Animosity

Chapter 16 - The Feeling

        Photo: A member of the American militia guides a group of refugee Vietnamese villagers through a river.

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        "Hey Rico, don't forget your pack." I called, and he grinned his usual winning smile at me, holding out a hand to take it off of mine. I sighed contently, moving to the corner of the tent, hooking my fingers underneath the cloth and unhooking it from the tops of the metal poles. The bright morning light lit the way as I collapsed the hooch quickly, whistling a tune to myself, shielding my eyes from the blinding sun.

        Around the encampment, the other tent was already packed up neatly, and Devy was shoving it into a nearby bag, muttering scalding complaints under his breath. Buddy walked by me and Rico, giving us a naive little thumbs up, rations for breakfast spilling out of his skinny arms. Nearby, Doc, Raleigh, and Lieutenants Thompson and Hiro were sitting in a semicircle, talking animatedly over each other as they made wild gestures towards the map that was unfolded on the floor.

        To my right, Hank quietly started to unhook the clasps on the medic tent, fingers working against the cloth as he leaned over the top. At merely the sight of him, the deep purple and blue bruises that marred my pale skin began to throb, the angry splotches of color running along my cheeks, down my jaw, and wrapped around the length of my throat. Bringing an uncertain hand up, my fingers brushed over the particularly prominent ones on my neck, and I winced roughly upon contact.

        He had given me these bruises, I thought bitterly, throwing the remnants of the collapsed tent aside with more force than I should've. He beat me into the ground, but... I still wanted to be on good terms with him, no matter what. The realization that had plagued me yesterday as he danced through the fields were still fresh in my mind, and I shook my head violently in an attempt to wipe it clean. I hated what it meant, and looking over at the tall brunette, I realized quickly that I didn't need to worry about it anymore. He already hated me.

"You gonna miss me, Tommy?" Rico teased, limping over to my side and nudging me gently with his shoulder. Smiling, I gathered the broken-down tent in my arms, giving him a playful shove, apologizing profusely when I realized that he was still pretty badly wounded. He had started walking again sometime during when Hank and I were on patrol, inevitably meeting the rest of our detachment.

He had gotten along extremely well with Devy, an event that I anticipated since meeting him, and had charmed his way into the hearts of the rest of the men as well. Rico was fun, happy, charismatic, and despite me brushing off his earlier comment, I was kind of disappointed to see him go. He reminded me so much of Devy that I had, at first, been weary of speaking with him, but as soon as he opened his mouth, I had felt a sort of joyful peace enter the air. He was sort of an anti-Devy, representing everything that our own dark-haired man could be if he tried.

        "Don't get ahead of yourself, Rico," I answered back lightly, and he chuckled as he limped next to me, taking quick gasps in between steps. I was worried for them to travel the length of the fields in between their battlefield, especially since the ambush that had driven me and Hank back into the trees the day before. "Take... take care of yourself out there, okay?"

        "Sure thing," he laughed, running his fingers through his long black hair. He stopped at the edge of the clearing where Raleigh and Lt. Thompson were already getting ready to go, slinging their packs on their shoulders and speaking animatedly to Doc and Lt. Hiro.

        He cleared his throat, sifting through his pocket and pulling a pair of cigarettes out of a crumpled pack, sighing contentedly as he leaned against a nearby tree. Offering one to me, he shot me a soft smile, but I politely declined, shaking my head good-naturedly.