a soldier on my own

“You’re not the only one who’s pissed here, Carter. You think you can call it off and then punch someone for talking to me? That’s not the way it- Wait. You don’t hate me?” Suddenly her whole view on the conversation shifted. She’d gone from being on the defensive, expecting a barrage of accusations and pure loathing from him she’d come out fighting but her anger was now being quickly replaced by even more confusion and an undeniable vulnerability as she tried to process all this information.“Then where does that leave us? If you don’t hate me and still care and I’ve spent every hour missing you? Are we just going to pretend like it all never happened? Because I don’t know if I can move on from you.” It seemed the alcohol had made her tongue fr looser than usual as well as her thoughts cloudy. But when it came to Carter her thoughts could be boiled down to something so simple that alcohol couldn’t tint them: she wanted him, just him.

“You called it off,” he snapped in response, “you called it off when you left. When you decided to withhold things like that from me. I wish you knew nothing about me-- you know more than Roman. I trusted you with everything I trust no one with.” Parts of her speech were lost to him, swallowed by the soundlessness of his life. It was difficult to keep up; to even find a reason to. “Move on. Far from me,” the alcohol spoke for him, “I told you at the beginning of what we had that I was a wreck. I told you I was destructive, and I told you I didn’t want to harm you which I could. My head is unpredictable. And I choose to not let there be a chance like that. Not anymore.”

“The best ones always do.” Harlow shook her head. “But it’s not. I mean, if you’re a danger to her health it is but I don’t think you are. In fact, I think the only person who does is you. So, don’t martyr yourself, Carter. That’s the worst thing you can do, believe me.” She allowed the words to briefly linger in the air before continuing. “Although, you’re right. One solitary pill isn’t enough. That’s why I’m telling you to get more help than that. You’re sitting here talking about much safer Liv is away from you yet it’s evident you love her and not having her here feels worse than I think you’d like to admit. The way I see it, you have two choices, Carter: you can give Livia up out of fear or you can do something about the other you to make sure the safest place she can ever be is with you. And if I were you, I’d choose the latter, if not for myself than for her.” Giving his hand a final squeeze, she retracted her arm. “Anyway, I think you should get some rest. You look like you’re on the verge of dying.”

“I’ve been through required therapy, and have sought out my own afterward plenty of times. I’ve yet to find anyone that can help, Harlow. I’ve still got check ups monthly. I can’t simply google and dial a number. The military has protocols that I have to follow-- including finding someone with the correct specialization that they assign. After the seventh failure it gets tiresome.” Heaving a sigh, Carter let his head thud against the cabinet behind him. “I don’t want to talk about Livia anymore, alright? Not now.” As usual, he didn’t need a mirror to confirm the truth behind Harlow’s revelation. Carter looked like shit a lot lately. “Rest isn’t an appealing option. Especially here.” He was glad neither she or Livia would ever know why behind closed eyelids. “As usual, I feel like a corpse.”

It was his last words that finally shook the merciless fury from her body. For a moment, she wondered what it felt like to be him— to see what he’d seen and feel what he felt. “Then don’t see someone,” she relented. “But you still need help, Carter. Be it from a trained professional or a friend. There’s nothing wrong with not being able to handle everything on your own. There’s no dishonor in that.” Heaving a small sigh, she took a seat beside him, finally noting the exhaustion riddling his features. “Well, the two of you have that in common then. The both of you can’t take advice for shit.” Softening her tone, she placed a hand over his. “Hey,” she began. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She paused for a moment, searching his face. “Whatever the hell you’ve convinced yourself you are, Carter, you’re not and Livia knows that. That’s why she refuses to leave. Like you said, she’s stubborn and love is no exception to that nature. I may not know a lot about relationships but I know that the both of you bring out the best in each other. Don’t give up on her because you’re afraid of yourself.”

“I never wanted to see someone,” Carter confessed, “Livia just..crept up on me.” But there was no sense in reminiscing, let alone dwell on the state of what was once a relationship. Cadence swept her cranium beneath the palm of his spare hand and rested a white maw upon his thigh. “You didn’t have to mean it like that. It’s how it is.” His head tilted away for a brief reprise. There was quite a strenuous difference between reading words off paper and from someone’s lips. When Harlow set her hand over his own, Carter returned his attention to upcoming words. “It’s the ‘not me’ that I’m afraid of. The one I have no control over, and what it can do. I’m supposed to rely on a little pill to keep it in check all my life? That’s a risk I’ll take for myself with no choice, but not one I will subject Livia to. At least respect that.”

#cadence #appreciation day for cadence

facinaoris

#the soldier

little-fox-adventures

Brigitte Foysi

mostlydogsmostly

Sunset Bhumi (by Mareike Konrad)

#cadence

His words resonated with her. He was right. Harlow didn’t understand. She’s never been to war or seen its horrors aside from a few filtered documentaries. And yet, whether caused by her anger or an inability to comprehend, her gaze remained largely unforgiving. “Would you cut the ‘I’m a monster’ crap? Carter, what you did in war— killing those kids— wasn’t a choice. If you hadn’t done that, more people would’ve died. Performing a horrific action that you had little choice in doesn’t make you a horrific person. I can’t imagine what you see when you sleep at night but fuck me, there comes a point when you have to realize that relying on anything but yourself to pull you through is pathetic,” she slapped a few pills in his direction. “These may have been prescribed for your PTSD but downing them with alcohol doesn’t seem like you’re using them for such. And as for Livia, if you’re truly that much of a danger to be around maybe it’s time you seek some professional fucking help on the daily because if what you say is true, I’m fucking glad Livia’s away from you. Trauma isn’t an excuse for addiction or violence, Carter. It explains it but it doesn’t excuse it. And that’s something you need to learn and fast.”

Carter snorted at her response. “Say what you will. Easier said than done.” There were some definitions that couldn’t be shook-- just like the images they were linked to. Monster didn’t even begin to some up what the ex soldier felt about the situation. “Professional help is bullshit. No one is a professional with these things. They’ve got pretty credentials and suggestions that don’t work. The government loves to make a show of ‘being there for their troops at home’, but it’s more of a facade than anything. Take it from someone who has tried time and time again. As for Livia..” He rubbed weary eyes. “I’ve told her plenty of times to stay away from me. Especially on an off day, Harlow. She doesn’t listen, and I’ve no control over her stubborn disposition. Don’t you dare fault me for that.” His back slid against a cabinet as he found the floor, and he ignored the wetness of Cadence’s nose when it pressed against his cheek. “I’m glad she’s gone, too.” She was safer a millennium away.

“Either you’re stupider than I ever imagined or you think I’m an idiot,” Harlow snapped. “Do you really expect me to believe this basket case display is the result of you taking your prescribed dosage? Look at yourself— you can’t even open the fucking bottle without spilling it everywhere.” With each minute she spent looking at him, Harlow’s rage bloomed. Watching him was pitiful. It was evident that whatever Carter had taken had reduced him into a stumbling, pathetic mess and her disgust with it all was palpable. “You know, I used to think you were right and that it was war that left you in ruins but it’s your own fucking self, Carter. You pity yourself because poor little you went through war, lost his hearing, and now he has nothing. You think you deserve to take pills because of what you’ve been through but you don’t. You have so much around you but you refuse to see it because you’re too busy staring at the bottom of a prescription bottle. I may not have gone through what you have but I know that relying excessively on pills because life is too hard is pathetic. All of us have demons, Carter, you’re just obsessed with letting yours consume you. That’s weakness.”

He couldn’t obtain it all. Even without the medicated haze that had whisked him away, there was no way Carter could keep up with Harlow’s rage induced rant. “When the person in front of you has their head blown to bits you can talk to me about these pills. Or maybe when you’ve murdered children because some psycho decided to strap bombs to their chests and send them to your camp. I can’t leave the building without something going haywire. These,” he plucked a capsule from the table, “aren’t a fucking excuse. They’re an unfortunate side effect that come with the job.” In a sense, he sobered. He was nowhere near where he should have been, but in the moment it was as good as his head would get. “I don’t even like them, you know. I wouldn’t take them if I had a choice. Without them, Livia could have been dead by now. I'm sure she doesn't talk about that when the two of you go have fun, but it's the truth. That’s what happens when you have episodes around people. So excuse me for the side effects of war. Don’t try to tell me what weakness is. Don’t try to berate me on something you don’t understand.”

“I may have made the mistake but you’re still the one who chose to end it over it.” His fist connecting with the bar behind her made her eyes widened and maybe if her reactions weren’t so sluggish she’d have jumped at it. But she didn’t flinch away from him, even after everything she still knew he wouldn’t hurt her. But she was angry and the confusion Carter’s words brought only infuriated her more. “If you don’t hate me then what do you feel? Because it sure as hell seems like you can’t stand.” Livia saw the way he rubbed his eyes, finally noticing how tire and worn he looked. And she was the cause. Guilt weighed on her and her hands ached to reach out to him, to pull his hands away from his eyes. But despite one hand coming to hover between them she couldn’t bring herself to place it on his skin in case he pulled away again. “I never wanted to let you go. None of it was intentional.”

“If I wanted to be blamed for something I could stay home and listen to my thoughts,” Carter snapped in reply. He could see where their commotion had landed them-- with a thousand eyes and even a manager awaiting a cue to have them take their leave. He wasn’t sure at what volume the argument claimed, but it was certainly enough to gravitate multiple attention spans despite the man he’d hit. “If I hated you I’d tell you. If I hated you you’d know. I’m pissed, as I should be. If I hated you I wouldn’t care about any of this-- especially the guy touching you. That’s the weird thing about rage when you care. To have anger you have to care about the damned situation, and I care too much. You’re the situation.”

She didn’t know which alerted her first— the glazed, reddened eyes or his inability to keep a coherent tone. All Harlow knew was that Carter was drunk and quite drunk at that. Pushing herself past him without a word, she stalked deeper into the room. She didn’t know what she’d expected— a few empty glasses maybe— but when she was met with the sight of pills littering the counter, it wasn’t it. Her pace slowed as she approached the mess, a nearly disbelieving hand picking up the nearest empty bottle. “What the fuck is this?” she asked, turning to face him. “Is this what you do?” The words lingered in the air. “Pop pills in your room like a fucking teenage junkie?”

By the time he could register Harlow’s abrupt entrance she was beginning to scold him of her findings. He plucked the pill bottle from her grasp, nearly tripped over Cadence as he leant against the counter for support. “These are prescription,” he drawled, “for the mess inside my head.” And it was empty, much to his distaste. Turning to the cupboard to his left, Carter began rummaging through various pain meds until he found the bottle his sins desired. “So I don’t accidentally kill someone. After all, that’s really what PTSD does, right?” It took more energy to open the bottle than it did to speak in his state. When the lid did give, the medication spilled atop granite. “Get out of my apartment.”

His words were like a slap, one that sobered her up enough to register hurt at his words. “It’s not like you gave me any option but to move on, Carter.” Thanks to tequila taking over, she sounded much angrier than she felt. The last few weeks had just been a blur of hollowness and on the odd day she’d feel a crippling sense of loss but there hadn’t been anger until they were face to face. Or maybe it was just his comment that caused her blood to boil. There was so much she wanted to say and had she been sober she probably would have apologised there and then to ask for another chance. But she wasn’t sober, she was extremely intoxicated and the harshness of his words coupled with the loss of contact between them made her snap. “And you don’t get to pull shit like that when we’re not together. You hate me so you let me go. You don’t get to stop others from speaking to me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he argued darkly, “none of it was my doing. None of it.” He hadn’t even read her words, but stole a guess at what her response may have been. He knew too much of her and she knew far too much of him. But he didn’t know everything; that’s what this was all about in the end. His fist pounded on the tabletop behind her. “Hate you? I don’t hate you. Fucking hell, Livia. Hate?” Two fingers pinched the bridge of his nose before its hand rubbed at tired eyes. He couldn’t recall the last minute of sleep he had. The night terrors had returned. “You let me go, too. You let me go willingly. You let me go every time you kept something from me.”

It all happened so quickly her addled brain struggled to keep up with the scene that unfolded seemingly because of her. One minute the blonde’s hands were heavy on her hips, the next he was on the ground. Her eyes flew to find the assailant and as soon as they did all thoughts and concern for the man she’d just been talking to left her. Some small, rational part of her knew that she should really help him up but the alcohol flowing through her veins was in control and it had her focus latched onto the man with clenched fists. “Carter?”

Taking a step or two forward, swaying uncharacteristically in her heels, she tried to work out if what she was seeing was true or if it was simply her mind creating an illusion of what she wanted most. “What the hell?” It was said too softly to demand an explanation from him, more just an exclamation of her trying to wrap her head around it all. When Livia heard her words echoed by an angry male voice, the blonde man now stumbling to his feet, she quickly place her hands on Carter’s arms, unwilling to let him throw any more punches on her behalf.

When he faced her, there was a blankness that settled deep within him. He didn’t sober like he may have before the world went dark between them. If anything the intoxication strengthened. The man stirred and began to regain his bearings. Carter was prepared to unleash hell-- his bones screamed onward-- but Livia protested what she expected of his pursuit. He shrugged her off lazily, slightly dizzy from the swift reality he’d just caused. Carter was too drunk to read lips or attempt any functionality of the sort. It was simpler to stumble back and turn toward the exit. Instead, he slurred jumbled thoughts. “You move on quick,” Carter challenged, “ready to lie to more than me, aren’t you?”

@deafxdefying

Drumming her fingers on the bar, she couldn’t help but wonder just how long the bartender was going to take with her drink. Her only aim of the night had been to forget Carter and she was several tequilas into doing that so when an attractive blonde guy had approached her, Livia had been more than happy to give him a smile and continue talking to him. Except it had all gone downhill pretty fast after that. Instead of reveling in the fact she was getting attention from someone new, all her alcohol fueled mind had been able to process was how much of this guy was wrong.

The eyes were off. His hair was not only the wrong colour but the wrong length. While he had roughly the right height he lacked the build. On and on her thoughts went picking the poor guy apart. When her drink finally arrived she snatched it up, not taking in at all the fact he’d gotten her a vodka and coke when she only ever drank shots. After taking a long drink, she angled herself to face him a little more, trying to get herself to feel something as his hand rested on her waist. Just as he leaned in, one of her favourite songs came on and she lept unsteadily to her feet as her new companion quickly got up to help her, hands everywhere.

Some soldier he was. Lieutenant nothing. A sad excuse, a should-have-been somebody with an antihero complex. He was an unfixable mess, and she was not even a yard away, still seemingly picturesque. But it was alright. He couldn’t damage her anymore. However, this didn’t mean anyone else could. He had no right; even through his drunken stupor he knew. The rage whispered to him of devastation and pinpointed the stranger as its source.

He should have left.

One moment, he was sipping steadily from a third round, and the next he was downing its contents in one go. He didn’t need fool’s false liquid courage to do what he was about to. A sober him wouldn’t have decked the man, though. The drunken should-have-been SEAL was a different case. A headcase. Knuckles met the man’s nose from the side angle in which Carter arrived. His victim was flung sideways, crashing into another before finding the floor with a satisfying thud.

@deafxdefying

Harlow wasn’t one to meddle. Pry? Sure. But, meddle? Now, that was a rarity. In fact, had she not been as close to either Carter or Livia, the most she would’ve done was give mundane advice. However, the reality was that Harlow cared deeply for the both of them and sensing how hurt yet stubborn Livia was, she knew Carter could only be the same. So, she took it upon herself to pay him a visit. She’d gotten Livia’s side of the story now it was Carter’s turn. Picking up a small box of pastries from Mon Amie, Harlow found herself standing outside his door. Intuition let her know he was home and thus she pounded on the door— not to get Carter’s attention but Cadence’s, knowing it was the dog who would alert her friend of her presence. That is, in addition to the text she’d sent earlier, of course.

The prick of Cadence’s ears couldn’t compare to the attention Carter worshipped the bottle with. But it had gone dry; he knew by the lack of poison enveloping his mouth at the tip back of the glass. Cadence nudged his leg. His phone was lost to the chaos that was once a somewhat organized living space. There were bottles, strewn. Prescription pills, scattered about the counter from when he’d attempted to open a lid-- clearly intoxicated. He plucked a thin, white capsule from the countertop and popped it between his teeth. Cadence nudged his leg with more force. A growl caught in his throat as he crossed-- moreso stumbled across-- his threshold. “Not a good time,” Carter slurred upon the opening of his door, “rather horrible, actually.”

rcmanmyers

“Because you’d be able to see the target, Mikkelson. As for me, well, you know what they say about trying to teach an old dog new tricks.” Carter held a point and Roman knew it. It was he who often encouraged his friend to keep going but now that the tables had turned, it was funny how quickly he became reluctant. It wasn’t so much the fear of failure that stopped him but the fear of knowing there was one less thing he could do. In fact, it was only when Carter used the magical words of do this for me that Roman stood up. “But, fine,” he relented, raising his arms. “I’ll go throw darts at the floor while you tell me what she’s done to you. I may not be able to see but my hearing works better than ever.”

“Bullshit, Myers. I’d make you do it no matter what, and so would you to me.” They were both stubborn when it came to their newfound disadvantages, but it only took a bit of a verbal kick from the other to reshape a situation’s outlook. However bitter they may be about it. “No, you’ll throw darts at the center, and I won’t be talking about her. It’s over and done. That’s all there is to know.” Carter set an arm around Roman’s shoulders, burying the deceit from Livia deep within his towering fortress. "How many times did you miss? That's how many you're getting a bullseye for."

#roman

rcmanmyers

“You can’t hear the comments either.” Roman shot back, making no move to follow Carter’s order. It’d taken until Carter got closer for the former soldier to recognize it was him who was approaching. This knowledge had caused his anger to dissipate (mostly) yet the embarrassment and inadequacy remained. “Besides, surprisingly enough I’ve come to realize that public humiliation isn’t for me. Going up there was a mistake and not one I plan on repeating so you’re wasting your breath, my friend. I’ve served my purpose as the blind spectacle for the day.”