Battle Scars

Chapter 8:

Leah

The car ride to the store is quiet. Bri knows when to leave the silence alone, and I'm grateful for that. She's one of the few people who's stuck around after I left the service—a reminder of a time that feels like a different life now. Bri and I met at our first duty station in Europe, both of us navigating a foreign country and the military chaos that came with it. We bonded over long shifts, the mess hall's terrible coffee, and the mutual feeling of not quite fitting in. She's got beautiful brown skin and butterfly locs that frame her face like a halo. We've both left that world behind now, but unlike me, Bri made the choice to get out. She wasn't forced by circumstances that spiraled out of control.

I lean my head against the window, watching the streets blur by. It's strange being here, in a new place with new people and trying to create a new sense of normalcy. I spent years building a life in the military, creating a sense of stability in the middle of chaos. But now, it feels like I'm starting from scratch, and I'm not sure where I fit into this new chapter.

The errand run is quick—Bri and I grab what I need in record time. Shampoo, soap that doesn't double as engine cleaner, some basic groceries, and a few other essentials. It's all simple stuff, but there's something grounding about it. It's like piecing together some kind of stability, even if it's just making sure I don't smell like a teenage boy.

As we load the bags into the car, Bri finally breaks the silence. "How's living with Nate?" she asks, trying to keep her tone casual, but her curiosity is all over her face.

I let out a chuckle. Bri's never been good at hiding what she's thinking. "It's... an adjustment," I admit, not quite sure how else to put it. Nate's enthusiasm is both endearing and a little exhausting. Living with him again after all these years brings back memories I thought I'd locked away for good.

"And his roommate?" Bri asks, her eyebrows lifting in a way that makes me roll my eyes.

"Jay?" I pretend not to catch the implication in her tone. "He's... fine."

"Fine?" she repeats, looking entirely unconvinced. "That's it?"

I shrug, trying to act indifferent. "I don't really know him yet. But he seems alright. Quiet, mostly."

Bri smirks, clearly wanting to pry more, but I cut her off before she can say anything. "Don't start, Bri."

She holds her hands up in mock surrender, the smirk never leaving her face. "Alright, alright. But please tell me he's fine" emphasizing the fine and waggling her brows at me.

I side eye her and burst out in laughter

"Girl he's exactly my type, I think I'm in trouble."

When we get back to the apartment, I thank Bri and tell her I'll see her soon. I'm halfway up the stairs with my bags when the front door creaks open and Nate steps out, a grin spreading across his face when he sees me.

"Hey!" he calls, jogging down to meet me. "Got everything?"

"Yeah," I say, holding up the bags as proof.

"Good," he says, taking a couple of bags from me without asking. Nate's learned over the years not to ask too many questions. It's one of the things I appreciate most about him. He knows that if he asks, I'll tell him the truth—whether he's ready for it or not. It's why he's careful about what he chooses to ask, and why he usually keeps things light.

We head into the apartment, and he's doing that thing where he tries to make small talk to avoid the heavier stuff. I can tell he's feeling guilty about not being more prepared for my stay, but I don't have the energy to reassure him right now.

As we set the bags down in the kitchen, Jay walks in from his run, sweat glistening on his skin, his hair sticking to his forehead. He's got this intense look in his eyes like he's been out there longer than he planned to be. Nate doesn't seem to notice, but I do. Jay's presence feels heavy, like he's carrying something with him even in the silence.

"Hey," Nate says, trying to sound casual. "How was the run?"

"Fine," Jay replies, reaching for a bottle of water from the fridge. He glances at me, his eyes lingering for a second longer than necessary before he looks away. It's subtle, but I notice it. I wonder what's going through his head, what he's trying to piece together.

Nate clears his throat, trying to break whatever tension he's sensing. "Leah got everything she needed," he announces, like it's some kind of accomplishment.

Jay just nods, taking a long drink of water, still not quite meeting my eyes. I can tell he's curious—anyone would be after everything Nate's hinted at. But he hasn't asked me anything yet, and I can't decide if that's better or worse. People like Jay don't stay quiet forever, and I wonder how long it'll be before the questions start. I almost want to know what he'll ask first, and it amuses me in a dark way to think about his face when he finally gets the answers he's looking for.

The weight in my chest gets heavier when I imagine that look of pity taking over every time he sees me. I've seen it before in other people, and I've got no doubt I'll see it again. People mean well, but pity feels like a spotlight I'd rather avoid. I'm not afraid of opening up—I just know what happens when I do. The darkness slips out, and suddenly, it's like I'm this tragic story people either want to fix or escape from.

Nate heads to his room to get ready for work, leaving me and Jay in the kitchen. He glances at the bags on the counter, then at me, his brow furrowing slightly like he's trying to decide whether to say something.

"Need help with anything else?" he asks, his voice lower and rougher, still catching his breath from the run.

"No," I say, trying to sound confident. "I've got it."

He nods, but I can tell he doesn't quite believe me. He opens his mouth like he's about to ask something else, then closes it again, his eyes narrowing slightly in the way I'm already realizing he does when he's trying to figure someone out.

It's almost funny how transparent he is without realizing it. I've seen guys like Jay before—the ones who think they're good at reading people, good at hiding their intentions. But I know the game too well. I turn away and start unpacking the bags, busying myself with the simple task, letting him decide whether he wants to keep prying or let it go.

After a moment, I hear him leave, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. There's something about Jay that keeps throwing me off balance, and it's not just his presence or the intensity in his eyes. It's like he's trying to figure me out without asking the questions, and it leaves me feeling exposed in a way I'm not used to.

I've spent years learning how to keep people at arm's length—how to deflect without shutting them out completely. But Jay isn't playing by the same rules, and it makes me wonder how much longer I can keep my walls up before he finds a way around them.