Cross My Heart

46. NOAH

Chapter 46

NOAH

T he red haze of the sun blinds me as I look over into the distance, trying to make out the outline of what looks to be vehicles speeding toward us. I shield my eyes by cupping a hand over my brows to better understand what is quickly approaching, only to gasp.

A convoy.

An enemy convoy.

“Michaels!” I shout, but in his haste to reach me, he steps on something he shouldn’t and suddenly he’s airborne. “Jeremiah!” I scream this time.

The blast hurls us all through the air, and when I hit the ground, my ears begin to ring. I get up slowly, on my hands and knees, and feel unsteady getting to my feet. I look back out into the distance to see the vehicles approaching even faster, and bullets connect with the tank behind me. I sprint over to Michaels and drag him to safety, right behind our vehicle. His leg has been blown off, and he’s screaming, the sound piercing my ears until my hands begin to shake. I put my M4 on the dirt next to me and reach over to assess the extent of the damage.

There’s blood everywhere, soaking into his combat uniform and pooling under me and onto my clothing. I can hear my squad engaging with the enemy, and now it’s a symphony of rounds as they connect with metal, casings raining down on us. Even though I’m supposed to be able to deal with this situation—it’s what I’m fucking trained for—my vision blurs as tears spring to my eyes. He’s my best friend. My battle buddy. Not him.

Not him.

Reaching for my bag, I pull out a tourniquet and get to work quickly. His whimpers fill my ears, and my hands tremble violently as I finish and pick up my rifle. I scoot him under the vehicle slightly as I begin to receive fire, but somehow a bullet ricochets and lands right between his eyes. I stare at him, stunned, and when the next bullet hits me in the chest, I gasp in pain. I’m protected by my fighting load carrier vest, thankfully, but when the next round lands against my helmet, my vision begins to blur at the edges from the hit to my head. Right as I’m fighting against the edge of unconsciousness, I feel my cheek meet the dirt. Footsteps crunch on the dirt road, and I watch as body after body drops.

My friends.

Amaya is shot in the head. Jones is shot in the thigh then the head. Vazquez is shot in the stomach. And the rest of them I can’t see.

But I know all of them are dead. Somehow, I know that they’re not gonna make it out of this—that we’re not. We’re fucked, and when they retrieve our corpses from this godforsaken country, no one will mourn me. Except for maybe one person.

What the hell has my life come to?

Did he leave her? Is he waiting for me like he promised? He said he would, so I have to believe him. Which makes my impending death even more painful.

Another shot rings off, but this one connects with flesh—my flesh. I cry out in pain as the left side of my chest feels like it’s on fire, and this time, when the darkness tries to envelop me, I don’t fight it.

I hear myself gurgle.

Feel my breaths stall.

I think I mumble as my eyes close, but as the feeling of someone dragging me pulls me out of slumber, I panic.

Moving my body, I fight against the hands that keep pulling me through dirt and blood, rocks digging into my back and cutting me. I scream as I feel where the bullet must have come out getting scraped, and the man drops me. We briefly make eye contact before he rears his arm back and punches me in the face.

Once.

Twice.

And then I feel the blood rushing out of my body as I bleed out on fucking enemy soil.

The next time I open my eyes, the sun is blinding me. Immediately I’m hit with a breath-stopping pain. It makes me hot all over, then cold all over. It makes me feel halfway dead. The way I should be. Why did they let me live? What the fuck is going on?

I hear the loud sound of the helicopter blades, feel the movement of it as we go up, and it hurts so fucking bad I scream and clutch my side in pain. But my limbs are moving slowly, too slowly, and I can’t get it the way I want to. My eyes start to close again as a wave of cold sweat washes over me, making goosebumps bloom all over my body. My heartbeat thumps in my ears loudly, the blood roaring until I can’t hear anything else. I try to breathe, but it’s impossible.

My eyes begin to close…

I feel a sharp sting on my face. “Wake the fuck up, Milner,” the man growls, slapping me again. I’m in and out, my eyes rolling back, and I feel the helicopter shift, which makes my body move again. But this time I don’t scream. I don’t think I have the energy to. “Sergeant! I said wake up! Fucking look at me. Don’t close your eyes.”

The man cuts my uniform open, my shirt discarded as I bleed out in the middle of fucking nowhere. Who knew I’d end up here? He puts oxygen on my face—a mask—and starts to pack my wound with something I can’t make out because the blinding hot pain that settles deep into my bones is excruciating. He jostles me around, turning me to my side, and I scream in agony.

I fight with everything I have.

I punch and kick, my body getting a shot of adrenaline out of nowhere, and when he jabs a needle into my leg and I feel my body go limp, there’s only one thought in my mind.

I want to die.

Just please let me die.

I wake up with a gasp, my body trembling and shaking from the panic I feel as I shift to sit up on the ground. I was under the bed again, and I look around the room trying to figure out what time it is. It’s still nighttime, which means—where the fuck is Tyler? I don’t want him to see me this way. Don’t want him to see me all fucked up over this shit.

Taking my phone from the nightstand, I look at his missed calls and all his text messages.

Tyler: Hey baby. You okay?

Tyler: Oh nvm you said you were going to nap. Call me back when you wake up.

Tyler: Noah, are you still sleeping?

Tyler: I’m starting to get worried.

Tyler: Please reply if you’re awake.

Tyler: That’s it. I’m coming home.

Just as I’m about to lock my phone, a call comes through. And of course it’s Tyler. I let it ring exactly three times before I reject it, sending his call to voicemail. I get up from the ground and begin to pace, pulling my hair. My eyes sting with tears that roll hotly down my cheeks, down my chin, onto my bare chest.

I don’t deserve to be here while they’re dead.

I don’t.

I don’t.

I don’t.

Putting my phone back on the nightstand, I make a decision in no time. It’s a no brainer for me when I grab the bottle of my anxiety pills and take a handful, swallowing them down with half a bottle of water. Then I take another handful and shove them in my mouth too, finishing up the rest of the water. I just sit there for a little while until I feel it starting to hit me and send a quick text message to Tyler. He’s probably finishing up his shift right now, but by the time he gets here it’ll be too late.

First, my body feels like a wave of calm is rushing over me, making me sink into this blissful existence. I no longer feel pain—I don’t feel anything at all. My racing thoughts slow down, and I contemplate it for all of one second before I grab my pocketknife from the nightstand’s drawer. I flick it open, hearing the sharp snip, and then I shallowly stab my thumb to see how sharp it is. Blood immediately bubbles up, and I smile. There it is. Exactly what I need.

My hands are heavy as I lift one toward my wrist, and my grip falters slightly. I fix it, although it takes work, and take a deep breath before I drag the blade over my wrist vertically. It hurts way more than I thought it would, and I yell out in pain. The blood is rushing quickly down my arm and hand, and when I switch to grip with the other, it slips. But because I’m not a quitter, I grab the handle and do the same to my other wrist. I feel a sense of relief rush over me, knowing that I can finally be at peace. I no longer have to live with the pain, the sadness, the overwhelming despair that I am a failure. That I failed my friends when I was left behind. When someone else saved my life. I didn’t choose that, but I can choose now.

Lying there on the bed, I contemplate what I’ve just done. My body feels cold and I’m starting to get the shakes. There’s a sheen of sweat coating my forehead, and I’m starting to nod in and out. I feel the mattress soaked in my blood. I feel the sticky liquid rushing out of me. Like my life force is leaving me out of the gaping wounds on my wrists.

I close my eyes and smile.

But this time it’s not Tyler I think about.

Instead, I think about all my friends who died when I didn’t, who gave up their lives for their country. I think about Jeremiah getting shot.

Unfortunately, the last thing I do think about is the love of my life, and I remember his promise. It’s sad that I’m the one who didn’t wait for him now. That I’m the one who broke it. But I can’t dwell on it.

It’s finally over.