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“She made some good points. She said all intimacy, whether between friends or partners, starts with emotional connections. The only way to form real connections is to share your authentic self with someone else.”
I nod. “Makes sense.”
“Right. And in my case, the only two people I’m ever intentionally vulnerable with are you and Lila. Even with Tucker, I sort of keep my guard up. I’m not afraid of him,” she says hastily, “but he and I aren’t as close as you and I are, or Lila and I are. It’s like I have one tight inner circle that’s you, and slightly further out is Lila’s circle, and the next circle would be Tucker, and then Tom, and then a lot further out would be Blake and other people. And instead of bringing people closer, I keep them out.”
I nod. “You’ve been hurt, so you don’t open yourself up emotionally, and that limits your connections.”
“Exactly. And even though I went to see her to stop freaking out about physical contact, she said what I really needed was to forge emotional connections. She also suggested I open up more with males I do trust, specifically Tucker and Tom, and trying some affectionate touch with them. You know, things like hugs or – hell, just basic human contact. She said it would help me see male touch in a positive light, which would help me stop panicking with Blake.”
I nod again. “That’s reasonable.”
She’s silent. I remember this was her prelude to whatever was on her mind when she came downstairs. After another minute, I take the plunge. “What happened tonight, Charlie?”
She sighs. “It’s the whole ‘open and vulnerable’ thing. I decided to bare my whole shitshow of a life for Tom to see. He’s been a good friend, and I’m tired of shutting him out. It wasn’t exactly that I thought he’d think less of me. But talking about it… it makes me think less of me. Anyway, I told him about Afghanistan. Everything. The initial attack. Picking them off. What they did. Why they hated me. How it fucked me up. How I drank. How I still struggle with night terrors and panic attacks and discharging my weapon.”
Emotions play across her face as I watch her talk – dejection, resignation, and disgust – and I’m saddened to realize the one she's most disgusted with is herself, not with the barbaric assholes who got off on rape and torture, or with me, the one to blame for the whole thing.
“How did Tom react?”
“Pretty well. He put his arm around me while I talked, and I didn’t freak out. He said I wasn’t a train wreck,” she laughs sadly, “which is sweet but untrue. He called me strong, which doesn’t feel true at all.” She hesitates. “He said he did see me differently, because I let him see the real me. He called me a warrior and a positive role model for Maya. And he opened up, too. He told me about his baby sister who committed suicide after being raped.” My stomach fists. “He said I remind him of her, and that’s partly why he’s so protective.” She smiles weakly. “I even hugged him of my own volition.”
“Those are all good things, Charlie.” Her earlier distress seems out of place with the progress she’s describing.
Her face falls, and she stares down at her hands. “I know. But when I talked about Afghanistan with Willow the other day –” She breaks off.
Understanding dawns. “You’re afraid it’s going to be another bad night.”
Her voice is barely a whisper. “Terrified.”
I lift her chin until she looks at me, her emerald eyes clouded with fear. “I talked to Tucker to learn how to help with your night terrors. I’ll stay beside you, but I won’t touch you, and I’ll call you Baby Girl until you come out of it. And if you need me to, I’ll hold you all night afterwards and rub your neck and shoulders. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it, Charlie. You’re not alone.”
She nods, still unable to speak, but she hugs me. When she finally leans back, I scrutinize her, wondering whether to ask about something I’ve never understood. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“You said you explained to Tom why they hated you. You specifically, as opposed to Lila. What did you mean?”
Surprise flits across her face. “You know all this.”
I shake my head. “I know they took you and Lila and killed the others, but that’s all I know, at least until I saw what they did to you two.” I pause. “If it’s too hard to talk about, forget I asked. I don’t want to make your dreams worse tonight.”
She shrugs. “My demons have already been unearthed today, so it can’t make things any worse.” She takes a deep breath. “When the RPG hit the first truck, Mike swerved and our vehicle flipped. Lila and I were tossed around in the back of the truck. She hit her head pretty hard.” She grimaces, remembering. “I thought at first that she’d been killed because she was unconscious and her neck was at such an awful angle. I could hear Mike and Max, and I yelled for them to help me with her. Max climbed inside with me while Mike stood guard. When they shot Mike, Max charged out, and I saw him fall, too. I knew they’d kill us, so I pushed Lila into the corner behind me and pulled my gun. When they started climbing in, I picked them off like fish in a barrel. I shot nine of them.” Her voice is low, and I have to work to hear her. “I dropped four where they stood. The other five died before we got to their hideout. I hit center mass on every shot. I fired every bullet I had, but they just kept coming. I'd lost my extra magazine when our vehicle rolled. I was trying to get Lila’s gun free when they rushed me, and then everything went black.”
She pauses, gathering her thoughts. I watch her closely, but she doesn’t look upset. She seems detached, maybe because she’s already pictured it once tonight.
“Lila came around before I did. They looked at her and saw an insignificant little blond plaything. They threw her in a cell with a blood-stained wooden table with iron rings along its edges. The first asshole that went into her cell was a huge bearded man. When he came in alone and locked the door, she thought he was there to intimidate her into answering his questions. Instead, he shoved her to her knees. Then he dropped his pants and grabbed her face.” She looks down. “Well, you can imagine what he wanted.”
Fury rises in my chest as I remember the night we rescued them, when I saw what the two women who mean so much to me went through at the hands of those cruel bastards.
“But Lila’s one hundred percent badass. She didn’t panic. She batted those big violet eyes, gave him her best come-hither smile, and moved toward him instead of struggling. He was so excited, he let go of her face.” Charlie smiles without humor. “She bit down and didn’t let go until she’d torn it off and spit it on the floor. When he collapsed, she latched onto his neck like a wolf and ripped his throat out before the others finished fumbling with the keys. They were horrified by the tiny blonde baring her bloody teeth, daring them to try next. It took five men to shackle her facedown on that table, and even after she was restrained, they never went into her cell alone again.
“I was a different story, though. When I regained consciousness, I was already strung up. They were livid. The I.S. claims it’s dishonorable to be killed by a woman, especially an American infidel. They say men won’t get into paradise if that’s how they die. And this American infidel –” she taps her chest “– killed nine of their men and denied them their virgin-filled paradise. That’s why I was whipped and branded and mutilated, and Lila wasn’t. They felt the man she killed had shown weakness in falling for her deception.”
I’m speechless, both at Lila’s tenacity and Charlie’s strength.
I should have pieced it together from the scene. Charlie’s right – all the bodies we found were shot center mass. Even under tremendous pressure, her aim never wavered. And I’d never understood why the insurgents had left their fallen men when there’d been ample time to retrieve them. Most Muslims are devoted to respectful care of their dead. Were those men left behind because they died at the hand of an American woman?
I study her green eyes. They’re somber, but calm. “You never told me any of this.”
