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“Duty.” I spit the word like a curse. “We did our duty and then some. Bennett especially, losing his leg for their war. He should have been taken care of!” I pound the bar again, uncaring of the stares from other patrons. “They failed him. They failed us all.”
“Preaching to the choir here.” Bob signals the bartender for another round, bitterness etched into every line of his face. “Bennett came back broken, but they didn’t want to see it. Tossed him out with no support, no healthcare, no nothing. How was he supposed to hold down a job like that?”
“Scumbags.” My hands clench into fists, my gut a tight ball of anger.
Bob grasps my shoulder, his eyes meeting mine. “So, we look after our own. We survived the war, and we’ll survive this. Together.”
I grip his arm in return, a fierce grin twisting my mouth. “Together.”
“I’m calling it a night.” Bob drops bills on the bar and stands. “You should head home. Get some rest.”
“Yeah.” The word rasps from my throat. I follow Bob outside and climb into a cab, giving the driver my address on autopilot.
As the cab pulls away from the curb, I scrub a hand over my face. Home is the last place I want to be right now. The empty rooms will only echo with memories and ghosts.
I lean forward, tapping the driver on the shoulder. “Change of plans. Take me to the docks instead.”
The cabbie grunts and reroutes, dropping me at the pier twenty minutes later. I pay him and step out, the slap of water against wood instantly soothing my frayed nerves.
Most of the shops and stalls are dark at this hour, but I know someone who’ll still be operating. I slip into a narrow alley, finding the door I want at the end. I knock once, and, after a short pause, the door creaks open.
“You’re out late.” The dealer scowls at me, a sly grin stretching his mouth. “Looking for another pick-me-up?”
My fingers flex, craving the burn of powder and oblivion. “How much for an eight ball?”
“For you? Two hundred.”
I slap the bills into his outstretched palm without blinking. Right now, the price doesn’t matter. I just need to forget.
The dealer passes me a small bag, his eyes gleaming with greed and something darker. “Pleasure doing business.”
“Yeah.” I turn on my heel, already tearing into the bag as I retrace my steps. The first hit explodes through my system, igniting my blood. By the time I push into the bar again, I’m flying high. The world seems brighter and sharper, and I stride over to the pool table in the corner. The burn of chemicals and possibility are the only things that make sense anymore.
I rack the balls with quick, jerky motions, sweat starting to bead on my brow. My heart hammers against my ribs, keeping time with the mantra cycling through my mind.
They’ll pay. They’ll all pay.
A loud laugh bursts from my chest and a few patrons glance over with wary eyes. I line up my shot, the cue trembling in my grip.
“Hey buddy, you all right?” Some guy in a baseball cap steps into my space, a frown etching deep lines in his face. “Maybe you should call it a night.”
Rage erupts inside me, hot and swift. I rear back and swing the cue at his head. “Mind your own business!”
He dodges just in time, stumbling back with his hands raised. A whole row of glasses shatters to the floor. My chest heaves as I snarl at him, my vision tinged red. The mantra in my head builds to a scream.
They’ll pay. They’ll all pay.
“Whoa man, take it easy!” His friend jumps up, grabbing my arm.
I shake him off violently, sending him crashing into a table. Glasses shatter and people start shouting and backing away.
I feel like I’m back in the middle of the Gulf War.
The barman’s face tightens with anger, his mouth opening to roar at me. I don’t hear what he’s saying. He has the same look of a soldier that tried to shoot me down once. I suddenly feel anxious. I don’t know where I am. Is that a bomb I hear?
I try to walk out of the bar, but the barman catches up to me and holds me back, saying something about money. I don’t want to be held. Being held sometimes meant death. I shove him off of me with everything I have and we both topple to the floor. Bottles crash around us as we grapple, the floor slick with alcohol. None of it matters. None of it touches the rage boiling through my veins, fuelled by chemicals and trauma.
I’m on fire. The world is on fire. And I just need to watch it all burn.
