Cross My Heart

30. NOAH

Chapter 30

NOAH

T he steady beeping of a machine pulls me out of a deep slumber, and I can immediately tell there’s someone in the room with me. I tense, my body screams in protest, and I slump back against the pillow. My head is throbbing to the beat of my heart, and my side aches like it never has before.

What the fuck is that pain?

I open my eyes slowly, the light assaulting my corneas, to find sterile, white walls.

Where the fuck am I?

Looking around, I find a woman in navy blue scrubs standing by a computer in the corner of the room, and when she makes eye contact with me, she smiles. It’s a nice smile, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that I don’t know where I am or how I got here.

My hands tremble as panic sets in, my chest feels tight, my breaths coming in pants now. It hurts my chest and my side, and I breathe in deeply to try to calm down.

“Staff Sergeant Milner,” the lady says. “Breathe, please. You’re in the hospital. You suffered an injury to your head, and you’ve been shot. I need you to take deep breaths, so you don’t hurt yourself more.”

I breathe in deeply, over and over, and finally, my hands stop trembling. “Where am I?” I ask with confusion. “How have I been shot?”

“You’re in Germany.” She frowns. “At the Army Hospital.”

“But that’s impossible,” I sputter. “I deployed yesterday!”

“Sir?” she asks, “What’s today’s date?”

“It’s April,” I say confidently, though now I don’t feel so confident. “Right?”

“Can you tell me your name and date of birth?”

“Noah Milner,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “August 29th.”

“Good.” She smiles at me, but it looks forced.

“How long have I been here?”

“Five days.”

“Five fucking days?!” I exclaim. “How the hell have I missed five days?”

“You were in a medically induced coma?—”

We’re interrupted by the door opening, and in strides a physician with a long white lab coat. His hair is black and impeccably slicked back, and he looks no older than forty. I narrow my eyes at him, and he wastes no time, taking a stool from under the computer and coming to the bedside. He sits on it, and then stares at me.

“Amanda?” he asks. “Brief me.”

My eyes narrow even more until they’re slits because this asshole isn’t even introducing himself or asking me anything. But still, I listen as she recaps what I’ve told her, and he frowns.

“Staff Sergeant Milner.” He directs his attention to me. “Do you remember how you got overseas?”

“No.” I shake my head. “All I know is that I left yesterday. I?—”

“It’s October,” he replies softly. “You’ve already been overseas for six months.”

“E-excuse me?” I stutter. “How is that even possible?”

“You suffered a brain injury, Milner,” he explains. “A TBI. It seems you’ve lost memories of the last six months of your life. Does that sound about right?”

“I—” I shake my head, trying to think hard about it. Why don’t I remember going to Iraq? “I don’t know.”

“Can you tell me the last thing you remember?”

“I was with my friend Tyler,” I tell him. “We were—” I pause. “—saying goodbye.”

The doctor nods, and I look at his name tag. Captain Brown. “You deployed to Iraq at the end of April. Now you’re here, recovering from surgery to your right lung. You took a bullet to your side, and the exit wound was in your back. You’ll be here for approximately another week or two. It all depends on how your chest tube is doing and how quickly you begin to heal. I would at least like to monitor you a while longer. Just in case.”

But I’m not listening.

I’m stuck on the bullet to the side.

“How did I get hurt?” I ask him numbly. “Who was there with me?”

“Milner—”

“Tell me,” I growl.

“Your squad was there,” he replies softly, with pity in his eyes. “Everyone is dead.”

“Everyone?” I gasp. “Is Jeremiah Michaels dead?”

“There’s no easy way?—”

“Fuck that!” I yell, and my side, my chest, and my back hurt. I grimace. “Tell me.”

“Yes.”

I nod, tears stinging my eyes.

“You’ll go back to the states on convalescent leave, your tour is over.”

“So that’s it?” My hands ball into fists, and I could deck him right now if I didn’t feel like someone ran me over. “I just go home?”

“Yes.” He nods with finality. “You’ll be off for six weeks. Then you can go back to rear detachment.”

I nod too. “I—I want to go to their services.”

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to,” he says grimly. “You’re going to be here under observation.”

“Fuck that,” I snap. “I need to be there.”

“Milner,” he says softly, trying to appease me. “You’ve suffered grave injuries. You could have been dead too. You almost did die.”

“I wish I were dead,” I tell him. “At least then I wouldn’t have to live like this.”

“You have to be really careful with your words.” He sighs. “I know you don’t mean it, but I don’t want to put you on suicide watch. One to one is no fun.”

As if I’m going to have any fun in here.

“I need some time alone,” I tell him. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I need time.”

“As you wish,” the doctor replies. “Amanda, let’s give the man some space to process this.”

“Will I remember anything in time?” I ask him as he gets up from the stool. “Will my memories come back?”

“It’s hard to say.” My eyebrows rise as he says this, and he looks into my eyes as he delivers the grim news. “You might get them back over time. Or you may never remember again.”

And then they leave, shutting the door quietly with a click.

I’m going home. I’m going home to nothing, to no one. I’m going home to heal while everyone else is dead, and I feel guilty to even take a deep breath—no matter how much it hurts to do so. But maybe this is what I deserve, pain. For not doing better, for not protecting them, for not saving them. Now they’re in a plane, in caskets, on the way to the mainland, and I feel sick to my stomach that I won’t even get there in time to attend their funerals.

And the worst part?

I may never remember what happened.

And I don’t want that mercy.