August 2015
Ten years, I’ve breathed, survived, and lived the war.
It’s all I know.
Hunt, shoot, kill.
I walk toward the derelict building. Intel confirms the two terrorist fuckers we’re hunting are in here. I tighten my fingers around my M4 Carbine as I trudge in the scorching heat of Afghanistan.
Casper, my lifelong best friend, follows on my left.
We joined the Marines and climbed the ranks together. Hell, if it wasn’t for us constantly getting in fights when we were teenagers, our parents would never have shipped us off to the military. I have him to thank for that. Where else would I embrace my overwhelming need to outlet my anger? Legally, anyway.
The wooden door hangs off its hinges. Two of our guys, Chase and Paul, are coming in fast from the opposite side of the building.
These terrorists are responsible for the Kabul airport bombings, which killed hundreds of innocent people. They have been off the grid for the past three years since the attack.
Kicking open the door, I aim my gun forward as I take in my surroundings.
To my left is a set of rubble stairs, and to my right, is what remains of this shithole. Pieces of foam flatten under my feet from the shredded remains of a sofa in the room. There’s paper scattered everywhere, busted books, and debris of destroyed household appliances.
How the fuck has anyone been living here for so long?
“We have heat markers live upstairs,” intel confirms in my earpiece.
“Copy,” I respond, pointing up at the stairs to Casper. I edge up the stairs and lean around the corner to scope out the area. When I get to the top of the stairs, the overwhelming stench of a bathroom nearly makes me gag. There’s only one closed door. That must be where they are.
With a signal to my friend, I smash it open.
In the right corner of the room, a frail-looking woman cradles a small child to her chest. Their screams ring in my ears.
Something isn’t right. What is this—a decoy?
Shit.
I pace around the room, checking for any hidden spots, but nothing.
Shit.
“Out! Now!” I bellow to Casper, who stands on guard by the doorframe.
Where the fuck are Chase and Paul?
Casper sprints down the stairs, and I follow behind. As soon as the realization hits me, I shout, “Casper, Stop. Don’t go out th—”
The gunfire drowns out my words. I duck under the hole in the wall. More gunshots echo, and one whizzes past my head and strikes the crumbling stone behind me.
Movement in white catches my eye across the room. I crouch and make my way over to the far end of the room, past the ruined sofa, and wait. One of them is bound to come out soon. The M4 has a visual of a man in a white robe carrying a firearm.
I pull the trigger, and the fucker collapses on the ground.
Chase and Paul peer round the corner. They motion for me to go back as more gunshots ring out.
Casper…I need to find Casper.
I crawl toward the entrance, keeping the gun ready to fire.
The sunlight blinds me when I step outside. It’s a desert. I haven’t had fun like this in a while, and I love a good hunt.
My world crashes around me when I spot my friend lying in the sand with a pool of blood spilling out from his stomach. His hands compress over the wound, and he struggles to lift his head up.
I run to him and drop to my knees.
“Fuck, Casper.” I grab the trauma kit from my vest.
Paul and Chase surround me.
Paul stays on guard while we help Casper.
“We have three confirmed kills. No movement spotted,” Paul reports.
I rip open Casper’s jacket in search of the source of the blood. My hands tremble as my best friend struggles to breathe his last.
“Grayson, don’t,” Casper whispers through ragged breaths.
I take off his black balaclava to help him breathe.
“Casper, we’ve got you.”
He shakes his head, his brown eyes piercing into me, tears spilling over, almost pleading with me to stop.
“Grayson, I-I’m so f-fucking sorry. I h-hope… hope you’ll f-forgive me. I l-love you, brother.”
Sorry? Fucking sorry for what?
“Don’t be sorry. You aren’t dying on me.” My voice cracks at the end.
He starts coughing and blood splatters out of his mouth.
I rest him on my lap.
“I’m s-sorry,” he tries again.
“Sorry for what? Everything’s going to be ok.”
“For fucking Amelia.”
A wave of anger rolls my leg away from his head, letting it thud to the ground. His confession stabs into me as I’m faced with the raw reality.
All those nights where my best friend and wife were coincidently too busy to be with me. But Casper doesn’t even have the decency to give me the time to hate him.
“No, no, no, no!”
My entire world starts to spin.
I scoot back, away from him, the dust scratching the inside of my nostrils as I sit there, watching the only friend I have take his last breath. His final words still ring in my ear.
My best friend. Who’s been fucking my wife for God knows how long.
“Get the fuck out of my way, Amelia,” I shout at my whore of a wife.
She keeps flapping around after me, in hysterics, grabbing on my sleeves, begging me not to leave her. It’s taking every ounce of strength I have not to send the woman flying across the room.
I pack every item of clothing I own.
“Grayson, please. Don’t leave me, I promise I’ll never do it again. You don’t have to worry. Casper is dead anyway.”
I rip the drawer’s handle out and throw it against the opposite wall.
What a fucking fool am I! This woman is vile. Revolting. How did I fail to see that before? Casper my best friend, the brother I never had, and they fucking ruined everything.
I prowl toward her with clenched fists. She backs into the wall with a fearful expression.
“This is the last time you will ever see me, and don’t you ever say his name again. You don’t fucking deserve it. Now get the fuck out of my sight. You disgust me.”
She sinks on the floor in a crying fit.
Pathetic.
I head to the airport, ready to start my new life, leaving the darkness where it belongs. I’ve said my goodbyes to my best friend. It was the only thing keeping me here.
In New York, I’m gonna set up a motherfucking boxing gym. Hopefully, there will be enough fighting to release some of this anger.
My new rule: No women for more than one night
