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Marines. I couldn’t hear specifically what she was saying, but I’m assuming it was something along the lines of, “This is your fault. How could you? Don’t ever come back to my door again.” It’s what my buddy’s mother said to me when I gave her the news. I can’t say I blame her.
    After minutes of condolences and getting punched in the chest by my five-foot-tall mother, the men returned to the car, slipping inside flawlessly without ever changing their expression. But I knew what they were feeling inside.
    “Sorry man,” one of them said. Sorry doesn’t even begin to do this situation justice.
    Two days after my funeral I joined a mercenary service in hopes of keeping my remaining time occupied in some way. I didn’t want to sit around, waiting to expire—it would have been too depressing. Anyway, within a day of enrollment, Eli Tate contacted me, requesting my service. I accepted on the spot. This gig is high paying and I can send the money to my sister anonymously. It could pay for her college tuition. He told me I would start in two weeks. I’d fly out from Los Angeles on her flight and start the job in Boston when we landed. Since my truck had to be driven across the country anyway, I took a week and a half and flew around the states, scratching things off my bucket list. Nashville, New Orleans, Vegas, and I had to see the Statue of Liberty in New York at least once during my life. It’s probably good my list was short, though, because I had to cut my two weeks to twelve days due to some YouTube incident she caused.
    In any case, I keep telling myself that with each ending comes a new beginning, good or bad. But I can’t forget that with each beginning comes another end as well.
    At least she’s a sight for sore eyes. I imagined someone more rough around the edges, unruly hair, no makeup, baggy clothes—an overall unkempt look—a stereotype I guess I subscribe to regarding these types of self-proclaimed bad-girls. However, she couldn’t be further from this generalization, which immediately tells me she isn’t a self- proclaimed anything. She’s likely a straight up badass with a bad attitude. Although, I can’t blame her after what I read in her file.
    I probably shouldn’t be watching her sleep. I shouldn’t be wondering what music is playing through her headphones, and I probably shouldn’t have given her that alcohol. By the size of her little frame, it doesn’t seem as though she’d be able to handle what I’m assuming is Valium and then the shot of vodka I gave her.
    Well, at least if this job doesn’t end well, looking at her will make everything I’ll have to give up worth it. God, listen to me. I’ve been in that desert for too fucking long. I’m horny and I need to focus on the issue at hand. Although, she is the issue at hand, so technically it’s okay to focus on her.
    I pull out my phone and review the files once more. I wonder if she even knows what type of danger has been following her around for the past three years. She doesn’t seem like the clueless type, but someone in her situation wouldn’t necessarily carry the confidence she seems to be portraying. This type of shit can make a person crazy. And for some reason, this makes me already like her. Because, what I’ve seen should be making me crazy, but I haven’t let my mind take the best of me yet. At no point in the past six years have I given myself a minute to reevaluate the reasons I think I’m going straight to hell.
    I can tell myself over and over that everything I did was for my country. I can even believe it. But at the end of the day, watching too many pairs of eyes freeze over as their souls are sucked from their bodies never became easier. I’m not a murderer, but that’s how every person in Iraq and Afghanistan sees me. Yet, in the U.S., I’m a war hero. This is such a screwed up world we live in, and people don’t understand how badly each of us Marines wants nothing more than world peace.