Day 7. Betrayal.

It was a bit over one month since the convoy had been hit, and Marcus was now a civilian again.

It felt like the family he had chosen for himself had turned round and kicked him in the guts while he was down.

Medical discharge. Not the way he wanted to go out.

He was recovering from his third and hopefully his last surgery on his left shoulder. Everything else had healed ok.

He had been lucky, the burns he received had been minor, he had been shielded from the worst of that by the poor guy who was sitting on the right side of the vehicle. He had lasted three weeks before he finally found the peace he was wanting. Marcus felt guilty about that every time he saw his reflection, hence the reason he was now sporting a beard.

He was sitting on the side of his hospital bed with his arm being held immobile against his body by a sling that was strapped around his torso when his phone rang. He had asked a favour of a buddy of his, who had called in a favour owed to him, and that person had called in another favour, much like the twilight bark in 101 Dalmatian’s. This, he hoped, was the answering call.

“Chuck, you have news for me?” Marcus asked, a smile on his face and hope in his heart.

“I do, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“But you found her?” Marcus asked looking over at his roommate who sitting in his wheelchair trying to work out how to scratch and itch in a foot that was no longer there.

“Yes we found her. Her real name is Carrie Holloway, and she is currently working in a run-down burger joint, but there is more you should know. She was a prostitute, she just got out of the game about two months ago now. Rumour has it that she got out because she got knocked up.”

“She what….?” Marcus started to ask then thought better of it. “Bitch,” he said instead.

“Sorry man, I wish I had better news for you. I will forward on all of the information I have. Look I would love to shoot the breeze with you but I have to run, we are heading out tonight and I still have shit load to do. Look after yourself Cowboy.”

“Yeah, thanks Chuck, take care.”

The connection cut and Marcus tossed the phone behind him on the bed. He felt numb. The girl he had been pining over for the last few months was not who he thought she was. She wasn’t someone you could fall in love with, she was a whore. All the times he had hoped she wasn’t in another man’s arms, and she would have been in a different man’s arms each night, probably more than one each night.

He felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

Turning so he could reach the draw of his bedside unit he opened it and pulled out a small laminated photo showing the smiling face of a girl he now knew was named Carrie and a hand written note.

His phone had been toasted by the blast and he had lost all the photos except for this one that he'd had cropped, blown up and printed. It and the note that had been in a small baggie in an inside pocket and had survived the IED, with only a little blood staining on the note. The photo had wiped clean. Holding the note down to the hand that was held against his body he tore the paper in half and screwed it up.

The photo couldn’t be torn, not even when he tried to tear it with his teeth. Gathering up the pieces of paper along with the photo he pushed to stand and walked over to the waste paper basket, threw them in it and left the room. Rest quietly be damned, he needed to burn off his anger.

The red haired roommate had tried not to be noticed by the man who obviously had just received bad news. Regardless of that, he knew he would regret tossing out the two things he had held most dear for the last – who knows how long.

Pushing his wheelchair over to the bin he leaned over and picked it up before fishing out the photo and torn note. He would keep them safe in case Marcus changed his mind.

~#~