The sun is setting, tinting the sky orange and pink. Sitting in the shade of the tent, I skim through the letters of R.V Burgin, my solid husband in the midst of the chaos of the Pacific. But in this corner of the world, where war is raging and survival is uncertain, feelings seem to mix and merge.
Nights are the hardest time. The laughter and jokes exchanged by the guys seem to ring louder as night falls and the shadows lengthen. Eugene Sledge, Wilbur "Runner" Conley and Robert Leckie are household names, comrades-in-arms with whom I share moments of camaraderie and brotherhood. But there are also those suggestive looks, those double-meaning words that seem to follow me wherever I go.
One day, as I walk past the group, the laughter is heard :
"-Well, if that isn't the lovely lady in the middle of hell!" Runner exclaims cheerfully.
Muffled laughter follows, but my heart beats faster. I keep walking, doing my best to ignore their provocations.
Several weeks pass like this, with incessant teasing and inappropriate comments. My heart sinks every time I see my husband getting angry, his face turning red with anger :
"-Let them talk, honey. They don't know what it's like to have you by my side" I try to reassure him as best I can.
But the situation is only getting worse. One evening, when tempers are heated by the tension, an argument breaks out. The words fly in the air like bullets, the insults coming from all sides. I feel helpless, caught in the middle of this conflict which only underscores the unbearable pressures of war.
The usually sarcastic Leckie has his fists clenched, his gaze fixed on R.V.:
"-You better keep an eye on your wife, Burgin. She might prefer more... persistent company." he spits.
The tension is palpable, with the verbal abuse threatening to turn into physical violence.
And then, suddenly, everything stops. Burgin comes forward, short of breath :
"-That's enough!" he roared.
"-Hey, let's calm down, man. Nobody's trying to steal her from you. We're just having a little fun." Runner fires back, hands up in surrender.
His voice is filled with accumulated rage and frustration:
"-She's the only thing keeping me alive in this hellhole, and I won't let anyone degrade her like this. She's my wife, not an object of your fantasies!"
His gaze meets mine, and in his eyes I see a combination of love and vulnerability.
The argument calms down, giving way to a tense silence. R.V turns to me, his face softened :
"-I'm sorry, honey. I didn't want you to have to go through all this."
His voice almost quivers, his hands reaching for mine.
I approach him, gently putting my hand on his cheek :
"-I know you're worried about me, but I'm strong, Romus And I love you more than anything. I'm happy to be your wife."
My lips find hims in a kiss filled with tenderness and promise. He pulls my body closer to his so he can feel me closer to him and kiss me all over.
The weeks that follow are filled with stolen moments, silent hugs and exchanged looks. The war continues, brutal and relentless, but we have found a way to hold on, to support each other through the darkness.
The real battle is within, fighting against the doubts and fears that threaten to engulf us. But in each other's arms, we find the strength to resist, to stay true to our love in the middle of the hell of the Pacific.
YOU ARE READING
The Pacific imagines
FanfictionI hope you will like my imagine stories. This is my first time doing this kind of story.
