The Sailor and the Hawk

I stared at the door to the sidewalk for a moment, my brain trying to comprehend the fact that my sister just totally left me with Patrick. I felt a warm, rough hand on my shoulder, making me jump slightly. I looked over to see Patrick looking back at me with those big blue eyes. It was quiet now in the restaurant, seeing as most people had moved from the bar to their own tables and were speaking a little softer. That or the alcohol was dulling my senses way more than I realized.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, looking a little concerned. I nodded and made a move for my glass, finishing off my drink and shivering at the burn of whiskey. “I think you're done with those for the night....” he said, taking the glass from me.

“Patrick Kane suggesting a woman stops drinking? I must be hallucinating.” I teased at him, my words slurred slightly. He forced a smile at me, like he was pitying me. That revved my senses up, like gasoline on a flame. I stood, managing to keep my balance, and grabbing my things as I went outside.

“Hey, hey, hey!” I could hear him shout after me. I was already on the sidewalk, sliding my coat on and watching my breath in the cool night air. I heard his footsteps behind me and shuffling, then the sound of keys.

“I can get a cab home, I'm fine.” I said, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched the traffic in front of me.

“I only had one drink. Let me take you home, please.” he said, stepping up beside me carefully, his hand gently holding my arm. I flinched away from him quickly then cleared my throat, as if that would cover for my reactions.

“Just let me take a cab, okay?” I mumbled, wrapping my arms more around myself now, stepping up to the curb.

“No. Come on.” he said, this time taking my arm and pulling me. I didn't flinch this time, or at least I didn't notice. I didn't protest anymore, just let him drag me through the street and into the parking garage. He said something about getting my car to me tomorrow but the buzzing in my ears made it hard to hear.

He opened the door for me and then asked where I was going. I mumbled the address to the base and then turned, staring out the window. I felt tired but I didn't trust myself to fall asleep. I decided to dig through my purse for my I.D. so we could get on base. He kept the music down, just loud enough to hear it but low enough that we could talk if we wanted to. But he never forced me to talk, which I was mildly thankful for. We pulled up to the gates and I leaned over him, handing my I.D. and his to the guard. They let us through and I told Patrick where to turn. He stopped right to the door of my barracks and then he cut the engine, turning his body to face me.

“What happened to you over there?” he asked, his face full of worry. Why do you need to know? Why should you care? I don't know you. I let out a sarcastic laugh and shook my head at him.

“Enough....” I said quietly, watching a Chief walk out of the barracks and turn right down the sidewalk.

“Your sister seems worried...” he pushed, trying to get me to tell him something, anything about my deployment. He was beating a dead horse.

“She always worries.” I replied, unbuckling my seat belt and opening the door. Patrick caught my arm and I was too late to notice how quickly I turned and grabbed his wrist, twisting it roughly. He started wincing and twitching, voicing his discomfort and pain. My eyes widened and I quickly let go, horrified at myself. I rushed out of the car, shouting an apology and keeping my head down as I hurried myself inside, tears in my eyes.

This is why I wanted to stay away from people. I've only been home three days and I'm acting like I'm still in that damn wasteland. I worried that I could seriously hurt someone. My body and my mind remembered every batter and bruise, every close call, every punch, kick, bite, and cry. It wouldn't let me forget.