Author's Note: Here is the second part of the Life of D, this section covers the happenings and the fallout of the previous relationships and the multiple traumatic events that the character faces. The inherent truth about what lets people keep going through hell is those few victories that we can achieve, those few wins make the burns and scars almost seem worthwhile.
A word of warning, this chapter will contain some very graphic events that may trigger some flashbacks for some people, I don't mean to do this on purpose but rather this is just the course of events as they happened. We all have our own paths to healing, if you feel like you need help, please reach out to someone, anyone.
I hope that people are beginning to see a pattern in the stories in this particular chapter, especially as how they relate to the previous arcs that were covered in the pother series. Narrating a person's life through prose is a difficult matter, and I still feel that this way is by far the easiest way to lay it out on paper.
On a side note, to the anonymous commenter that emailed me to let me know how much of an asshole I am for not labeling the first installment of any of my series as Ch.1, I was extremely tempted to try to come up with a way to label all my stories in a way that did not require the numbers. Like I could've gone with the "A" subtitle just to mess with you, but alas. For the rest of you that have been supportive in this series, thank you for your support, it means a lot to me.
Much love,
aka_Mike
...
A Requiem for Rebecca
It had been ten months since I found out that I had become an unwilling bull, while I understand the oxymoron within the statement I just made there is something that I hope you can understand about me: above all I have a strict sense of morality. I know what is right and what is wrong in my eyes, I see the world in black and white. There is no room for shades of grey. When Ann told me about her pregnancy I knew that my marriage was over, the fact that she was pregnant by another person, I won't call him a man, made it very clear that our future was nothing more than a fantasy. When Barbara confessed that she was married, the sickening feeling and the awful taste of my pride being force fed into my body made it impossible to see her without wanting to harm her.
"You are an angry, angry man," Rebecca told me. She was a contractor like me, a former medic herself she was hired to help deal with the females in the villages we were visiting. Islamic culture rules make it very difficult for women to find any medical help as they cannot talk to males without their husband or father or brother present, this limits the amount of factual information they are willing to give.
"I have been sitting here quietly for the past 30 minutes," I replied. We were making our way to Baghdad for a resupply of medical supplies and to buy items that were requested by others in our headquarters. Our own shop there was limited as to what they would bring with them, the number of ambushes in the roadways had increased with the lowering presence of American troops in the area.
"Yet I can hear your angry thoughts," she laughed. She was a heavier smoker than I was, but when she laughed all the damage done to her voice from the tobacco just made her laugh even deeper and very pleasant to the ear. "If you don't want the promotion, I'll take it for you."
"It's not that," I lied. All my career I had been a grunt, a cog, a working bee. When the boss approached me and offered me a promotion to supervisor, I knew that it meant a bigger paycheck but less time out in the towns doing what I loved. "If I take the job, I would miss out on hearing that melodious voice of yours."
"You're so full of shit your eyes are brown," she laughed, "but seriously we all think you deserve that promotion. You got the most hours on mission, you're our go to guy with almost everything, you take care of most of our medical needs. The other guys already look to you for guidance; it's a no brainer to everyone but you."
"But if I become your boss," I replied with a thick layer of sarcasm, "how would I ever get to fuck your brains out?"
"Maybe I'll earn a promotion that way," her laughter returned. Truth was Rebecca was a true and tested lesbian, she has told me on many occasion stories of her past girlfriends. I wish I could say that those stories served as spank bank material, but I was still pretty messed up from Barbara to fully appreciate the value of those stories. However, sharing a laugh with her often made me feel a little more human, even if for just a few fleeting moments.
"You slay me, you temptress," I said as I grabbed my chest, pretending that she had broken my heart, "oh, woe is me."
"Drama queen does not suit you one bit, D" she laughed. "Seriously, how are you doing?"
"One day at a time, Reb," I was the only one that could address her by any other name than Rebecca. Think of that one girl from your fantasies, that one that you know is everything you would ever want, everything you would hope for: lips, hair, eyes, tits, ass. She has all that, but cranked up to overdrive. Because of her looks and her name, guys often would address her as Becky; it would take one look and a solid punch to correct that mistake. I don't know what gave me that privilege or how I earned it and continued to keep it, but nonetheless I appreciated her concern and friendship.
"You know, she was right about one thing," she continued, no one but her knew all the details about what had happened. With Dr. Cargill, I struggled for many days whether to tell him or not, I chose to spare him the pain and humiliation of learning his wife was a slut much like mine had been.
"What's that?"
"You'll find a good one, D. Even as broken and fucked up as you are, I'm sure you'll find one."
"I think I did," I replied, "turns out she's a lesbian." She playfully punched me on the arm, "I wasn't talking about you, I meant someone hot." This time, her punch was a little stronger and better placed.
"God, it's men like you that made me the way I am," she said in her sarcastic manner.
