Counting Stars

I was worried when Waters and I first got here…It didn't feel at all like I'd fit in with them. Waters’ team leader terrified me at first and, frankly, I was mortified when I'd asked about what he'd been doing and Waters had just shrugged it off like that was a normal, Friday night activity for them.

Because it was.

If this was what active duty enlisted Marines do after work, I don't ever want to find out what they do when they develop problems at home.

Thankfully, that sort of behavior seems to have at least tempered itself just by the nature of the worst offenders putting themselves either into unconsciousness or simply becoming so close to it that they needed to be carried back to their rooms regardless.

It hasn't been all bad though. Actually, I've been having a lot of fun. The guys are really nice and Chavez has arguably been taking care of me just as much as Waters does.

Either way, things have generally settled down ever since that Sergeant—’Dre’ I think they called him—turned in for the night and the duty NCO for the barracks came out to make us turn off the speaker.

I was a little sad then. It'd seemed like that was going to be the time to call it a night and…I didn't want it to end…

But I suppose I'd forgotten who exactly I was dealing with because they simply opened another round of beers while someone went to get a guitar to play and the charcoal grill was converted into a small, impromptu firepit to enjoy from the comfort of the smokepit picnic table.

Under the relief I'd felt then…that was when those beers stopped tasting all that bad for me.

…In fact, I think it was then that I truly started to get it.

The guitarist wasn't bad at all with his instrument. I've never seen anyone play one in person like this before but something about it felt special.

Felt…real…and tangible not just to the ear as he played.

And, as I now find my eyes falling onto the man who'd brought me, so tenderly, into this little world that's so special to him—yet so much wider than the only one I feel like I've ever known…

I feel like I never want to leave.

…I don't want to go home…

Even if I can't help but dread that it's going to have to come to an end at some point, I no longer find it all that hard to smile. Not right now.

Not tonight.

------

…I don't know what I'm even doing here anymore.

Col. Hawthorn told me to stop investigating Waters. Perhaps I should have. But how could I while 2-18 was still so possessed by him?

How was that even possible?

But…as I'd watched them throughout this party, I don't know if I'll ever get her free of him. She's his now. So, what's the point?

But I can't…let it go.

I hear the depressing of trodden grass as someone approaches my hiding spot behind the massive, barracks AC unit enclosure but can't even bring myself to care. I may as well not be here so what do I care if someone notices me anymore?

The silhouette I find limps from behind the corner in a drunken stumble. The short statured figure then tugs at his waistband and proceeds to relieve himself into the grass, wobbling not particularly far from where I've since sat down.

“...You really couldn't go to your room to do that?”

The figure doesn't even flinch. Senses are probably too dulled to even register that I'm here fast enough to startle him. He simply looks back over toward the general vicinity of where I'm sitting in the dark.

“I'll be honest…unless I piss into my shower, there's no way it's going to go where it needs to.”

The figure makes a single, guilty chuckle.

…But I swear that I recognize his voice from somewhere…

He shakes himself clean, reholsters his weapon, and then finally turns to regard me.

…And that's when I come to realize it.

This is that friend of Waters’. The one that I—

…Oh.

He stumbles over into my direction, his gate obviously influenced by more than just the alcohol he's ingested, and comes to lean up against the wall beside me.

“What—” He puffs out his cheeks, blowing out the sudden burp forming in his esophagus before it has the chance to materialize. “What are you doing all the way over here by yourssself?” He slurs.

I hardly even hear the question.

“...What the hell does she even see in that guy?” I ask, ignoring him entirely. He just stares down at me like I'd posed it to him in French, blinking slowly and then tilting his head.

“…You mean Waters?”

“He's just some guy,” I continue. “She shouldn't be capable of feeling anything even remotely approaching affection. She's practically had the hormones driving it neutered and nailed to a wall and she's still become wrapped around the finger of this…guy.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seated crouch, toes prickling in protest to falling asleep.

“It shouldn't be possible. Hours of surgery. Weeks of recovery…Months of retraining neurological functions and learning coping strategies and he just walks up to 2-18 and cuts right through it all like it's nothing.”

Perhaps I shouldn't have said that last part out loud but who am I kidding? He's far too gone for it to matter. I Shake my head, glaring up at the shorter guy as he grunts in pain and slides down the wall to my level.

“And then I'm the crazy one for demanding answers?! Are you insane?!”

I shake my head, laughing through the outrage at the boy who's staring at me like he'd only just listened to half of what I said.

“I don't even know why I'm talking to you…”

…

“Waters is better at understanding people than anyone I know,” he sighs.

I look over to him as he speaks, surprised at just how coherent he'd been able to respond.

By the way he seems to teeter off-balance, he is still quite obviously inebriated but it almost seems as though there might be some fleeting coherence to his eyes.

“Ssure he's…like the rest of us,” says the boy, still occasionally slurring his words.

“He can be in-inele—…unrefined. He drinks for fun. And, let's be real, he's just as much of an idiot ssometimes as any of us.”

I scoff.

Great, so he gets it. Glad to hear that even this worm knows just how much of an anomaly their relationship is.

Not just an anomaly. A discrepancy. One that needs to be—

“But he's also the most respectful of anyone in our platoon,” continues the shorter boy, eyes distant.

“He's considerate of everyone he cares about and consistently reliable in it too. And, to top it all off, he's way too damn straight-laced.”

The boy laughs out loud.

“His ass wouldn't even try to sleep with the girl. And, believe me, I tried making him do it, like, a bajillion times. Wanted him to hop to it so she'd protect us forever! And do you know what—”

He presses a fist to his mouth, holding back another belch before exhaling.

“...What he said to me? That there was no way he could do that to her.”

The boy shakes his head back and forth in a wide, slow arc.

“Sure, he ended up dating her anyway in the end but I could tell right away that it had nothing to do with any scheme. Guy was absolutely willing to deny everyone of his squad a free, personal guardian all the way through the foreseeable future just because it wouldn't have been right to her.”

He smirks in the dark.

“Do you know just how many of us would have shut up and done it? I'm pretty sure every last one of us but him would have done that for free…yet he wouldn't even take advantage of her for every other reason in the world…”

The smirk fades, leaving the half lid of his contemplative eyes.

“...Of anyone at all…I think Waters is exactly the sort of guy for that girl out there,” He says, smile ever so slightly returning.

“At least, he's the one I'd choose for her. And I think she'd be as much the crazy one not to have fallen for him anyway.”

My eyes linger on the boy for a little longer after he'd spoken.

Is this really the Waters that had 2-18 wrapped around his finger?

“...You really feel that strongly about him being right for 2-18?”

He frowns at me.

“Who the hell is 2-18?”

I sigh in frustration but ultimately come to him on the topic. He and everyone else close to their platoon have only ever known her by that name she'd given them.

“Kiyomi,” I correct.

We sit like that for what feels like way too long, quietly leaning against the brick enclosure.

So this…is the Waters that K-2-18 has fallen in love with? This is who he really is as a person?

This whole entire time he really was just some well meaning guy.

I sigh.

“I'm such a dumbass…”

That earns a hearty chuckle from Water's friend.

“Welcome to the club. Have a seat and stay a while. There's an open bar!”

He offers me the open, half-empty bottle of beer he'd been holding. I don't know why, I mean it's probably not the most responsible gesture, let alone sanitary, but I find it kind of funny. It catches me off-guard and I giggle at the little mess beside me as I take the container from him.

“I don't want to finish it anyway,” he adds. “Really hurts too much to piss the more of it I drink for some reason…”

I wince.

“...S-sorry…”

I take a swig. Not the coldest it could be anymore, and I could tell he'd been nursing it, but thankfully it isn't quite room temperature yet.

“Why's that?” He asks.

I form a tight line between my lips.

“That-uuh…That was kind of…me.”

He takes a moment to stare stupidly at me before…

He gasps, deeply and with great exaggeration.

“THAT WAS YOU?!”

He jumps to his feet before wobbling and then doubles back over, using the wall to stabilize himself.

“Ugh. I shouldn't have done that…”

I wince again.

“They hurt that bad, huh?”

“—No,” he says, irritated, taking a moment to hold his mouth. “Sitting down wasn't the right call. Standing up after was an even worse idea…”

Ah. The alcohol.

He lets go of his mouth after a moment.

“I only thought you were the lady from the smokepit. You were that one too, huh?”

Right, I hadn't forgotten about that either. I'd slapped the mostly empty can of dip from out of his hand…

“Yeah…Sorry for that too,” I say through a guilty chuckle. “I can get you a can to replace it if you want…”

I take another sip of the beer as I wait for an answer but he only slumps, looking like he might drop back down beside me again.

“Hey, you alright?”

He begins to topple and I frantically drop the now mostly empty bottle to keep him from falling over.

“Woah there, are you going to make it??” I ask, hurrying to my feet to hold him up.

He shakes his head.

“What was your name?” He asks, clearly holding something back.

“...Jennette,” I offer.

“Tell you what, Jennette…” He nauseously holds his hand to his mouth again, swallowing hard.

“...Help me up to my room and we'll call it even. I've got a fresh can up there that'll help me.”

“You do not need nicotine right now,” I say incredulously, though nevertheless I hunch over and hold him under the arm, balancing his weight against me.

“Trust me,” he chuckles, “I assure you that I need nicotine right now…”

------

The night has blossomed before us.

The party may have slowly fallen away but that meant nothing to the handful of us who'd remained, alongside a couple of the air winger POGs from third deck who'd come down. One even brought one of those acoustic box drums you sit on and play with your hands. Some of us had started singing along to the different songs Scott was playing on his guitar and he knew a lot of classic bangers. Just about anything you could sing while drunk was quickly becoming the preferred soundtrack of the night.

Torres had gotten pretty toasty, though not nearly as far-off as Rodriguez, who was clinging onto his best friend while belting out every song played and generally acting as the new soul of the party since Cpl. Chavez probably disappeared back to his room for the night.

I too had partaken enough to consider myself fairly buzzed but, to my massive surprise, it seemed as though Kiyomi had been enjoying herself just a little more than I'd expected and was gently swaying on the bench of the picnic table as it creaked under her. Gone is her almost sickly appearance in the warm firelight of the standing grill, leaving behind a glowing—almost ethereal—shine to her pale skin.

I couldn't ask for a better evening.

“What are you staring at?” Asks Kiyomi, her happy swaying having carried on well after Scott had taken a break and the smokepit was alive with the sound of side-chatter.

I hadn't even realized just how much I've been staring at her until she asked that.

“Just you,” I say, smirking at her.

“Just me?” She confirms, to which I nod.

Even through the warm, persistent little smile she's grown to offer me throughout the evening, she beams just a tad bit brighter for but a moment.

“Careful looking at a girl like that…” She says slyly. “...You might just make her want something from you…”

I laugh, my pulse rising just a few beats per minute higher.

“And what do you think that is?” I challenge.

Someone strums the guitar a couple of times and I turn to see that it isn't Scott this time but one of the air wingers, a female, who'd arrived with that drummer.

“My name's Cameron,” she says. “Hope you guys don't mind if my friend and I played something.”

With a couple of indifferent nods from a few of the other Marines, she strums, building up a melody that I'm not familiar with but the sound resonates well enough with the more tranquil mood that has seemingly taken over the smokepit.

The drummer sings, his voice a soft, nasally tone in the tranquil night.

When does the winter come round to spring?
When is this something more, not just a fling?

Kiyomi looks excitedly at me, the music having seemingly sparked something in her as she beams at me.

“...I want a dance,” she says softly.

…And my pulse rises ever more…

You gave me feeling, still I fled from home
Searching for what I can't find, just on my own.

I climb to my feet, taking her hand as I pull her to hers and then take her into my arms.

Even if I know next to nothing about actual dancing, she doesn't seem to care as I come to match her sway and her arms fall over me, lazily hanging together behind my shoulders.

Now I've forgotten what I'm doing here,
Don't know what had called to me; nobody's there.

“This a good enough date for you?” I ask quietly. She nods.

“You've never thought of any bad ones,” she replies but I can only laugh it off.

“That's not true at all,” I giggle under the continuing sound of the singing drummer.

“It is true…” Kiyomi says, lips turning down into a pout. “You know how much I hate when you disrespect our first date.”

“I know—I know,” I scoff, “it ‘cheapens what I said about it in the end’. You don't have to say it all again.”

‘The best date I'd had in a while’—I believe were the words I'd told her. It's almost embarrassing that that became one of her fondest memories with me.

Satisfied with my answer, she replaces her tiny smile.

“...But, yes. This night has been perfect…”

God, I wish this night would never end…

While you're countin’ stars, I'll be countin’ shells
Use them to pass the time ‘til I find you well.
Lead me out of darkness, keep me outta Hell,
Come back for good sometime and to find myself.

------

I stumble under the weight of the massive woman draping over me. She shuffled her feet along with me and still I couldn't believe I'd managed to heft the entirety of her body onto my shoulders last month.

She was physically awkward as hell to support as I guided her down the length of outside-facing doors for the barracks rooms on first deck.

“You're, like, twice my size. How are you even this drunk?” I mumble mostly to myself.

“Mmmmmmhmhmhmhmmm~” She giggles.

I pull out my wallet, flipping it open to expose my contained government ID to the electric reader. It beeps and then ticks, the deadbolt sliding away and allowing me to twist the handle with a click to open the door to my own room.

Darkness consumes the room as I carefully struggle my way through the narrow frame with the large woman in tow, fighting the door as it tries annoyingly hard to close on her.

I bring her through, standing her onto the thin, cheap, central rug just beside my bed as the door closes and the room is again consumed in the dark. Through labored breath, I then gently lower her onto the mattress with a strained grunt.

The metal coffin chest serving as my bed frame groans underneath her but, ultimately, supports her bodyweight, despite the cramped way she has to tuck in her legs to avoid hanging them off the other end.

“No way in hell I can have you driving back while in the state you're in right now, so go ahead and take my bed for the night,” I offer, slowly catching my breath.

“But…” She mumbles. “...This is your bed.”

I wave her off in the dark, my hand only barely visible in the light still streaming through the gaps in my single, front window's shitty blinds.

“Mmh,” she hummed, lifting her head slightly as she pointed across the room.

“What about that bed?”

…I was one of the few Marines in the barracks without a roommate. Every room had two beds and most of the guys who found themselves in my circumstance would push them together and make a rudimentary, queen size bed, making them the envy of just about all the Marines in circumstances like the one I'm in right now: sneaking a girl back to your room to stay the night with you.

…But I just couldn't do that yet.

Something about it seemed as impossible as if a cinderblock wall had been built over the bed—still vacant through the handful of months it's been—and the end table, where the only thing remaining that I hadn't given up to be sent home was an unopened bottle and the telltale black steel band you never wanted to own.

…And it's for that reason that I simply shake my head.

“It's fine,” I say. “I'll-uh…sleep on the floor here. I'll just use my sleeping system.”

Of course, I neglect to bring up the fact that it's with the rest of my issued CIF gear, lying in the coffin beneath her…

It won't be the end of the world. I can always grab a couple of warming layers from my wall locker to use as a makeshift pillow and that would just have to be enough.

But, as soon as I move to arrange just that setup, I feel the tail of my shirt snag onto something.

Or, rather, someone.

I find Kiyomi's hand having quietly slid from underneath my comforter to timidly pinch the very bottom of my shirt between her fingertips.

Her eyes wide and pleading in their stare, silently asking a question she doesn't quite have the nerve to speak.

I slowly lower myself to the edge of the bed, pulling up the comforter to wedge myself underneath, where her legs, exposed where her dress had ridden up to her thighs, leave little room for questions of decency.

Though, something tells me that that may be by her design…

When finally I lower myself down onto the bed, legs entangled with her own, I find my eyes drawn down the length of what our ambient light allows me the gift of looking at; of the bite of her red lips, supple, glowing, soft skin down the length of her neck, exposed collarbone, and the rise of her chest made only all the more apparent by the compromised lay of her dress' deep neckline, and of those eyes—God those eyes—staring back at me as though I'm the only thing left in the world.

The scent of stale alcohol between us doesn't matter anymore to me—if it ever did. My lips find hers and her body mine, frantic and pressing, as my heart races.

I've never been in a knife fight inside of a phone booth before but I imagine it must feel about as intimately cramped as we are under the covers. Her body overwhelms me and my 'knife', both hard and impossibly soft against me as I wander about her with the press of my lips.

I could go further…and as her skin begins to soften with each length I lower myself on her, I want to…God, do I want to…but something about it is beginning to feel off. She's fumbling way too much with the buttons of my shirt. There's no way she's that far off from sobriety, is there?

“Kiyomi,” I whisper, and place my hand onto hers.

…Only for me to find that she's not just fumbling…She's trembling.

She doesn't look up at me.

“I can do this…I'm fine,” she says through a gentle smile, but something about her voice betrays her.

She's far from fine.

“Hey…” I whisper, but she only keeps working to open my shirt.

“Hey,” I repeat, just a touch louder, now holding both of her hands tightly to stop them.

“I don't think that's such a very good idea,” I say. “At least not tonight.”

I can practically feel the disappointment of her frown. Clearly she's already blaming herself and whatever it is that's creating this vulnerability.

“I can do it—it's fine,” she says, her words hurried and anxious. I need to think of something.

“Kiyomi,” I say, tightening my grip on her hands.

What do I say?

“You're—uh…Drunk,” I finally settle on using. “It wouldn't be right. At least, not for the first time.”

It's admittedly kind of a weak excuse, given the sort of things I'd do to this woman even if I were drunk off my ass, and one that absolutely hurts for me to make so close to what she's been killing me to do, but I worry for what exactly could be making her the way that she is in the moment.

…And that's ultimately more important in the end.

She pouts, but I can tell it's ultimately better-spirited than the frown from before.

“...I've been drinking on an empty stomach,” she hiccups, sheepishly.

I can't help but laugh at her as she huffs.

“You aren't escaping me entirely, mister,” she says through her pout before pulling me into another deep kiss.

By and large, this has turned out to be the best night of our budding relationship so far. We spend the rest of the early hours practically in romantic bliss all the way through until Kiyomi'd fallen asleep while I'd held her. Or, perhaps, maybe it was the other way around.

But, ultimately, it still bothers me…what was the reason she'd had such a troubling reaction to the moment? Was it something I did? Something I'd said? Or maybe it was something that had happened to her in the past that triggered such a troubling response?

…And, as I cling onto the form of the woman beside me, it is that unknown behind it all that ultimately troubles me all the way until I'm fast asleep beside her.