Pulling my arm free, I snapped back, “OH yeah? You're one to talk about running away. You seem really well versed in that,” I roared. “And you don't know shit about Mason, so keep your fuckin' mouth shut about things you don't have the first goddamn clue about.”
She didn't try to stop me again. Instead, she just stared up at me, an expression of hurt upon her face. Her mouth was open as if she wanted to say something. To fight back. I thought she was going to for a moment, but then that moment passed and she didn't say anything. She simply closed her mouth and lowered her eyes once more. With a small sense of triumph – one I knew would fade and leave me feeling like shit later – I walked out the door and slammed it as I left. I strode down the hall, my boot steps echoing off the walls, anger coursing through my veins. I didn't even bother looking back as I walked through the waiting room and out of the building.
I wasn't going back. There was no purpose in it other than to rip the scabs off old wounds rather than letting them heal.
But then, I wasn't sure these were wounds that really would ever heal.
That night, I was afraid to fall asleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. I saw Mason staring back at me, that goofy ass grin he got whenever we were cutting up – which was most of the time. He got me in a way nobody had ever gotten me before – or ever since.
We were like brothers – and it wasn't just that brotherhood bond that formed during SEAL training or close quarter combat situations. We had a bond that went even deeper than that. He was more than just my best friend and I loved him. Not a day went by that I didn't think about him. That my heart didn't hurt for not having him in my life anymore.
Back in the day, we'd talk about what our lives were going to be like after the service. We made plans to chase chicks together when we were finally home – being a SEAL had some definite perks. We talked about opening a business together – a food truck or some shit like that. We joked about growing old and fat together.
If there was one thing we were serious about though, it was that we were going to be a part of each other's worlds for the rest of our days. It was a bond that was deep and unbreakable. And because of that, a piece of my soul had gone with him when he died.
I lay in bed, the cobwebs of sleep starting to envelop me. As I drifted off, I not only saw Mason, I heard him too. Heard his voice. And he was laughing.
“I think I'm going to ask her to marry me,” he said. “When I get home, that is.”
We were barrelling down a lonely stretch of road in some Afghani shithole town with a few other guys in our unit. It was a small mission – just a quick arrest of a suspected bomber. I recognized the road and the conversation. It was one of the last missions we'd run together before he'd died.
I looked at him sitting in the seat beside me and wanted to tell him not to take point on that upcoming mission. Wanted to tell him to make me do it instead. Even though I was dimly aware that this was just a dream, there was some small part of my mind that hoped I'd somehow travelled in time and could save him. It should have been me – not him – that got hit by that IED.
But I couldn't change anything. I couldn't affect shit. All I could do was sit there and watch the scene play out.
“Fuck, man. That's pretty serious,” I replied. “What made you decide that?”
He looked up at me, and even though he was there with me, in my dream, he really wasn't there. Even at that moment in time, he was thinking about her. He was always thinking about her. I didn't blame him for it. Carrie was great and I thought she was good for him. She kept him up on Cloud Nine, but also firmly rooted to the ground. She was a unique woman and I was happy that they'd found each other.
“I dunno. We were talking last night, and I just realized I can't imagine my life without her,” he said. “Not to sound like a sentimental little bitch, but Carrie is my everything. We've been together since high school. We've gone through so much, and as we talked about the future, I realized maybe this is it. She's my soul mate. She's the one I'm supposed to grow old with.”
I laughed. “You're supposed to grow old with me, fuckface.”
Mason grinned. “I would, but you can't give a blowjob worth a shit.”
We laughed and drew a grin from the guys in the front of the Humvee. That was typical Mason – always quick with the comeback. It's how he'd earned his call sign – Joker. A little cheesy and cliché, but a well-earned nickname.
“You believe in that shit?” I asked him. “About soul mates and shit?”
“Yeah? Maybe? Hell, I don't know,” he said, looking away from me as if he was almost embarrassed that he'd say some new aged, corny and campy shit like that. “I don't know, man. I guess being out here has changed me. Seeing the things, we've seen and doing the things we've done – it's done a number on me. I remember that when I passed through SEAL training, I came out ready to kill and drink the blood of our enemies.”