Lascivious

Chapter Ten

The inside of the armor smelled a bit like rust and it had gotten bad enough that Rebecca had been plugging her nose for most of the ordeal. Perhaps at a more appropriate time, she would have a little conversation with Al about personal hygiene.

She still wasn't sure if this was the right choice. She remembered Jean's words to her after Al had left.

"If he goes now, he's going to be too preoccupied with hatred and revenge to do any real good. You're a soldier too, Rebecca, you know that. He's only going to come out of this hating himself."

Rebecca hadn't been able to quite meet his eyes. "We need to take them down Jean, after what they did."

"It doesn't matter what we need to do if that thing is impossible! Especially for a scared kid like him." He had argued as she helped him back into the hospital bed. "You heard what he said; he's a fourteen year old and he's not mentally prepared for this! He needs to be taken somewhere safe, not set loose on the battlefield, and you're just enabling him."

"So what am I supposed to do?" she shot back. She sat on the edge of his cot. "He's going to go whether I like it or not; you know as well as I do that we can't stop him. The least I can do is come along to make sure he's safe. I can't fail him like I did before."

"Rebecca..." She felt a familiar heat of his hand on hers. She pulled away quickly.

"You don't have the right." She said. "And besides, this is hardly the time."

For a moment, his eyes betrayed his hurt and she almost felt bad but he quickly recovered. "I told you, you can't blame yourself for what happened. And if you go out there this time..."

"It's not like I'm planning on getting myself killed," she said defensively.

"Really? Because I know Al is," he snapped. "And you don't seem to have a problem with that."

"He's hurting, Jean! He lost someone he loves and this is how real people react! We hurt, we're angry, we lash out when we shouldn't... I can't stop him from doing that. It's human nature."

"What is this really about?" he asked. "You're too smart for this, Becca. There has to be something else eating you here. Please... please tell me it's not what I think it is."

She didn't answer.

He sighed. "Do you think I wasn't hurting too? When I left? It was a transfer— it's not like I chose to go—" Emotion, that thing that ties the tongues of the greatest orators, ended his plea.

"I know Jean; I'm being stupid about this, I know." She was finally able to look him in the eye. "Just let me be stupid alright? Just let me be stupid and hurt. I've been bottling up too much these last months and I—"

When he kissed her, she hardly noticed it at first. It was too familiar, like seeing the same blurry face on your everyday commute to work. But it was in that breezy familiarity that she realized exactly what she had been looking for these past few months as she tried to forget, tried to find any other reason for emptiness. This was it, the ease of his lips on hers, the delicate brush of his fingers through her hair, this was the drug that she had stupidly forgotten to—no, chosen not to—quit.

"I already told you," She was only half surprised when her voice choked over the words. "This isn't the time."

"I know." He said, but he didn't let go. "Just let me be stupid too."