Hold The Line - Part 6
Part 5
He snapped a man's neck today with his bare hands and he felt no remorse. His assault rifle caused even more havoc through his hands and he didn’t think twice about it. He enjoys it in fact and people usually don’t like to hear that truth. Even among his comrades there are those who justify their actions with some grand morale, some sainted mission to use violence to do good, something he had sworn to do once too but he quickly learned that you don't become a good soldier by playing knight in shining armor. They are all liars, not man enough to admit how good a fight feels.
He is trained to be a professional at violence and he isn’t supposed to enjoy it? He spent his life perfecting his aim, sharpening his senses to threats and learning the proper tactics to meet them without feeling satisfaction when his bullet hits his target? Is a boxer being condemned when he says he enjoys his fights? If he would dread every pull of a trigger he would never get anything done during missions and never receive the sweet adrenaline rush that the certainty of a successful kill gives him.
It’s an uncomfortable truth, but humans love violence and so does he.
He always loved it. Fistfights in schoolyards or on a night out when he was young, brawls with other conscripts in the army when they got a bit too cocky for his liking. Nothing beats the feeling of having won a fight. As he aged, his opponents evolved from lanky teenage boys to seasoned assholes with guns and knives and he answers their attempts to kill him in equal measure.
Could someone like him exist in your light? He will return tomorrow and you asked him to tell you once he’s back after that evening in your kitchen. You allowed him to kiss your cheek before he left.
Surely you could find a much better man than him. One who is civil and presentable and home every night. Someone who could entertain you with stories of travels or interesting hobbies and not tales about near death experiences or the organised chaos of a battlefield. But for some reason you seem to like him, even now that you experienced him in the flesh.
Who is he to question this?
He could try and domesticate himself a bit more for your sake, play house with you a little when he’s not on deployment. Never did he imagine that this long suppressed wish for a home could become true, but then you suddenly fell into his lap. He should seize this opportunity, it might be the only one he’ll ever get.
And aren’t you just absolutely perfect? No need to hide his profession, you know very well what he is and what he does. You saw his mangled face and didn’t bolt. You let him kiss your cheek even. Would you let him kiss other parts of you as well? It’s been a long time since he was with someone he didn’t pay for the company, but he would do his absolute best for you. He’s bred to excel in things, to effect performance is deeply ingrained in him as a soldier and like he perfects his aim he would study and practise until he’s the perfect tool for your pleasure.
He could be useful in your home too, he thinks. Fix whatever needs fixing, carry heavy grocery bags for you, make sure no one around causes you trouble.
He should man up and offer you that. No, better show you that he deserves your company and allowing him to linger would be beneficial for you.
Had you not been so adorably persistent that day in the park, he would've ended it and never looked back. But you ordered him to walk around the lake with that beautifully certain set of your brows and because he's a good soldier he obeyed. And if he hadn't, he wouldn't have spent that soul-caressing domestic evening in your kitchen a week later.
Providing for you felt natural that night, watching you eat what he brought satisfying like a job well done, coaxing out some primal instinct that makes him want to purr contently.
So who is he to question you?
Apparently you know better what he needs than he does himself. God has left him, but maybe he could build a new doctrine to guide him around you instead.
You said you wanted to know when he's back from deployment. He will make sure you do.
—
Your kettle makes a clicking sound and the boiling water in it bubbles merrily. You pour the hot water into your cup, the dried tea leaves soaking it up instantly and the now familiar scent of those smoky leaves caresses your senses, your evening ritual for the past weeks. It’s the last cup you got out of your pack of Russian caravan tea and before you toss the empty packaging into the trash you hesitate for a second but then it joins the yoghurt cups and banana peel in there.
You’ve been thinking about him nonstop since he left that night. And you’ve never been so torn about anything.
You can’t deny that you have a fat crush on this odd man, you’ve come to terms with this by now. This evening in your kitchen had been the last straw for your poor little heart. When he so gently dressed your small cut for you with his brutish hands, you felt like a princess succumbing to the rogue charm of a robber knight. Every guy you would’ve deemed cute before now just seems like a boy in comparison to Andre’s masculine certainty and enticing mystique. When he kissed your cheek on your doorstep you were ready to risk it all right there and then but now that you had three weeks to think you feel a strange uncertainty that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably.
When you force yourself to take off your rose-coloured-glasses and look at it logically, Andre might not be the right man for you. The mystery that surrounds him suddenly feels dangerous rather than intriguing, you still know so little about him and you're not sure if this will ever change. You remember the times he lost his temper on the phone and the thought of witnessing that in person makes you scared now that you know how strong and capable he is.
One night even, your thoughts spiraled and suddenly you sat on your laptop looking up divorce rates with military spouses and then even crime statistics regarding army personnel before you shut every tab you’ve opened in a hurry again and made yourself a cup of Russian caravan to calm down again.
He isn’t a bad person, you’re sure of that. He is just a different breed than you, he walks a world that you don’t inhabit and that you will never be able to understand entirely. You are different. Too different?
On top of it all it feels like you’re trying to squeeze him into a shape that he will never fit in. It was you who asked him to meet in person and then insisted on the walk through the park when he was clearly uncomfortable with it. Your crush turned you selfish and made you frantically cling to every bit of him you could get a hold of. You are a fool.
How could you ever think you're the right woman for a man like him? Andre doesn't need some clingy little office mouse who romanticises him as some mysterious action hero and would endlessly pace her apartment whenever he's gone on deployment.
This man belongs in the wild and you've been attempting to coax him into your trap and turn him into a lap dog.
It would be better for the both of you if you let him free.
You inhale deeply, savouring the wonderful scent of the tea that will forever be connected to him now. Herbs and smoke, warm masculinity, capable strong hands and that boyish mischief in those impossibly clear blue eyes.
You will miss him terribly.
A light drizzle patters on your living room window and you settle deeper into your sofa, the tea warming your hands and the light from a news report on the TV makes shadows flicker on the walls.
When you checked Andre’s file at work yesterday, it said his deployment was still ongoing. You will ask him to meet up with you once he is back and tell him that you will leave him be from now on, that you are too different and that you will cherish the time you spent with him forever.
There are some sorrowful tears threatening to gather on your lash line when the ring of your doorbell startles you. For a second you want to ignore it, you're not expecting anyone at this late hour. But then the bell rings again and you sit up straight, your pulse starting to flutter on the base of your throat.
On tip toes you sneak through your hallways as silent as you can, not wanting the visitor to know you're behind the door. Like Andre had told you, you always double checked that your door was closed properly after you came home in the evening. Another shrill ring and you look through the spyhole where you see a broad chest in a dark jacket in the dimly lit hallway outside.
You consider calling the police for a split second, but then the person leans down and one crystal clear blue eye comes into view.
“It is just me, dushenka. You can open.”
His deep gravelly voice is muffled through the closed door but the second you hear it your hands fly up to unlock it.
He looks tired and his dark hair is slightly longer than it was when he left three weeks ago, stubble on his face where hair can still grow between the scars.
“Andre… you're back!” You gasp, gripping the edge of the door and the corners of his mouth twitch.
His answer is a small nod and a slightly crumpled bouquet of carnations wrapped in clear foil that he pulls from behind his back, the ones you find in sad buckets at gas stations.
They look a bit battered, the petals of the blush pink flowers slightly dried and brown on the edges already, one of them snapped and hanging by a thread on its stem.
“That was all they had left at this hour.” He says with an apologetic shrug and you swallow down the lump that has formed in your throat.
“They're perfect.” You croak and instead of doing the sensible thing and letting him go, you throw your arms around his neck and press your lips against his.
