Shiloh’s answer saved me a trip to the station. One she would likely balk at. However, I was still of the opinion that if a man had an issue with a woman’s job performance simply because she was a woman, that man needed to be taught a lesson. One he would never forget.
“So it’s just you who has an issue with women.”
“That makes no sense seeing as I’m a woman.”
“Too much of a pussy she has nightmares,” I repeated. “Or are you calling me a pussy because straight up, Shiloh, I told you I had nightmares after the explosion? Told you there are nights I still have them. So you think I’m a pussy?”
She threw her hands in the air and let out a frustrated growl.
“No. I’m saying…I don’t wanna have this conversation.”
“Right. Of course you don’t because you’re losing.”
“How can I be losing when the whole conversation revolves around how I feel?”
“You’re flat-out wrong about this.”
I watched as Shiloh’s aggravation grew and she started pacing. Then her hands went to her hair and she tugged. After that, her aggravation expanded until the room filled with it. She bent at her waist, let her head drop forward, and let out a feral wail that sliced straight through my soul.
“You don’t know,” she told the floor. “You have no fucking idea. What it’s like. I can’t stop seeing it.”
“I’m telling you, I do know.”
“No, you don’t!” she shrieked and straightened. “I failed. I couldn’t stop it. Every day I think about what I did wrong. Every day I wonder how I could’ve changed it. But I can’t and someone is dead because of me. Seventeen. She was a kid. Smart. Good grades. Had her whole life in front of her. A dad that adored her. Friends, teachers, coaches. Everyone loved her and she’s gone because…I…failed.”
Fuck.
“So you see, no one treats me differently—not on a day-to-day basis. Not when we’re out. Not when lives are on the line. I’m one of them and I know that to my bones. My team respects me. My brothers support me. But with this, the differences are blaring. I can’t get over it. I can’t stop dreaming about her father begging me to help. Her dad begging a cracked-out robber to let his daughter go. I can’t unsee the look of horror when his seventeen-year-old daughter was shot in the fucking head in front of him. They can but I can’t. My brothers can. But not me. I can’t fucking unsee him falling to his knees and covering his eyes. He curled up into a ball in front of me. He screamed her name. I can’t stop hearing him scream her name.”
Fucking, fucking, hell.
“Shiloh, baby, please listen to me. You gotta let all this out. You can’t keep it bottled up, it’s just gonna keep eating at you until nothing’s left. It gets worse—so bad, it fucks with your head until it consumes you.”
“Thought I just did get it out, friend,” she sneered. “You wanted it, now you can leave.”
Leaving was probably the best thing to do, yet I still couldn’t get myself to go. Which pissed me off. I didn’t need to be there. Hell, I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. I never should’ve come back. I never should’ve spent the night. Actually, I should never have accepted her invitation to the bar. I fucking knew better.
But I just couldn’t stop myself.
And now she was throwing attitude and I was getting pissed in a new way.
“Hear this,” I started and took a step in her direction. “You got shit twisted up so tight it’s a wonder you can function.” Shiloh’s eyes flared and her posture went stiff but I ignored it and went on. “You think you can’t sleep without seeing all that because you’re a woman? That’s jacked. Totally fucked-up. That has nothing to do with gender and everything to do with people handling shit differently. I’ve known some badass women in my day. Some can wall off what they see, what they do, and go on like it never happened. I’ve served next to men who were bigger than I am, stronger, tougher yet I’ve watched them crumble to their knees after witnessing something far less traumatic than what you’ve seen. You have enough to work through so don’t take that on, too.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Yeah, Shiloh, you’ve said that. But you need to.”
Fear lit her eyes and if I was a better man I would’ve let her be. I would’ve turned and walked out the door and let her withdraw back to safety. But for some God-forsaken reason, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let her hide alone in her house. I couldn’t leave knowing later she’d go to bed, then wake up in the middle of the night screaming.
Until she said, “You know, I have three older brothers who treat me like I’m some sort of helpless, defenseless child. I don’t need more of it from some asshole who doesn’t know one fucking thing about me.”
“You’re right. You don’t. You need to pull your head out of your ass but you won’t do that because you’re too fucking stubborn, not to mention too goddamned worried what other people will think. Sweet dreams, Shiloh.”
And with that, I left.
6
I sucked in a painful breath. Then I attempted to inhale again but my lungs burned and my stomach hurt.
I was still standing motionless in the same place I’d been when Luke delivered his highly effective parting shot.
Effective that is, if he meant to stab me in the heart and leave me breathless.
There was something seriously wrong with me and it had nothing to do with the nightmares I was having. I lashed out. Always had, as far back as I could remember. When someone got close I pushed them away. I knew I did it; I just couldn’t not do it. The thing was, this normally took a while. I let people in as close as I could without forming any ties and if I felt like they were getting too close, too deep, I violently lashed out to make them leave.
I wasn’t crazy, I knew this about myself. I just couldn’t stop it. But as I said, this took a while—months, sometimes years of being acquaintances with someone before I felt the pressure build and did something to end the connection.
Lasting friendships weren’t my thing. Never had been. My brothers were the only exceptions. And that was mainly because no matter what I said or did, they wouldn’t leave.
Sweet dreams, Shiloh.
I sank to my knees and rested my forehead on the floor and wondered what the fuck was wrong with me.
Luke had done nothing wrong but I was a raving bitch.
He’d tried to help me but I said nasty shit—on purpose to make him leave.
And he left.
Everyone always left.
And why was that? Because I was a basket case, a bitch who was mean to people on purpose when they dared to get close to me. Sweet as pie to strangers. I’d give the shirt off my back to anyone who needed it as long as they didn’t try to strike up a friendship.
Why did everyone always leave me?
I pretended I didn’t feel the wetness leaking out of my eyes. I pretended I didn’t taste the salt as the tears rolled over my lips. I pretended I didn’t hate myself for the things I’d said to Luke. I wasn’t ashamed, I was mortified.