Hearing Jack's key crunch in the deadbolt, Aubrey swore under her breath, turned off the news, and jumped off the couch.
She scurried into the kitchen, pulling plates and glasses from the cabinet to set the table which she promised she'd do by the time he got back with the pizza. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jack waltz in. He plopped the grease stained box into the center of the table before unzipping his coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. She grabbed the pitcher of iced tea from the fridge; he opened the box to toss three slices of mushroom, onion, and green pepper onto her plate. Aubrey sat down, tucking an ankle under her knee, pouring their drinks, thanking him.
Mostly they ate in silence, coming down from the high of their afternoon excursion—a rare opportunity for them to let loose and allow their inner-child to run free. It was the break from reality neither realized they needed. So caught up in the hustle and bustle of life, Aubrey hated how easy it was to forget to stop and smell the flowers every once in a while.
There was nothing unnerving about the quiet for Jack. He liked it when Aubrey shut her mouth for five minutes, allowing him the opportunity to think in peace. As he worked on eating his second slice, he fixated on the magnetic pad of paper stuck to the side of the dented refrigerator where Aubrey, in her too perfect handwriting, scribbled down a list of things he needed to pack for the weekend.
Well, the things she needed to pack.
He never squared away his own duffle; that was something she always did for him. At first it made him feel like a child—mommy making sure he was prepared for a slumber party—but her act of genuine kindness grew on him.
No one ever did anything from the generosity in their heart. There was always an ulterior motive. The very act of kindness was a front, as fake as the smiles he received daily.
But maybe—just maybe—sweet Aubrey, who's always been a little too soft for this world, was the exception, not the rule.
At least that's what Jack wanted to believe.
He glanced over to her, watching as she bounced her leg. Her nervous ticks always drove him a little closer to the edge. He knew how much she disliked the silence. It was like having a pillow pressed to her face. Although she seemed calm on the outside, Jack envisioned how she must be clawing and thrashing, using every ounce of her strength to push away the suffocating weight.
She'd only relax once he was gone. The only way she could bask in the stillness was when he wasn't home, too busy and safe from the wheels turning in his head.
When he was someone else's problem.
"I found the brand of waterproof paint you like," said Aubrey. "For your face."
Jack tossed his crust into the box, picking up another slice. "Oh, yeah?"
This was the most frustrating to her. All Aubrey wanted was a civil conversation before communication was cut. She tried not to take it personal. Leaving was just as hard on him as it was for her. Putting the wedge between them would make it easier for Jack to get dressed in the morning.
Leaning back in his chair, Jack tugged a small box from the pocket of his sweatshirt. He carelessly tossed it next to Aubrey's plate, making no effort to meet her gaze.
Aubrey looked down at the box wrapped in white paper as if it were a glowing relic from Chernobyl. She wiped her greasy fingers on the napkin sprawled on her thigh.
"What's this?" she asked.
"If you open it, you'll answer your own question."
Picking it up, she dug her finger into the corner of the wrapping paper. Her heart raced so fast, she was sure he could hear the echoing thuds. It was odd he'd be giving this to her, making Aubrey wonder what he's trying to make-up for.
Probably the explosive fight they had last week. The one that left Aubrey with a painful bruise and her spirit shattered.
Jack wasn't into the whole idea of giving gifts. Showing love through material possessions was shallow to him. Anniversary, birthday, Christmas—she knew she'd never find a box with her name on it from Jack. By now, the greatest gift he gave her was fighting his gag-reflex as he forced out an uncomfortable love you.
Aubrey didn't need him to say those savory words. It went without question that he loved her. Jack just showed it in his own peculiar way. But when he did sourly mumble them on the rare, special occasion, she lapped up every ounce of his mawkish affection, like a gluttonous child given a rubber spatula dripping with rich, chocolate cake batter.
Balling up the wrapping paper, Aubrey tossed it aside and shimmied the lid off of the box. Seeing the small pink and silver charm in the shape of a cupcake for her bracelet, her heart jumped into her throat.
"Oh, my God." Aubrey smiled at him, jumping up to press a kiss to his cheek. "It's amazing! Thank you!"
Jack pushed her back into the chair. "It's not a big deal."
Except it was. To him, the simple cupcake maybe no big deal, but to Aubrey it meant the world. A token of what made them cross paths in the first place, and the reason for the pet name he started calling her when Aubrey refused to tell him her name for a month after they met.
Unclasping her bracelet, Aubrey hooked the cupcake next to the heart Jack had given her on their last night together prior to him leaving for boot camp.
She got up from the table, dragging the chair behind her as she made her way to the refrigerator. Jack watched with a suspicious eye as she stepped onto the chair, blindly feeling around the top of it for something. When she found what she was looking for, Aubrey came back to the table with a large rectangle box wrapped in matte black paper.
"I thought you said you weren't getting me anything this year, hmm?" he mused, taking the gift she offered.
Shrugging, Aubrey settled back into her chair. "I guess I'm full of surprises like you are."
Jack smirked. He unwrapped the gift, his pupils doubling when he pulled out a bayonet. Fist gripped around the handle, he slid the thick leather shield off of the blade. It was sharpened to a point the likes of which he's never seen.
He wished it was serrated. Unfortunately for him, bringing a serrated knife into combat is a war crime. Jack always thought the concept of war crimes was a bad joke.
Turns out, contrary to love, all truly isn't fair in war.
What kind of bullshit is that? he wondered.
"Holy shit, Aubs."
Biting her bottom lip, Aubrey failed to hide her smile. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning who got everything he wanted and more.
A few months ago he mentioned his current bayonet was too old, not sharpening the way he wanted. It was driving him crazy with how long it was taking to be issued a new one.
Jack didn't care bayonets were obsolete. The close-quarters combat training had been his favorite, and having a knife strapped to his thigh always made him feel a little more… secure, in control. Their ammunition was being restricted thanks to a global shortage, which didn't bode well for him. Coupled with the reality that his rifle jammed more often than it should because the magazines were loaded wrong or never cleaned, Jack—unlike most of the men in his company—never thought twice about going for the knife that has yet to fail him.
"You like it?"
"Like it?" Jack twisted the bayonet around, studying every inch of the black steel. "I love it. It's—it's… how much did this cost?"
Aubrey grimaced.
She wished he'd stop fussing so much over money.
Getting up again, she walked behind Jack and wrapped her arms loosely around his neck.
"That's for me to know. Don't bother going through the credit card statement because I paid cash."
"It didn't come from your father, did it?"
It was a worthless question to ask. Even if she got the money from her dad, she'd never admit it. Not after how he exploded on her the handful of times she reached out for help to cover rent when the housing allowance wasn't enough. His stubbornness to live off base was the reason they were falling behind on bills, and given they've lived in four states and two European countries in the last eight years, finding steady employment was futile for Aubrey.
She missed the work she'd done for the State Department while living in Kosovo, translating Russian documents related to the Yugoslav conflict, and acting as an interpreter when Russian military personnel visited the American base.
"Nope—" she kissed his temple, then collected their plates and brought them to the dishwasher— "I started turning tricks."
Jack's head snapped up, and he pointed the bayonet at Aubrey.
"I know you're joking, but that shit ain't funny."
"I'm joking, huh?"
It took every ounce of self-control she had not to break character and laugh. The deep creases in his forehead, the furrowed brow, eyes as black as night, Aubrey wondered how far he was from having a stroke.
When she finished loading the dishwasher, she strutted over to Jack and plopped down on his lap. He set the bayonet on the table, curling an arm around her sides.
"You're high maintenance," quipped Aubrey. "If I didn't turn tricks, I wouldn't be able to spoil you with a bayonet, nor would I be able to get my pussy waxed every month as you like it."
Grabbing the back of her neck, Jack pulled her face closer to his. He kissed her bottom lip. "You know how to make a man feel special."
"I had a lot of practice while you were deployed."
Jack wrapped Aubrey's hair in his fist and tugged her head back to expose the blank canvas of her soft neck.
"Watch yourself, Mikhailov," he muttered, peppering her neck with nips and kisses. "You're venturing into very dangerous territory. That mouth of yours is writing cheques your ass won't happily cash."
With his free hand, Jack unsnapped the button of her jeans, fingers plunging under the waistband of her panties. He circled her clit, refusing to touch it, smug to find she was already wet and eager for him.
"Don't tease me."
It was too late before Aubrey realized her mistake.
He tore his hand from her panties and released her hair, nudging her off to stand.
"Well, you're no fun." Swiping the bayonet from the table, Jack headed toward the bedroom. "I'll go play with my other toy then."
After packing his bag, Aubrey showered.
She scrubbed with the body wash which drove Jack wild. When her skin radiated the aroma of berries, jasmine, and amber, he was never too far behind unable to quench his rapacious thirst. Stepping out onto the bathmat, she dried off and wrang out her curls.
Steam wafted out of the bathroom when she left, going into the bedroom where she found Jack lying on top of the quilt. He was in his boxers and a plain white t-shirt, his shoulders slouching on the headboard with both knees perched, a book resting on his thighs.
Neither of them spoke as Aubrey changed for bed. The fierce shift of the ambience made her itch.
Jack glanced up from his book. Her back was to him as she bent down to dig through the dresser drawer, putting her bare ass on full display. The ivory flesh was blemished; speckled with bruises in various stages of healing. Some were blueish-purple, others an unsightly shade of yellow and green. But they were all his handiwork, the aftermath of handcuffing her to the wrought iron headboard and bringing the belt down on her.
He shifted to reposition the inconvenient erection, annoyed by her attempt to entice him with that damned body wash which smelled like heaven on her. All Jack thought about now was tackling her to the floor, tying her ankles together, and her wrists behind her back before doling out the proper punishment for being so rude and interrupting his quiet time. Her screaming, crying, pleas for mercy echoed in his ears. The flashing visions of stuffing panties into her mouth to muffle the pathetic blubbering while she wriggled with every crack of his belt only made him grow stiffer.
Aubrey took her spankings like such a good girl. It was for that reason Jack had a troublesome time controlling himself around her. Her inherent innocence and ache to please him was kryptonite—the combination was dangerous, dragging out an aggression not quite understood.
As he watched her shimmy into an exhausted pair of p.t. sweatpants he long ago retired, Jack's mouth watered. He loved how they fit a little too snuggly around her wide, rounded hips. Though, when his eyes traveled north, his mouth filled with sawdust and his blood turned to ice.
The angry blue-red bruise mottling the back of her ribcage was laughing at him. Jack hadn't meant to lose his temper and pelt her with the heavy glass ashtray, but there were only so many times he could tell Aubrey not to fill-in her acrylic nails inside. The acrid smell of the chemicals permeated the apartment which he couldn't stand.
"Like what you see?"
Aubrey's question sent Jack spiraling back to reality. He looked into the mirror attached to the back of her dresser and met her gaze. The hankering in her eyes turned them just as dark as his were.
"You're not aging as, uh, gracefully as you think you are, cupcake," he breathed. Jack brought his attention back to the book in his lap. "I keep telling you to hit the gym more, and it's obvious you're not listening. Don't think I didn't notice the jeans you bought last month were two sizes bigger than usual."
He tsked, turning the page.
"I am hitting the gym," she defended. The thick strain in her voice didn't fall on deaf ears. She was almost in tears.
"Well, obviously not hard enough."
Aubrey turned to the side and looked into the mirror. Between her thumb and forefinger, she pinched at the small pouch in her belly and the slight love-handles she seemed to carry around.
"It's water-weight; I'm bloated because my period is like a week away."
"Mhmm. Keep telling yourself that." Jack looked up to Aubrey again, licking the corner of his mouth as he jabbed his thumb towards the kitchen. "I saw you went to town on that package of Oreo's."
Deciding against the black wife-beater tank top she picked out, Aubrey grabbed a long-sleeved shirt with bleach stains from the laundry basket. She slipped it on, pulling her damp hair out of the collar.
"Why are you being such an asshole?"
Jack scratched the back of his neck, wracking his brain for an answer. It was complicated. She'd never believe him if he came right out and told her she always became a little more affectionate, needy, whenever he pushed her buttons. And tonight, Jack didn't want to be alone.
No fucking way was he going to initiate that. He had to push Aubrey into making the first move.
"So being honest makes me an asshole?"
Aubrey took a deep breath, gearing up to throw an insult at him, but all she did was huff and leave the room.
"Try not to eat the entire pint of ice cream, hmm!" he yelled to her.
Fighting the sting of tears, Aubrey marched to the kitchen. She didn't bother turning on the lights as she opened the pantry and grabbed the box of Frosted Flakes from the top shelf. Digging inside, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a cheap plastic pink lighter.
It was too cold to smoke outside, so she lit up right there. Taking a deep drag, she half-collapsed into a chair at the table. Her mind screamed at her to walk back to the bedroom and punch him right in the mouth for what he said. Had it been anyone else saying that shit to her, she wouldn't have hesitated ripping into them.
The somewhat fresh bruise on her back told her not to push the issue any further. That was all the reminder she needed not to upset him.
"… Such a fucking asshole," she muttered.
Jack being gone for the weekend didn't seem so bad now.
Taking one last drag from her cigarette, Aubrey extinguished it by running it under water in the sink, tossed it into the garbage, and then put the cigarettes and Frosted Flakes back into the pantry. She drummed her nails on the counter, realizing just the thing that would seduce him out of his foul mood.
Sauntering to the front closet, Aubrey grabbed the glass chess set. As quiet as she could be, she set it up on the coffee table, then headed into the kitchen again to pour a glass of red wine for herself and a whiskey for him.
Back in the family room, she set the whiskey down by the frosted pieces and her wine by the clear ones. Jack refused to play a game of chess unless he had command of the opaque pieces.
Once she collected herself a little more, found her zen, Aubrey headed to the bedroom. She rested her shoulder against the doorjamb. He didn't look up from his book, despite seeming more fidgety than when she'd left him.
Around her fingers, Aubrey twirled the frayed drawstring from the sweatpants. Somewhere deep inside, she found the courage to disrupt him. "Wanna play a game of chess?"
"Another time," he mumbled. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
Aubrey ignored the sinking feeling in her belly. She would not give up this easily, determined to salvage the night.
"I do, but I've already set up the board and I even poured you some Crown. Three fingers, neat; just as you like."
Jack exhaled a vociferous sigh, snapping the book shut and tossing it onto the nightstand.
"Since you went through all that trouble…"
Now her efforts seemed inconsequential, him walking right past her as if he was doing her a favor. Aubrey almost turned around to tell him to forget it, but she stopped short. If she did, then all he'll do is follow her around for the rest of the night and jeer about how she's too scared to play him. Piqued by mockery is not how Aubrey planned on spending the rest of the night.
She followed him into the family room and sat on the floor across from him at the coffee table. Jack made a show of cracking his neck and inspecting the board—like he always did when she set it up—as if he thought she somehow rigged it in her favor. Aubrey took a sip of wine, not letting it bother her because she knew it was a tactic to put her on edge, make it harder for her to hone into the logical part of her brain.
It was unwarranted. Nine times out of ten, Jack wiped the floor with her. His skill was nothing Aubrey could compete with, despite the years she's put in practicing playing online with strangers, or teenagers at the recreation center of whichever base they were stationed. No matter what, he was always miles ahead of her. Even when they were dating, Jack refused to let her win every once in a while.
The only thing which kept Aubrey coming back for more was knowing he admired her abnegation.
"Your move," said Jack, lighting a cigarette. "Ladies first, I suppose."
Drumming her fingers on her lips, Aubrey studied the board while Jack studied her. There was no such thing as out-smarting him. Her only option was to move the pieces and hope for the best. Remembering all the times he chastised her for playing a pawn first, she went for the knight.
Jack set his cigarette in the ashtray, taking a drink from the glass of whiskey. He let the booze spread from his chest to the rest of his body, realizing Aubrey was trying to take control of the center of the board.
A strategy she learned from watching him.
He mimicked her move.
This was going to be a long game.
For half-an-hour they played steadily. It was a battle of wit and logic, the both of them showing up to win. Aubrey more than impressed Jack with how long she was holding on for, her collection of pieces growing larger than his, and she was closing in on his king.
She's adapting; becoming smarter. He appreciated the challenge, sure, but he far from liked it. There was something so enjoyable about watching her face sink in defeat. His heart pounded when he caught the glimmer of hope in her eye; she thought she was going to win, and for a split second he did, too.
"What's your favorite piece?" blurted Aubrey.
Jack shrugged. "What's yours?"
"The queen."
"How original." Polishing off the rest of the whiskey, he moved his rook to take out her last pawn. "Why the queen?"
"Because she's the most fluid. She can move anywhere from any direction, which makes her more powerful than all other pieces on the board. And she has the greatest duty—" she moved her queen three spaces in front of her king, blocking Jack from checking with his bishop. Lifting her gaze to him, he noticed how her eyes were soft, yet burned with the fierce stealthiness of a lioness ready to pounce. "The queen protects her king."
"Yes, but the queen should always be protected, too." Stretching his leg under the table, Jack tangled it with hers. "If she's brought out too early, she's left vulnerable. Only those who are inept and weak will sacrifice their queen. I would never sacrifice mine."
Aubrey leaned back against the couch, keeping their legs coiled.
That's the closest she'd ever get to him telling her he cares.
"You didn't answer my question."
"I wouldn't say I have a favorite, but if you're going to make me choose, I guess it'd be the knight."
"And here I thought you'd say the bishop. Why the knight, though? Not many people would agree."
Jack propped his elbow on the table, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together as he turned his attention back to the board.
"That's because most people don't know how to use their knights. It's the most correctly named piece—it's for brutal combat, not afraid to get-up-close-and-personal."
Lowering his hand, Jack clamped his remaining knight between his fingers. Aubrey clenched her jaw as he slid it across the board, knocking her king out. He hoisted up onto his knees, supporting himself as he leaned over the table to press a light kiss to the side of her mouth.
"Checkmate," he whispered.
"Rematch?"
Jack sat on his haunches. He grabbed the Styrofoam block and started putting the pieces away. "When I get back on Sunday. You should get some sleep because we've got an early start tomorrow."
The night before a deployment, no matter how curt, he always spent the night on the couch as to not keep Aubrey up with the persistent tossing and turning, even though she hardly slept either, the same restlessness taking hold.
There was no use fighting him. Once he's done for the night, no amount of pleading changed his mind.
After drinking the rest of her wine, Aubrey stood up. She didn't want to spend the night alone, nor did she want him to spend it alone either.
"Leave it—I'll clean up tomorrow." Aubrey held out her hand. "Come to bed with me. Please."
Jack tongued the inside of his cheek. Her eyes looked like those of a puppy. So big and full of hope. He loved how malleable Aubrey became when she craved intimacy, but it also made him sick with pity to see how much of a cliche she is. A feeble woman starving for the love and affection daddy never fed her as a child. She was so desperate, she'd lick it off the razor-sharp blade of a knife so long as it meant filling her belly with that warm and fuzzy feeling.
How could he say no to that?
Tossing the Styrofoam on the floor next to him, Jack got up. He didn't take the hand she offered, rather breezed right past her.
Aubrey shut off the lights and chained the front door in record time, rushing to crawl into bed before Jack changed his mind.
He was on top of the covers, lying on his side with his back turned to her. A small part of her broke. That was a sign he only planned on staying until she fell asleep. She'd gotten used to sleeping alone, but it didn't make it suck any less when he made the conscious decision to leave her by herself. Waking up in the cold and empty bed in the middle of the night left her wondering why she wasn't enough for him anymore.
Shedding the sweatpants, Aubrey clicked off the lamp on the nightstand to flood the room in darkness. She laid down beside him and snuggled up close, resting her forehead on the nape of his neck. In her arms, Jack relaxed only when she pressed a small kiss to the top of his spine.
"Try to get some sleep," she whispered. "I'll be here to fight off the nightmares if they come for you."