We were on Mars before Titan. Funny, but I always seem to forget that part, because he's not in it. They trained us, or so they said, but it was all pointless. Mars isn't anything like Titan; even a fool could see it was useless. But I can't remember him there- I know he was there- and now I can hardly remember me there.
I remember the first time I saw him. It was in the barracks, second day on Titan. Surrounded by fifty men, and I couldn't stop staring at just him. I think it was his eyes. Or his manner. Or his hair. Maybe it was gestalt, just the Vicious of him.
Vicious. You'd think I'd have seen a clue like that. Trust me, I see it now.
And everyone knows or imagines what goes on in a barracks with no women to be found. And it did. But it didn't matter, because he wasn't in it. Why is that a refrain for me now? I was barely in it. I was too distracted by him, his aloofness, like he was a mystery for me to solve. It wasn't romantic or even sexual, just idle fascination.
We talked in the trench. Now that's a lie. I talked, and he interjected. I told him everything, because there was nothing good to tell. I played the saxophone and liked men. That was the extent of my interesting traits. He listened, commented, but said very little. I didn't really care. I was too focused on him in my mind to realize that all the conversation wasn't about him.
It was just a fascination, until that day, that one goddamn day when he saved my life. I saw him draw back with that knife and I knew he was going to kill me. Then I saw the flash as he killed the scorpion. And that is the instant where I lost myself to him.
After that I entered his bed. It doesn't follow now, but it made sense at the time. For some reason, I think it must have been his idea. It seems to me like I would have been too lovestruck to act on anything I felt for him. But we ended up together, just the same. Wasn't easy, but it never is. Whispered words, desperately controlled movements, silent prayers that no one will hear or, if they do, care. He called me Julia more than once, and the word always caught me like a knife to the stomach. But let's forget about that.
The war ended, so we ended. No goodbye, no plans. I don't remember even crying about it. I tried to go home, pick up where I left off. But that miserable bastard stopped me from doing that, sold me out to turn a quick buck. And there was prison, and there I knew I would never be rid of him. Every thought was him. What else did I have? I planned my revenge when I wasn't planning my seduction. Finally I got out, but he wouldn't leave me. And then the drugs started and turned me into this, but even they couldn't get him out of my head.
So here we are. What's your story?