrey vigorously nodded her head. That wasn't enough. He needed to hear it.
"Say it."
"I t—trust you. Please," she sobbed.
Aubrey couldn't tear her eyes away from the knife, terrified to move as the slightest shift would wobble the blade and she'd lose a finger.
Why on Earth did she have to keep the knifes so sharp?
Jack kissed her temple.
He started slow, moving the knife side-to-side. As he picked up speed, the pattern becoming unpredictable, it was almost tantalizing. Not just for him, but Aubrey, too. Jack felt her trembling against him and refused to allow her nerves to distract him—focused only on staying in control.
Aubrey saw stars. Every muscle in her body tensed, preparing for the inevitable moment he slipped and sliced her. Even with that fear, she couldn't close her eyes. Not being able to see his every move would only make her feel less in control than she already was.
The longer it went on, the more and more she wanted to scream at him to stop. But she was afraid if she did, it would only startle him and he'd lose his edge. She focused only the sound of the tip of the blade hitting the countertop.
Seconds felt like minutes; minutes seemed like hours.
Dizziness set in as her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Bile scorched the back of her throat. Her heart thundered so hard, it fluttered, skipping beats.
"Jack!" she screamed.
Aubrey had enough. Her only thoughts were on getting away, not thinking twice about how stupid of a decision it was to twist and trash again. His grip of her wrist only tightened, trying to hold her steady. She was messing with his concentration and the tip of the blade almost lodged itself into her middle finger.
"Jack, stop it!"
Hot tears flowed down her cheeks, dripping onto his forearm. Feeling the warmth seep into his skin, Jack snapped out of it. Her bloodcurdling cry shook him to the core.
Jack stopped; the blade in mid-air. She was fighting rabidly to get away from him, kicking him in the leg and pulling at his t-shirt with her free hand.
What the fuck was he doing?
Dropping the knife into the sink, Jack let go of her wrist and took a step back, only for Aubrey to collapse onto her hands and knees. She curled into a ball. For a moment she was dead silent, but then she howled. Hearing her terrified and agonizing cry was heart rending, even for a man like Jack who long ago had been devoid of basic empathy.
Jack knelt down, tucking a lock of damp hair behind her ear. She smacked his hand out of the way, rolling and scooting away from him.
There was nothing for her to say. Resting her back against the refrigerator, Aubrey brought her knees into her chest. She looked at Jack, unable to recognize him. He wasn't the man she fell in love with, he wasn't the man she'd married. He wasn't even the man who'd kissed her goodbye that morning.
All they did was stare at one another. Aubrey's sobbing died down to a whimper. Jack almost imploded from the shame. Neither of them were able to comprehend what happened.
"Aubrey, I'm—"
"Don't," she warned. "Just… don't."