Hell Bent (22 page)

I
t’s hot
. The sun overhead is beating down on us, practically baking us alive. I’ve been here for nearly three years now, and I’m still not used to it. Growing up in D.C., I had some pretty hot days in the summer—sometimes miserably so. But it was nothing like this Iraqi desert. Here it’s hot and dry and completely dehydrating.

I’m walking ahead of my squadron—ahead of the jeep. We’re going slowly through this area. We’d gotten word that there are IEDs buried all along this section of the road, and I’m making sure everything is safe for my men.

I can hear them behind me, talking and joking, but I’m focused on the road ahead. Things grow quiet suddenly—unnaturally so.

I turn to check on my men.

And I freeze.

The scene in front of me is horrifying. The jeep is stopped. My men are covered with blood and open wounds, burn marks across their lifeless faces. Chad is splayed across the hood of the jeep and Mark is slumped over the steering wheel. Jason is off to the side of the road, having fallen out of the vehicle completely.

Bile rises in my throat. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what happened, but I know that it was my fault.

Something moves in the corner of my eye, and I turn my head. My eyes focus on the movement, but it takes a moment to realize what I’m seeing. A giant dragon slinks across the sand, its bright scales reflecting the sunlight as it stares at me. Slowly, its mouth spreads into a hideous smile, revealing enormous fangs. It’s laughing at me.

I want to run, but I can’t move. I’m helpless. I’m helpless and useless and I let my men die. I hadn’t even noticed the dragon until it was too late.

Opening his mouth even wider, the monster releases a giant ball of fire. The flame flies towards me, knocking me off my feet and slamming my head into the ground. The fire is all around me now, but I’m not getting burned. Suddenly, my men are alive. They are all alive, but they’re trapped in the fire. I can hear their voices, their cries for help and their screams of pain. I try to get to my feet. I have to help them, to save them. But I can’t. I can’t move. All I can do is scream.

It’s the scream that wakes me. Disoriented, I sit up panting and thrashing around in the dark for a second, until I find the table lamp and turn it on. I’m in my bed, in my father’s spare room, in his D.C. apartment. And I’m okay.

That’s a lie. I’m not okay. But I’m not actually facing a dragon either. Not a literal dragon, at least. I wish it
had
been a dragon. Because then, it would have been something physical—a tangible enemy. Then it wouldn’t have been completely my fault.

I check the time on my phone. It’s two thirty-eight in the morning. That means I actually got around five hours of sleep—the most I’ve had all week. Slipping out of bed, I head to the shower. I’m sweaty and gross, and the hot water will help wash away the remnants of my dream.

Suddenly, however, I realize that heat is the last thing I want. Instead, I slip on my running shoes and head out the door. I know that D.C. isn’t the safest city to run at night, but my father’s apartment is in an upscale area. Plus, I’m a trained soldier. And if I’m being completely honest, I’d welcome the distraction of a mugging. At least it would give me something to fight against.

I’m getting better—healthier—though I’ll probably never be in the shape I was in before the injury. That’s what my doctors are telling me. But they did say that I appear to be recovering fast enough to avoid discharge from the military. I haven’t told my father this yet, though I know he’ll be overjoyed. I’ve kept it to myself, mulling it over, stressing about it. I’m going back, that’s not a question. Only, every time I think about it, I have to swallow the bile in the back of my throat.

The dreams are getting worse too, and the insomnia. I don’t know if one is causing the other—I haven’t really been talking to the doctor about it. I don’t want to have to see a therapist again. I don’t think I could stand talking about things. The joke is not lost on me: I’m like an IED. A little pressure—and I could explode.

I don’t turn back until I’m already drenched in sweat, panting for breath.

It’s not that bad,
I tell myself. It’s what I’ve been telling myself a lot over the last week. Things could be worse. I’m healing quickly. Soon, I’ll be back where I belong. I may never be a field soldier again—not to the extent that I was before. But I’ll move up the ranks, like my father. I’ll have a career, a life.

My thoughts, as they always do these days, eventually circle back around to Milly. Milly, with her halo of blonde hair and big blue eyes. Milly, with the laugh that sends butterflies through my stomach. Milly, whose voice led me out of a coma and who nursed me back to health.

I did the right thing by her
, I tell myself for the thousandth time. She deserves a man who has his shit together, not someone who’s broken. And I… I deserve nothing.

Milly is still in the front of my mind when I finally make it back to the apartment. I quickly strip and step into the shower. As I relax beneath the stream, I picture the way Milly had looked when she was on her knees in front of me, that night in her apartment. Her eyes, twinkling in the dark, her tongue, laving along my shaft. God, it was so fucking sexy.

I slide my hand down my chest to my stiffening cock. Stroking myself gently, I think of the way her lips parted for me, how she swallowed me down her soft throat. Soon, I’m completely hard and throbbing in my hand, leaking pre-cum the way that I leaked it all over Milly’s red, puffy lips. Slowly, I pump my fist, imagining that my cock is in her mouth. Were she here now, I would hold her head gently, massaging her scalp through her hair as I thrust my hips back and forth, sliding in and out of her pliant mouth. I would be able to see the way her throat opened for me and feel the way she would swallow around my head.

I close my eyes and thrust faster. This time I imagine pushing Milly up against the wall, here in the shower, and taking her from behind, hard and fast, with abandon. She would scream and cry, moaning with pleasure while I pounded into her. My cum flies out in ropes across the wall of the shower, and I picture it painting Milly’s beautiful face, dripping off her pouty lips.

Once I clean up, I’m utterly exhausted. Usually, after a nightmare, I’m unable to get back to sleep for the rest of the night. However, between the run and my time in the shower, I can feel my eyelids drooping as I climb back into bed.

I pull an extra pillow towards me, wrapping my arms around it, imagining it’s Milly as I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

I
stand
in front of the mailboxes for several minutes, just staring at the envelope, before going back inside. I know what it is, even before I open it. In fact, I decide not to open it at all. I leave it on my counter for a few days, glaring at it any time I’m in the kitchen.

I’ve received numerous calls from my mother over the course of the last week, along with countless texts and emails. All have gone unopened or ignored. Why should this envelope be any different?

“Are you going?” Susie asks when I tell her about the invite as we meet over coffee. “When is it?”

“I don’t know,” I reply with a smirk, twirling the straw of my iced latte with my tongue. “I haven’t opened the envelope.”

“Then how do you know what it is?” she asks.

“It’s big and heavy and a tacky gold color.”

“I doubt that,” Susie says with a laugh. I growl at her, and she continues. “You and I both know that Sabrina Hamilton is a lot of things, but tacky she is not.”

“
I
think it’s tacky. I think gold is always tacky.”

“Well, that’s where you and most of the world differ.”

“Most of the world is wrong.”

“Are you going?”

“No!” I look at Susie like she’s lost her mind. “Of course not!”

“She’s your mother,” Susie says with a sigh. “And it’s not like Sabrina Hamilton would ever allow herself to be ignored.”

“That’s unfortunately true. I’m thinking about moving away and not divulging my new address.”

“You’d have to change jobs too,” Susie says with a smirk. We both know I love my job way too much to ever quit. Plus, I’m making better money than I could ever hope to elsewhere.

“Maybe I’ll get a huge guard dog that’s trained to attack her on sight,” I say, and that makes Susie laugh.

“You need to be serious Milly,” she says once her giggles have subsided. “You can’t ignore her forever.”

“Watch me,” I snap, but deep down I know that Susie has a point. Still, I’m going to ignore mother for a while. I deserve that. At least through the wedding—and hopefully until Cameron is redeployed and is completely out of my life.

The thought of Cameron sends a familiar pang through my chest but I ignore it. Instead, I sip on my coffee and continue to make fun of my horrible mother’s inevitably tacky wedding.

“It’s not going to be tacky,” Susie says. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s probably going to be so classy it will make you sick.”

“I won’t be sick,” I reply happily. “I won’t be there at all. So we’ll never know whether or not it’s classy. I, for one, am choosing to believe that it’s going to be as tacky as possible.”

O
h
, how soon my words would come back to bite me.

I’m just stepping out of my shower the following morning when I hear a persistent knock at the door. It’s before eight o’clock in the morning, and there’s only one person it could be. I think about leaving her out there. I know that’s not a realistic option, but I do take a few minutes to towel off my hair and slip on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Three minutes later, however, I’m beginning to worry that she’s going to scare the neighbors, she’s pounding on my door so hard. I’m more than a little grateful that I never got around to giving her a spare key.

“I know you’re in there, Camilla Maria Hamilton. You
will
open this door right now and let me in, or so help me God...”

Her proclamation makes me want to let her stay out there, but I’m seriously starting to worry that someone is going to call the cops. So, with a heavy sigh, I unlock the door and let her in.

“Jeez, mother,” I hiss, “What is wrong with you?”

“With
me
?” my mother snaps. “You’re the one who let me stand out there for twenty minutes.”

“I was in the shower,” I say, motioning to my wet hair. “What do you want?”

“Where have you been?” She walks into the apartment, leaving me to trail behind her. “You haven’t been answering calls or texts or emails.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been pissed,” I snap, putting my hands on my hips and glaring at the back of her head.

“What? Why?” She turns towards me and studies my face. “Surely you’re not still upset about that failed romance with James’s son. It’s been weeks.”

“I think you should leave, mother,” I growl.

“Oh, get over yourself. James says Cameron has been just fine.”

“I’m sure he has. And I’m fine too. I just don’t want to talk to you about it.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, reminding myself that matricide is against the law and she isn’t worth going to prison for. Still, it’s all I can do to keep from strangling her at the moment. When I open my eyes, she’s just smiling at my struggle, obviously delighted to see that she can still get to me.

The smile slips from her lips, however, when she notices the unopened envelope on my counter. She fumes as she reaches for it, examining it with irritation. It’s my turn to smirk, and I give myself a little pat on the back for never having opened the damn invitation.

She grows even angrier as she notices my smug smile.

“The RSVP was two days ago,” she says. “Luckily for you, I know you’re coming.”

“Actually,” I state firmly, placing my hands back on my hips. “I’m
not
coming.”

“Oh yes, you are,” she says.

“And what makes you think that?”

“Do you even know what it would look like if one of my very own daughters didn’t make it to my wedding? What would people think?”

“Honestly, mother? I don’t give a fuck.”

Her eyes almost pop out of her head. I never swear, especially in her presence. And I don’t think I’ve sworn directly at her once in my entire life. All of that restraint is worth it now, just to see the look of utter shock on her face.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you.”

“Of course you don’t, mother,” I say, the smile slipping from my face. “You’re too self-absorbed to understand other people’s feelings.”

“That’s not true,” she says angrily. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into you. Cameron has taken this fine—like a mature adult. I met him the other day, and he was perfectly polite.”

“Screw Cameron,” I shout. “This isn’t about Cameron right now. It’s about you and me. It’s about how you never seem to care at all about my feelings.”

“How can you say that?” she snaps. “I care. I’ve paid for all of your education—a very expensive and useless education at that. All so you could be a nurse. A
nurse
! But I did it. And I ask you for one thing.
One thing
, and it’s suddenly too much for you.” She turns and walks towards the front door. Opening it, she looks back over her shoulder. “You
will
be at that wedding, Camilla—and the reception.”

With that, she’s gone. And I’m left alone with my rage. I want to scream and shout and punch something. I’m mad at my mother—my inconsiderate, selfish mother. But even more so, I’m mad at Cameron, I have to admit to myself.

I never really expect anything less that complete self-involvement from my mother. That’s how she’s always been. But Cameron… in the short time I’d known him, I came to admire him—maybe even love him. He’d seemed so genuine and sweet. And yet, when his father had told him to break up with me, he hadn’t even blinked an eye. In fact, he’s been “perfectly polite” about everything, if my mother is to be believed.

I want to throttle him. I am so angry that I have half a mind to attend the wedding simply so I could make a scene. I could confront him in front of all the fancy, important guests. I could yell at him about breaking up with me. I could let the world know that I’d slept with my soon-to-be stepbrother. Not only that, but that my own mother had expected me to readily sacrifice my own happiness to protect her image and her career.

This isn’t a realistic fantasy. I am not one for making a public spectacle of myself. But the thought puts a smile on my face. I can’t help but imagine the faces of the crowd. I laugh, wondering what would happen if the world knew the real Sabrina Hamilton. How many votes would she get then?

W
hen I check
my phone during my break later that evening, I’m surprised to find four missed calls from Madi.

“Mom must have called her,” I say aloud.

“What?” Linda asks, peering up from her stack of paperwork.

“Nothing,” I say, collecting my purse. “I’m going on my break. Be back in a half an hour.”

“Have fun,” Linda replies, not even bothering to look up again as I make my way towards the elevators.

After grabbing a snack from the cafeteria, I curl up on a bench in the courtyard to enjoy the cool summer evening, and call my sister back.

“Milly,” Madi says, answering halfway through the first ring. “What is going on?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, nibbling at my sandwich.

“Mom called me this morning in tears. She said you’d had a fight—that you’d yelled and cussed at her.”

“Nice try, Madi,” I say. “But we both know mother doesn’t cry.”

“I swear, Milly,” Madi says, her voice serious. “She
was
crying.”

“Yeah, well, she didn’t seem too sad when she was at my apartment. Angry, yeah, but not sad.”

“What happened, why was she mad?”

“Ugh,” I say, collecting my thoughts. “I guess you were there for the beginning—in the restaurant.”

“Yeah, what happened with that?”

“Well, Cameron’s dad actually succeeded in convincing him to break up with me. So I hadn’t really talked to mom since. I’ve been ignoring her. So she showed up at my apartment this morning, banging on the door like a mad woman, before eight o’clock, bitching about how I hadn’t RSVP’d for the wedding. I told her that I’m not planning on going to the wedding, and she freaked out.”

“Wait, what?” She sounds shocked.

“What?”

“You’re not planning on going to the wedding?”

“No, of course not. Not after mother and her awful new husband made me break up with Cameron.”

“Listen,” Madi says calmly. “First, it’s your tool-bag of an ex-boyfriend who actually broke up with you. He could have chosen not to listen to them, the way you did. And, second, you
have
to come to the wedding.”

“I do not,” I say, glaring at the phone as if she could see me.

“I can’t do this alone, Milly. Please. If you don’t want to do it for mom, that’s understandable. But do it for me. I can’t go through her wedding alone. You
know
she’ll be intolerable, and you can’t just make me face it all by myself.”

I chew on my lip as I deliberate. I really
really
don’t want to go to the wedding. But my strong, independent older sister is begging me to do it. She’s never asked me for help before—never admitted to any weakness or implied that there was something she couldn’t handle alone. And now she is practically begging. Besides, I completely understand her plea—our mother is hard to handle on any day, but on her wedding? She’ll probably be insufferable.

“Plus,” Madi says, “it will give you an opportunity to tell off that asshole ex-boyfriend for being his father’s sock puppet. I’ll even help, if you want.”

“I wouldn’t wish you on my worst enemy,” I say, smiling, but I’m actually considering it now. “Let me think about it.”

“That’s not a no,” she says. I can hear her smile through the phone.

“No,” I agree. “That’s not a no.”