Wild with All Regrets, page 12
“Dunno, mate,” Lucas shrugged, sitting on the couch and putting his hands behind his head. “S’pose we could see if anyone else can see you, then we can sell tickets and make a fortune,” he teased, sneaking a glance up at Jamie’s sweet face. Christ, how could this be real? He was almost afraid to accept it, afraid of his heart shattering if the illusion fell apart. But there was no version of Jamie that Lucas wouldn’t accept, and even if he ended up being a devil or symptom of his brain deteriorating, Lucas was glad to have him back.
“S’pose we could.” He bit his lip. “Lucas . . . how long has it been? I don’t know anything about your life right now.”
“Oh . . . Jamie . . . ” He swallowed. “After you died, I lost myself. I was completely inconsolable, they almost had me shot for cowardice. I was sent to medical— I don’t remember anything from those weeks. Angie found me eventually— the war was already over by then. Ended about a month after you . . . ” His eyes darted up; he wasn’t sure how Jamie would take the news that if he’d only survived a little longer, they all could have gone home.
“I couldn’t hold down a job,” he continued. “Patrick was killed, I don’t know if you remember, and Mattie’s hurt, hurt bad. The girls moved to the countryside, and they asked me to come with them. But I couldn’t leave Dublin. I couldn’t leave . . . ” You. The memories we built here, the only happy moments in my life. “I figured there might be another uprising, I thought maybe I could help, but . . . no, I’m full of shit. I wanted to help Ireland, I thought that would be what you wanted.
“I couldn’t hold a gun anymore, I couldn’t be in a military setting, it was too painful. I . . . ” His voice cracked a little. “I put up a grave for you. I thought that would make up for it in a small way.” He looked up at Jamie, his beautiful, perfect face just the way it always had been. “My life ended when yours did, Jamie. I couldn’t go on without you,” he whispered, putting his face in his hands. I’m sorry I’m so pathetic.
Lucas looked up. “It’s been ten years. Ten years today.” Jesus. No wonder he’d been feeling so strange lately, seeing Jamie, hearing Jamie . . . maybe heaven had some arbitrary time frame for getting expelled as an adorable ghost.
Jamie said nothing for a while, and Lucas couldn’t bear to look at him. “You’re not pathetic. I’m sorry it’s been so hard on you.” He touched Lucas’s knee and their eyes met. “I was worried you weren’t going to tell me the truth just now. I’m glad you did.”
“Jamie . . .? Did you know?” he asked, his voice barely audible. How I have felt about you all this time? How I’ve obsessed and agonized over you for the better part of two decades?
“Yeah,” he said softly, not looking away. “I think I did.”
“ . . . And you still wanted to let me be a part of your life?”
“Yeah. You’re my best friend, and I love you with all my heart.” He smiled sadly. “Maybe that was cruel of me, eh? I’m sorry, Lucas.”
That he couldn’t give Lucas what he needed, what he wanted. That he didn’t crush his hopes once and for all when there was still time.
“’S’not your fault. I didn’t choose to be this way. I never needed that from you. Being near you was enough . . . your friendship was enough.”
“I should have let you go. I should have pushed you away, I shouldn’t have let you hurt like this.”
Lucas felt cold all the way down to his bones, his eyes wide and his jaw clenched. “No,” he whispered. “No, Jamie, no. Please don’t say that.”
The sound of Lucas’s own voice was unfamiliar in his ears, the shrill tendrils of panic. He hated how vulnerable he was in this moment. He’d spoken so seldom in this room, had company so infrequently. Jamie could take his heart and crush it into dust. Jesus. This is why he’d never expressed himself in the first place. These emotions were foreign, old forgotten relics of his time before he lost Jamie. Life was much easier when he only felt misery and grief, damn it.
“You made my life beautiful. You made me want to live for the first time, you made me think I mattered. Please.” He was trying in vain to stop the tears running down his face. “Please, Jamie, don’t leave me again. I can’t handle it. I can’t.”
Jamie tried to brush a tear off Lucas’s cheek and sighed. “Right, no physical matter. Okay, Lucas. I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you. And I won’t leave unless the Lord himself pulls me out of here. Fair?”
“Not to you. I don’t want to keep you trapped here for the rest of my life. Then again, if I have a brain tumor it probably won’t be that much longer, so . . . ”
Jamie laughed. “You always see the bright side of things, don’t you, boyo?”
His laugh was like bells, he was so dear, and Lucas found himself stupefied with the immeasurable love that was swelling in his chest for this man. It didn’t matter if he was real, if he was a ghost or a devil, or nothing but a fraction of Lucas’s steadily deepening madness . . . he was here, he was here, and Lucas was never going to let him go again.
1918
Lucas didn’t care about the details of the battle, the mission, or anything that they were doing, really. They were in Belgium; Britain was finally getting the upper hand after four terrible years. By then, the Irish divisions had been largely split up due to poor recruitment, and the war was coming to a close. Lucas and Jamie had been kept together, thank Christ, and were due some leave any minute now. It couldn’t be much longer now, right? How long could a war go on?
Jamie had been holding steady, as far as anyone could tell. He had his lapses of fear and panic, but Lucas had been able to shake him out of them relatively promptly . . . most of the time, at least. The weather was getting colder, and Lucas could only pray that the end of the war was in sight.
Jamie had been going over battle details with the men, his hair just brushing over his eyebrows in a way Lucas found charming.
“We’ll flank them on the left.” He pointed on the map. “Their supplies have been dwindling, I doubt we’ll have much resistance. If we can break that port of communication, we’re in very good shape for the next few week—”
A bullet came out of nowhere, ricocheting off one of the metal containers they had lying about. It struck Jamie in the shoulder from behind, sending him to his knees with a gasp.
Lucas saw red. He pushed the other men out of the way and began pawing at Jamie’s clothes, trying to see the wound. His lungs— oh Jesus what if it hit him in the lungs, I can’t lose him, not now, not bloody now. “Someone get a fucking medic!”
Jamie laughed and caught Lucas’s wrists. “It’s all right, pal. Doesn’t even hurt much.”
Still, there was a lot of blood on his coat, on Lucas’s hands, and he helped Jamie strip down to his undershirt so he could see the damage. He’d never really imagined his first time disrobing Jamie would be like this, it was substantially less romantic than he had been hoping for but . . . Jamie’s skin was so white and unblemished, free from the horrific scars that told the story of Lucas’s life all too clearly. This gaping, bleeding wound was an affront to him, and Lucas tore his own sleeve off to put pressure on it.
The medic Lucas summoned determined that most likely Jamie’s life wasn’t in danger. Still, it would probably be for the best to send him to get the bullet pulled out and have some disinfectant applied.
“I’ll be fine,” Jamie assured Lucas. “You’re really sweet to worry, you know that?”
Lucas felt himself blushing and cursed himself. “Shut up. Go get better before I shoot you.”
Looking back, Lucas realized, that was the first time he’d heard Jamie’s laugh in a very, very long time. Jamie’s eyes had been worn and hollow for as long as he could remember, his voice was dry and mechanical. The bullet had barely fractured his shoulder blade and missed all of his vital organs . . . he’d been lucky. And luckier still to have a nice long chunk of time away from the shell-torn fields of Belgium while he recovered. Lucas thought it would be a really good change for him. Hell, it might even give them a chance to have some leisure time together. Lucas was well overdue some leave anyway. He could hardly get the full eight weeks Jamie would have for his convalescence, but he took about a week just at the end of Jamie’s recovery period. Luckily, they’d been able to send some letters back and forth, but Jamie didn’t sound like himself.
How is it? Boring, I bet. Captain Miller thought he got shot in the cock and went into a right flap. Apparently, it still works. He’s bragging to the point where I thought he’d show it to me, and I’d have to shoot him in the jewels for real. You’d have laughed. Thinking of you, LC.
Dear Lucas, It’s fine here. Quieter. My shoulder feels better, they’re thinking I’ll be back in a week or two. James Murray
We still on for meeting up in Ypres? You need to show me around.
No reply.
Looking forward to seeing you. I miss you.
No reply. It wasn’t like Jamie, and Lucas had an awful feeling about all this. He was officially granted leave and took the train to Ypres, his leather bag heavy in his hands. He had been pining for Jamie and was looking forward to spending some time off with him. Those letters hadn’t been very encouraging, but Lucas didn’t want to assume the worst. He hates you. He’s going mad. You’re going to lose him, he’s breaking, he’s broken. He shook his head and imagined a world before the war. Where they could go back to the way things had been in Dublin, before John had been killed, before . . . before Jamie had started to crack.
Lucas was still wearing his uniform when he went to find Jamie. He watched civilians from under the bridge of his cap as he wandered the streets. The weight of the war was felt everywhere in the nation, to some degree, but it always surprised Lucas to see how normal life was even twenty miles away. Girls going to school, bakers selling bread; but for the headlines in the newspapers, it might have seemed a perfectly normal little piece of paradise. As if there weren’t men a little over a hundred miles away spilling their blood, brains, and guts all over the earth.
Jamie was expecting him and waved erratically as he saw Lucas approach. Lucas trotted up and they exchanged a warm hug, a handshake that turned into a second hug, and a doe-eyed smile from Lucas before heading away from the barracks, hoping to forget everything for a little while.
“So, tell me everything!” Lucas’s enthusiasm felt forced. There was something a bit off about Jamie, and he wanted to help however he could. “Screw any good nurses, Romeo?”
“What?” Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose. “No.”
“Too ugly?” Please smile. Please.
“No.”
“Jamie?”
Weary eyes looked down at him. “Yes?”
“I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
Jamie nodded and shoved trembling hands into his pockets.
The leave went by in a blur, the wound was healing well, but Jamie was still different. Lucas couldn’t help but feel that he was a little more reckless than he normally was, a little more withdrawn. Jamie was smiling less, drinking more. . . He never went home with girls anymore, he never even tried. The little twitch beside his eye had returned, and as they slept side by side in the barracks, Lucas could see that his nightmares were coming back. Jamie lashed out in his sleep, whimpering and sometimes shouting at imagined enemies that hounded him relentlessly. Lucas did what he could, up to and including climbing into bed with Jamie to hold him and keep him steady while his panic ripped through him. Lieutenant Murray clung to him like an infant, fingers tearing at his clothes, his whole body trembling as he burrowed his way under Lucas’s chin.
“Jamie . . . ” he said gently into the darkness, shaking his shoulder, “Jamie, come on, we’re not even in the battlefield right now, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Jamie’s breaths were coming in steady gasps. His eyes were wide, and more than once Lucas had to cover his mouth to stop him from screaming. He made Jamie meet his eyes, as this sometimes helped to ground him, but there were whole days that passed where Jamie wasn’t himself. Where he couldn’t be calmed, couldn’t be reached, where even Lucas couldn’t soothe him. Jamie was getting further and further away with each passing day, and Lucas could feel his own heart crumbling to dust.
“Jamie . . . tell me what happened. Did they do something to you at the recovery center? Talk to me, I’m here.”
“No . . . no, they didn’t,” Jamie replied, his voice low and soft. “But it wasn’t like the first time. It wasn’t just minor injuries being sent here, Lucas, it’s so horrible. I saw a man with no face, no eyes, just an open, gawping mouth . . . and he screamed, Lucas, he never stopped screaming ’til they held him down and sedated him until he was silent . . .
“Christ, Lucas, Jesus Christ . . . some of them were from our unit, for heaven’s sake. Ole Ken’s got no legs now, he’ll be pissing into a bag for the rest of his life—and Mack, you know Mack? His lungs, Lucas, they bruised so badly, he just— he was fine, and then little by little he choked to death on his own blood . . . he knew it was happening, Lucas, he knew, he knew, he knew.”
Jamie trembled and licked his lips. “He begged me to help him, and I couldn’t. They never stop screaming, Lucas, they’re dying and it’s all my fault, I can’t help anyone, I can’t—” His breaths came in little hiccupping gasps, his whole body shaking as they lay side by side. “Why do I keep surviving? Why does everyone else get hurt and I keep scraping by?”
“It’s not your fault, Jamie, I swear to you it’s not.” Lucas had been saying this more often recently, with diminishing returns. It was dawning on him, and it had been for a long time . . . that Jamie was getting further and further away from him. He was going to lose him at this rate. “Jamie . . . I’m with you, I’m always with you, I’ll always stand beside you and remind you that you’re only human . . . You’re not a monster, Jamie, you’re . . . ”—the light of my life, my sin and my soul, everything, everything—“you’re so dear to me and it kills me to see you like this.” His voice was soft and weak, he couldn’t quite commit to saying the words.
Jamie’s trembling lessened a little, yet he couldn’t meet Lucas’s gaze.
“Jamie?”
Nothing. No light in his eyes, the man was a puppet.
“Jamie, look at me.”
His beautiful face moved mechanically to Lucas, the muscles of his cheek and mouth twitching uncontrollably. His mouth opened, then shut, and he turned away once more.
It was like talking to a dead fish at the market.
They returned to the battlefield together after that, and despite everything, Jamie managed to keep his head together well enough to lead the men into battle for a few days. Maybe he wasn’t completely mad, and Lucas didn’t want to have him shipped off to CCS again for his shell shock. It had done more harm than good, last time. As Lucas feared, however, it wasn’t long before the cracks in Jamie’s mind began to widen.
It’d been a relatively calm day, actually— only two rounds of shelling, bit of rain, nothing out of the ordinary. They had been huddled up next to each other for warmth after they’d had their evening rations. Jamie was a mess. His uniform wasn’t tidy, his hair wasn’t combed, his stubble was coming up in uneven patches on his cheeks. Lucas had coaxed him into the officer’s area and sat down beside him on his cot.
“It’s all in my head, isn’t it?” Jamie’s eyes were dull and hollow, his voice was croaky. “The idea of being a hero, of saving the world, making it up to my father, none of it is real. I gave up my education for this, I gave up the chance to die beside my father, I . . . I dragged you into this mess, too.”
“Jamie, no.” Lucas had hugged him tight, releasing him only so he could look into his eyes. “I’d follow you into hell and back. There’s nowhere you could have gone that I wouldn’t stand beside you.”
“That’s what I mean, Lucas! I brought you here! I cost you your job and your home and your health and—and Mattie and Pattie never would have joined if you hadn’t—Pat would still be— and Matt . . . ”
It was true. But it had been Lucas’s choice to follow Jamie, and he didn’t blame him for it. They were both grown men, they both had to follow their hearts. Jamie had followed his heart to heroism, and Lucas had followed his to Jamie. “I don’t care. You didn’t start this war, you didn’t gas my brothers, you didn’t want any of this to happen. You’re a good person, Jamie, a great man, and I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t think so.”
“I’m so sorry, Lucas,” Jamie whispered, and buried his head in Lucas’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get us both killed, I know I am— I’m gonna cock up when it matters most and let you down—I let everyone down—I . . . I just . . . I just wanted to—”
“You won’t let me down. You’ve never let anyone down. I know this isn’t what you wanted, what you imagined, but we’ve survived this long and I’m gonna keep your head straight until we get home together. I’ll protect you ’til the end of this, Jamie. I’ll help you; I won’t let anything happen to you. Just a little longer, okay? I promise you, Jamie—I’ll help get you better, I’ll keep you right. We’ll go home, get back to our flat, I’ll make us dinner, and we can drink beer and sit by the fire and just . . . be normal.”
“I don’t think I can ever be normal again.” Jamie trembled against Lucas’s skin and Lucas didn’t know what to do or say. “I messed up, Lucas. I had this stupid dream of honor and glory and saving the world and what the hell good has it done me? All I wanted to do was make the world a better place, leave a mark on the earth that said James Murray did something and it mattered. It— it was so selfish, wasn’t it? I didn’t give a shit about Germany, about Ireland, about anything, did I? This war has destroyed me. I threw everything away, everything that mattered, my father, my career, my mind . . . I put you in danger, and for what?”
Lucas didn’t know what to say to that. It was true. Neither of them would be in this mess if not for Jamie, but Lucas had never resented him for it. After all, it had been his choice to follow.
“Jamie . . . ”
“S’pose we could.” He bit his lip. “Lucas . . . how long has it been? I don’t know anything about your life right now.”
“Oh . . . Jamie . . . ” He swallowed. “After you died, I lost myself. I was completely inconsolable, they almost had me shot for cowardice. I was sent to medical— I don’t remember anything from those weeks. Angie found me eventually— the war was already over by then. Ended about a month after you . . . ” His eyes darted up; he wasn’t sure how Jamie would take the news that if he’d only survived a little longer, they all could have gone home.
“I couldn’t hold down a job,” he continued. “Patrick was killed, I don’t know if you remember, and Mattie’s hurt, hurt bad. The girls moved to the countryside, and they asked me to come with them. But I couldn’t leave Dublin. I couldn’t leave . . . ” You. The memories we built here, the only happy moments in my life. “I figured there might be another uprising, I thought maybe I could help, but . . . no, I’m full of shit. I wanted to help Ireland, I thought that would be what you wanted.
“I couldn’t hold a gun anymore, I couldn’t be in a military setting, it was too painful. I . . . ” His voice cracked a little. “I put up a grave for you. I thought that would make up for it in a small way.” He looked up at Jamie, his beautiful, perfect face just the way it always had been. “My life ended when yours did, Jamie. I couldn’t go on without you,” he whispered, putting his face in his hands. I’m sorry I’m so pathetic.
Lucas looked up. “It’s been ten years. Ten years today.” Jesus. No wonder he’d been feeling so strange lately, seeing Jamie, hearing Jamie . . . maybe heaven had some arbitrary time frame for getting expelled as an adorable ghost.
Jamie said nothing for a while, and Lucas couldn’t bear to look at him. “You’re not pathetic. I’m sorry it’s been so hard on you.” He touched Lucas’s knee and their eyes met. “I was worried you weren’t going to tell me the truth just now. I’m glad you did.”
“Jamie . . .? Did you know?” he asked, his voice barely audible. How I have felt about you all this time? How I’ve obsessed and agonized over you for the better part of two decades?
“Yeah,” he said softly, not looking away. “I think I did.”
“ . . . And you still wanted to let me be a part of your life?”
“Yeah. You’re my best friend, and I love you with all my heart.” He smiled sadly. “Maybe that was cruel of me, eh? I’m sorry, Lucas.”
That he couldn’t give Lucas what he needed, what he wanted. That he didn’t crush his hopes once and for all when there was still time.
“’S’not your fault. I didn’t choose to be this way. I never needed that from you. Being near you was enough . . . your friendship was enough.”
“I should have let you go. I should have pushed you away, I shouldn’t have let you hurt like this.”
Lucas felt cold all the way down to his bones, his eyes wide and his jaw clenched. “No,” he whispered. “No, Jamie, no. Please don’t say that.”
The sound of Lucas’s own voice was unfamiliar in his ears, the shrill tendrils of panic. He hated how vulnerable he was in this moment. He’d spoken so seldom in this room, had company so infrequently. Jamie could take his heart and crush it into dust. Jesus. This is why he’d never expressed himself in the first place. These emotions were foreign, old forgotten relics of his time before he lost Jamie. Life was much easier when he only felt misery and grief, damn it.
“You made my life beautiful. You made me want to live for the first time, you made me think I mattered. Please.” He was trying in vain to stop the tears running down his face. “Please, Jamie, don’t leave me again. I can’t handle it. I can’t.”
Jamie tried to brush a tear off Lucas’s cheek and sighed. “Right, no physical matter. Okay, Lucas. I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you. And I won’t leave unless the Lord himself pulls me out of here. Fair?”
“Not to you. I don’t want to keep you trapped here for the rest of my life. Then again, if I have a brain tumor it probably won’t be that much longer, so . . . ”
Jamie laughed. “You always see the bright side of things, don’t you, boyo?”
His laugh was like bells, he was so dear, and Lucas found himself stupefied with the immeasurable love that was swelling in his chest for this man. It didn’t matter if he was real, if he was a ghost or a devil, or nothing but a fraction of Lucas’s steadily deepening madness . . . he was here, he was here, and Lucas was never going to let him go again.
1918
Lucas didn’t care about the details of the battle, the mission, or anything that they were doing, really. They were in Belgium; Britain was finally getting the upper hand after four terrible years. By then, the Irish divisions had been largely split up due to poor recruitment, and the war was coming to a close. Lucas and Jamie had been kept together, thank Christ, and were due some leave any minute now. It couldn’t be much longer now, right? How long could a war go on?
Jamie had been holding steady, as far as anyone could tell. He had his lapses of fear and panic, but Lucas had been able to shake him out of them relatively promptly . . . most of the time, at least. The weather was getting colder, and Lucas could only pray that the end of the war was in sight.
Jamie had been going over battle details with the men, his hair just brushing over his eyebrows in a way Lucas found charming.
“We’ll flank them on the left.” He pointed on the map. “Their supplies have been dwindling, I doubt we’ll have much resistance. If we can break that port of communication, we’re in very good shape for the next few week—”
A bullet came out of nowhere, ricocheting off one of the metal containers they had lying about. It struck Jamie in the shoulder from behind, sending him to his knees with a gasp.
Lucas saw red. He pushed the other men out of the way and began pawing at Jamie’s clothes, trying to see the wound. His lungs— oh Jesus what if it hit him in the lungs, I can’t lose him, not now, not bloody now. “Someone get a fucking medic!”
Jamie laughed and caught Lucas’s wrists. “It’s all right, pal. Doesn’t even hurt much.”
Still, there was a lot of blood on his coat, on Lucas’s hands, and he helped Jamie strip down to his undershirt so he could see the damage. He’d never really imagined his first time disrobing Jamie would be like this, it was substantially less romantic than he had been hoping for but . . . Jamie’s skin was so white and unblemished, free from the horrific scars that told the story of Lucas’s life all too clearly. This gaping, bleeding wound was an affront to him, and Lucas tore his own sleeve off to put pressure on it.
The medic Lucas summoned determined that most likely Jamie’s life wasn’t in danger. Still, it would probably be for the best to send him to get the bullet pulled out and have some disinfectant applied.
“I’ll be fine,” Jamie assured Lucas. “You’re really sweet to worry, you know that?”
Lucas felt himself blushing and cursed himself. “Shut up. Go get better before I shoot you.”
Looking back, Lucas realized, that was the first time he’d heard Jamie’s laugh in a very, very long time. Jamie’s eyes had been worn and hollow for as long as he could remember, his voice was dry and mechanical. The bullet had barely fractured his shoulder blade and missed all of his vital organs . . . he’d been lucky. And luckier still to have a nice long chunk of time away from the shell-torn fields of Belgium while he recovered. Lucas thought it would be a really good change for him. Hell, it might even give them a chance to have some leisure time together. Lucas was well overdue some leave anyway. He could hardly get the full eight weeks Jamie would have for his convalescence, but he took about a week just at the end of Jamie’s recovery period. Luckily, they’d been able to send some letters back and forth, but Jamie didn’t sound like himself.
How is it? Boring, I bet. Captain Miller thought he got shot in the cock and went into a right flap. Apparently, it still works. He’s bragging to the point where I thought he’d show it to me, and I’d have to shoot him in the jewels for real. You’d have laughed. Thinking of you, LC.
Dear Lucas, It’s fine here. Quieter. My shoulder feels better, they’re thinking I’ll be back in a week or two. James Murray
We still on for meeting up in Ypres? You need to show me around.
No reply.
Looking forward to seeing you. I miss you.
No reply. It wasn’t like Jamie, and Lucas had an awful feeling about all this. He was officially granted leave and took the train to Ypres, his leather bag heavy in his hands. He had been pining for Jamie and was looking forward to spending some time off with him. Those letters hadn’t been very encouraging, but Lucas didn’t want to assume the worst. He hates you. He’s going mad. You’re going to lose him, he’s breaking, he’s broken. He shook his head and imagined a world before the war. Where they could go back to the way things had been in Dublin, before John had been killed, before . . . before Jamie had started to crack.
Lucas was still wearing his uniform when he went to find Jamie. He watched civilians from under the bridge of his cap as he wandered the streets. The weight of the war was felt everywhere in the nation, to some degree, but it always surprised Lucas to see how normal life was even twenty miles away. Girls going to school, bakers selling bread; but for the headlines in the newspapers, it might have seemed a perfectly normal little piece of paradise. As if there weren’t men a little over a hundred miles away spilling their blood, brains, and guts all over the earth.
Jamie was expecting him and waved erratically as he saw Lucas approach. Lucas trotted up and they exchanged a warm hug, a handshake that turned into a second hug, and a doe-eyed smile from Lucas before heading away from the barracks, hoping to forget everything for a little while.
“So, tell me everything!” Lucas’s enthusiasm felt forced. There was something a bit off about Jamie, and he wanted to help however he could. “Screw any good nurses, Romeo?”
“What?” Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose. “No.”
“Too ugly?” Please smile. Please.
“No.”
“Jamie?”
Weary eyes looked down at him. “Yes?”
“I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
Jamie nodded and shoved trembling hands into his pockets.
The leave went by in a blur, the wound was healing well, but Jamie was still different. Lucas couldn’t help but feel that he was a little more reckless than he normally was, a little more withdrawn. Jamie was smiling less, drinking more. . . He never went home with girls anymore, he never even tried. The little twitch beside his eye had returned, and as they slept side by side in the barracks, Lucas could see that his nightmares were coming back. Jamie lashed out in his sleep, whimpering and sometimes shouting at imagined enemies that hounded him relentlessly. Lucas did what he could, up to and including climbing into bed with Jamie to hold him and keep him steady while his panic ripped through him. Lieutenant Murray clung to him like an infant, fingers tearing at his clothes, his whole body trembling as he burrowed his way under Lucas’s chin.
“Jamie . . . ” he said gently into the darkness, shaking his shoulder, “Jamie, come on, we’re not even in the battlefield right now, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Jamie’s breaths were coming in steady gasps. His eyes were wide, and more than once Lucas had to cover his mouth to stop him from screaming. He made Jamie meet his eyes, as this sometimes helped to ground him, but there were whole days that passed where Jamie wasn’t himself. Where he couldn’t be calmed, couldn’t be reached, where even Lucas couldn’t soothe him. Jamie was getting further and further away with each passing day, and Lucas could feel his own heart crumbling to dust.
“Jamie . . . tell me what happened. Did they do something to you at the recovery center? Talk to me, I’m here.”
“No . . . no, they didn’t,” Jamie replied, his voice low and soft. “But it wasn’t like the first time. It wasn’t just minor injuries being sent here, Lucas, it’s so horrible. I saw a man with no face, no eyes, just an open, gawping mouth . . . and he screamed, Lucas, he never stopped screaming ’til they held him down and sedated him until he was silent . . .
“Christ, Lucas, Jesus Christ . . . some of them were from our unit, for heaven’s sake. Ole Ken’s got no legs now, he’ll be pissing into a bag for the rest of his life—and Mack, you know Mack? His lungs, Lucas, they bruised so badly, he just— he was fine, and then little by little he choked to death on his own blood . . . he knew it was happening, Lucas, he knew, he knew, he knew.”
Jamie trembled and licked his lips. “He begged me to help him, and I couldn’t. They never stop screaming, Lucas, they’re dying and it’s all my fault, I can’t help anyone, I can’t—” His breaths came in little hiccupping gasps, his whole body shaking as they lay side by side. “Why do I keep surviving? Why does everyone else get hurt and I keep scraping by?”
“It’s not your fault, Jamie, I swear to you it’s not.” Lucas had been saying this more often recently, with diminishing returns. It was dawning on him, and it had been for a long time . . . that Jamie was getting further and further away from him. He was going to lose him at this rate. “Jamie . . . I’m with you, I’m always with you, I’ll always stand beside you and remind you that you’re only human . . . You’re not a monster, Jamie, you’re . . . ”—the light of my life, my sin and my soul, everything, everything—“you’re so dear to me and it kills me to see you like this.” His voice was soft and weak, he couldn’t quite commit to saying the words.
Jamie’s trembling lessened a little, yet he couldn’t meet Lucas’s gaze.
“Jamie?”
Nothing. No light in his eyes, the man was a puppet.
“Jamie, look at me.”
His beautiful face moved mechanically to Lucas, the muscles of his cheek and mouth twitching uncontrollably. His mouth opened, then shut, and he turned away once more.
It was like talking to a dead fish at the market.
They returned to the battlefield together after that, and despite everything, Jamie managed to keep his head together well enough to lead the men into battle for a few days. Maybe he wasn’t completely mad, and Lucas didn’t want to have him shipped off to CCS again for his shell shock. It had done more harm than good, last time. As Lucas feared, however, it wasn’t long before the cracks in Jamie’s mind began to widen.
It’d been a relatively calm day, actually— only two rounds of shelling, bit of rain, nothing out of the ordinary. They had been huddled up next to each other for warmth after they’d had their evening rations. Jamie was a mess. His uniform wasn’t tidy, his hair wasn’t combed, his stubble was coming up in uneven patches on his cheeks. Lucas had coaxed him into the officer’s area and sat down beside him on his cot.
“It’s all in my head, isn’t it?” Jamie’s eyes were dull and hollow, his voice was croaky. “The idea of being a hero, of saving the world, making it up to my father, none of it is real. I gave up my education for this, I gave up the chance to die beside my father, I . . . I dragged you into this mess, too.”
“Jamie, no.” Lucas had hugged him tight, releasing him only so he could look into his eyes. “I’d follow you into hell and back. There’s nowhere you could have gone that I wouldn’t stand beside you.”
“That’s what I mean, Lucas! I brought you here! I cost you your job and your home and your health and—and Mattie and Pattie never would have joined if you hadn’t—Pat would still be— and Matt . . . ”
It was true. But it had been Lucas’s choice to follow Jamie, and he didn’t blame him for it. They were both grown men, they both had to follow their hearts. Jamie had followed his heart to heroism, and Lucas had followed his to Jamie. “I don’t care. You didn’t start this war, you didn’t gas my brothers, you didn’t want any of this to happen. You’re a good person, Jamie, a great man, and I wouldn’t be here with you if I didn’t think so.”
“I’m so sorry, Lucas,” Jamie whispered, and buried his head in Lucas’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get us both killed, I know I am— I’m gonna cock up when it matters most and let you down—I let everyone down—I . . . I just . . . I just wanted to—”
“You won’t let me down. You’ve never let anyone down. I know this isn’t what you wanted, what you imagined, but we’ve survived this long and I’m gonna keep your head straight until we get home together. I’ll protect you ’til the end of this, Jamie. I’ll help you; I won’t let anything happen to you. Just a little longer, okay? I promise you, Jamie—I’ll help get you better, I’ll keep you right. We’ll go home, get back to our flat, I’ll make us dinner, and we can drink beer and sit by the fire and just . . . be normal.”
“I don’t think I can ever be normal again.” Jamie trembled against Lucas’s skin and Lucas didn’t know what to do or say. “I messed up, Lucas. I had this stupid dream of honor and glory and saving the world and what the hell good has it done me? All I wanted to do was make the world a better place, leave a mark on the earth that said James Murray did something and it mattered. It— it was so selfish, wasn’t it? I didn’t give a shit about Germany, about Ireland, about anything, did I? This war has destroyed me. I threw everything away, everything that mattered, my father, my career, my mind . . . I put you in danger, and for what?”
Lucas didn’t know what to say to that. It was true. Neither of them would be in this mess if not for Jamie, but Lucas had never resented him for it. After all, it had been his choice to follow.
“Jamie . . . ”
