Post by Rowan St. John on Oct 6, 2010 21:36:59 GMT -5
How many years had it been? Four? Five? She'd just about lost count since thinking about it always brought a terrible ache somewhere her heart used to be. Maybe she tried not to think about it because whenever she spent more than a few seconds she would choke on a lump in her throat and have to find some secluded place to cry until she was out of tears. Even now, as she lay on her bed with her quilt wrapped around her and staring at the ceiling, a few traitorous tears were squeazing themselves out and rolling down her cheeks.
Whatever the case, it was the yearly anniversary of Keenan's death and Rowan didn't quite feel up to going down to the bar tonight to drink the pain away. Instead she'd opted for a night in and fought every sob as it choked her while she was assaulted by memories of him--including the last. Curling up, she squeezed her eyes shit as the memory of that final day played through her mind like a broken record, over and over and always skipping to the end.
They'd woken up after a night together, slinking back to their respective parts of the base so that they wouldn't get beaned for fraterization, and prepared for the move to the Marine base with supplies. The memory skipped to inside the truck where they exchanged good natured barbs and not-so-innocent touches under the watchful gaze of their supervisor, and then--
The truck blew up.
Maybe 'blew up' was a relative term, but either way they'd hit and IED and she'd ended up thrown from the truck with a few broken ribs and a cracked skull. When she'd had enough sense to tell up from down and had crawled over to try and help with survivors, she'd found him too. Well, part of him.
The part that was missing part of his head anyway.
The memory made Rowan retch, but she didn't throw up; instead she pushed the memory away in an attempt to stop the breaking of her heart all over again. She thought of the call she'd gotten from one of her Army buddies today--one of the ones who had been aware of her relationship with Keenan.
"It's time to move on St. John. You're a pretty woman with so much to offer; don't waste your life away pining for the dead."
Rowan almost snorted at that; what did she have to offer someone when the best part of her died that day with Keenan?
Whatever the case, it was the yearly anniversary of Keenan's death and Rowan didn't quite feel up to going down to the bar tonight to drink the pain away. Instead she'd opted for a night in and fought every sob as it choked her while she was assaulted by memories of him--including the last. Curling up, she squeezed her eyes shit as the memory of that final day played through her mind like a broken record, over and over and always skipping to the end.
They'd woken up after a night together, slinking back to their respective parts of the base so that they wouldn't get beaned for fraterization, and prepared for the move to the Marine base with supplies. The memory skipped to inside the truck where they exchanged good natured barbs and not-so-innocent touches under the watchful gaze of their supervisor, and then--
The truck blew up.
Maybe 'blew up' was a relative term, but either way they'd hit and IED and she'd ended up thrown from the truck with a few broken ribs and a cracked skull. When she'd had enough sense to tell up from down and had crawled over to try and help with survivors, she'd found him too. Well, part of him.
The part that was missing part of his head anyway.
The memory made Rowan retch, but she didn't throw up; instead she pushed the memory away in an attempt to stop the breaking of her heart all over again. She thought of the call she'd gotten from one of her Army buddies today--one of the ones who had been aware of her relationship with Keenan.
"It's time to move on St. John. You're a pretty woman with so much to offer; don't waste your life away pining for the dead."
Rowan almost snorted at that; what did she have to offer someone when the best part of her died that day with Keenan?
