The bastard ignored my comment.
“Did that whore of yours turn up?”
All coherent thought rushed out of my brain and I swung a punch. Ches pulled me back just in time.
“Seb, no! That’s what he wants. Your dad’s an officer: it’ll be non-judicial punishment if you hit him. Walk away, man. Walk away.”
I really, really wanted to hit the bastard, to hurt him the way he’d hurt me over and over again. But I wasn’t going to let him ruin my career the way he’d ruined my life. I started to turn away, but then something in me wanted an answer.
“Why do you hate me so much, Dad?”
The words came out quietly, but I knew he’d heard them. He looked surprised, then his expression darkened.
“Because you’re a fucking pansy—a useless waste of space. You made your mother miserable and you’ve been nothing but a fucking deadweight around my neck from the moment you were born. You’ve been a disappointment from day one. Son.”
Yeah, about what I’d thought he’d say.
“Good,” I said. “Because a compliment from you would fuckin’ choke me.”
I turned my back and slammed the door in the fucker’s face.
I was breathing heavily, and I could feel cold sweat on my face. Then I realized the house was too quiet. Everyone was staring at me, pity and shock on their faces. I didn’t need that. I needed her. I needed Caro.
I scowled at my audience, then picked up my leather jacket and headed towards the door.
“Seb, man…”
“Leave it, Ches.”
I pushed past him roughly and slammed through the kitchen into the backyard.
My motorcycle was leaning next to the side of the house, covered by a waterproof tarp. I tore it off, listened to the roar of the engine as I started it up, then peeled out of there, going too fast.
For a few minutes, I opened up the throttle and let the speed and rush of adrenaline cleanse me of all the furious thoughts that seeing my father had allowed to flood through me.
I still couldn’t understand why he’d turned up today, why he hated me so badly. But did hate need a reason? I hated the bastard right back—except I had plenty of reasons for the way I felt.
After a while, I slowed the bike and made an illegal U-turn, before heading towards the military base where I used to live.
I pulled up outside a nondescript town house that I’d visited a few days ago, and cut the engine. I knew there wasn’t any point coming here again, but I couldn’t help myself.
I knocked on the door and eventually a man in sweats staggered to the door.
“You again! Look, I told you a couple a days ago, kid. No letters, no messages, and no brown-haired broads. Now leave me the fuck alone.”
He slammed the door before I could say a word.
My Caro used to live in that house. It was the place where she’d helped me and healed me and made love to me. But there was nothing left of her there now. Just memories.
The ache in my chest pulsed, and I couldn’t help rubbing the spot, just above where my dog tags rested on my chest.
I made two more stops: at the house where Ches’s mom and dad had lived before they got transferred to Germany, and the Vorstadts’ place—people who’d been Caro’s friends. It was the same story: no they hadn’t seen her; no they hadn’t heard from her; no, there were no letters or messages for me.
I felt like driving the damn motorcycle off of the nearest cliff.
Caro, where are you?
Eventually, I returned to Ches’s place. Where else could I go? I had three more days before I had to report to Camp Lejeune in North Carolina for the language training my CO had signed me up for.
Most of the people had cleared out: just Ches and Amy were still there. She disappeared discreetly as I slammed through the door.
Ches didn’t say anything, he just handed me a beer and sat next to me on the couch.
I spent the next two days in a drunken haze. It helped. A bit. I even stopped looking at my phone. There were never any messages, so what was the point? Useless piece of junk.
On my last evening before shipping out to North Carolina, Ches persuaded me to leave the house to meet some of his buddies for a drink. I think he was just bored of being with a miserable bastard who’d refused to shift himself off of the couch for the last 48 hours. Amy had wisely chosen to leave me the fuck alone and let Ches deal with my sorry ass. I was just about sober enough to walk to the cab he had come pick us up.
The bar was crowded and noisy. It was just what I needed. If the music was loud enough, maybe it could pound out the thoughts scorching my brain.
Ches steered me to a table and I slumped into a chair. His friends stared at me warily, none of them dumb enough to actually speak to me. I was pretty certain every fiber of my body was yelling at everyone to stay the fuck away from me.