Returning to this storyline after a while. I left it mainly due to my editor backing out due to real world work and commitments.
"External scars eventually heal. Our inner scars, though, don't let us forget them."- Calanthe
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"I'm sorry, but I will not be able to come home tonight."
"Again? This is the fourth time this week. You're working way too hard." said Dana over the phone, clearly exasperated.
"I am so sorry Dana, but there is such a huge amount of work to be done here that I have to stay."
"Is your boss living up to her reputation as a bitch? Is that why you are tied up at the office?"
"No no no. She is very approachable. In fact, if I tell her right now, she will let me go home. I can't do that and leave her with this much work to do."
Kyle was in a dilemma. On one hand, he yearned to go home to Dana's comforting arms and on the other hand, there was so much work to be done. Stella had personally taken up the decoration job for the Mayor's ball. She was putting in night after night to make that event better than the previous year (also done by her). She had gone so far out of her way to make him feel comfortable that it was impossible to ask for more.
"I'll talk to you later, Dana."
These fancy New York parties required months of pre planning. Just the ambience had been conceptualized by the team of designers for several months. For Kyle, this was a massive leap. He had never handled something of this scale in his previous job. Enthusiastically, he threw himself at it. Stella loved his endeavour and began to value and respect his professional opinion. She still seemed to be in the afterglow of his heroic act.
He had just put the phone down, when Stella walked in from her adjacent cubicle.
"You seem to be working hard."
"Speak for yourself, Stella. I can barely see you behind that stack of designs."
"You can go home if you want. You've done enough this week."
Kyle thought about it.
"What would you say if one of the other designers asked to go home?"
She considered it briefly before saying, "I would say- go home and stay there."
"Exactly my point. Treat me the same way you would treat them."
"But I don't want to. You are such a special person. Moreover, you are the only one on my wavelength here. I made the right choice by picking you as my personal assistant designer."
"Thank you for that. Now if you will excuse me, I have to get back to deciding what would look good on the walls."
"The atmosphere here is too stifling. How about we continue this work from my private studio?"
"That's in your house, right?"
"Yeah," she said curiously.
Kyle took a deep breath and started. "So essentially you want me to go back to your place."
She gave him her most charming smile.
"I suppose so, yes. But you will still be working."
He studied her expression for a few seconds.
"All right then. Let's go."
Stella smiled inwardly. This was going to be the closest thing to a date she ever had. They drove to her place on Madison Avenue. She had bought an old building, formerly a small apartment complex and renovated it completely to her liking. This was her personal sanctuary. For the first time in her life, someone else would enter this sacred ground.
Stepping inside, Kyle gasped. Stella Rousseau was one of the world's best interior designers but her house was something else entirely. Every room was decorated in a surreal fashion. Everything from the walls to the furnishing was beautiful and unique in its own way. She lived alone and had a maid come from time to time. From what he could see, she ate very little and that too at exotic events.
Kyle followed her up the stairs. The walls were intricately inlaid with a plethora of complex designs. She had thrown her most creative impulses into this place. The first floor seemed even grander with motifs of various scenes delicately inlaid into the walls and ceiling. He went into her private studio and took a pile of design plans and started working.
She worked quietly beside him, stealing the occasional glance. He was a picture of concentration as he went about his work. After a couple of hours, she put the plans aside.
"Alright. Enough work for today. We can finish the rest later."
"I guess I should get going now."
"No. Don't go, please. It's the first time I have someone here I can talk to."
Kyle sensed the loneliness in her voice. He had known for some time what lay beneath the wraps of this office martinet. She was just like everybody else he knew- flawed. Only, she was too proud to admit it, even to herself.
He was broken out of his thoughts when she returned with a large bottle of red wine and two glasses. The ambience was perfect, the lights were dim- he could have made the first move right there, but he had other plans with her.
"How often do you do it?"
Stella looked up in surprise.
"How often do I do what?"
Kyle moved closer to her and gently held her sides. His face bore that trademark smile that inspired so much warmth and confidence.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of. Believe me, I understand. What you go through every day- the stress, the deadlines, the interactions. I do not judge you or think less of you for it."
She stared at him for a few long moments before she realized. She looked down trying to hide her face in shame.
"How did you know?" she said, without even looking up.
"You wear full sleeves all the time. It's not that tough to figure out why.
"And yet you are the only one who noticed."
"I see you at work every day," Kyle started. "The amount of stress you go through is unbelievable. Add to that the inherent pressure of trying to prove yourself in a corporate environment filled with sexist clichés and the pressure exceeds the tipping point. No one else notices because they are too afraid of you to look any closer. To them, you are a drill sergeant in a suit. I looked closer and I saw the you that hides inside- scared and insecure."
She still could not make eye contact. Kyle sensed her embarrassment and gently asked.
"So answer me, Stella. How often do you cut yourself?"
"Two to three times a week," she said, her voice quivering.
Tears were beginning to form in the corners of her eyes.
"I can't stop. I tried, but I can't stop."
Stella was visibly crying now. Kyle embraced her close to his chest.
"Shh.. don't cry."
Pulling her away, he reached up to gently wipe her tears.
"You must think I'm pathetic. I need to cut my arm to feel good about myself."
"Not at all. It does not make you pathetic, it makes you human. We all have our own flaws and our own scars."
"You don't. Just look at yourself, so perfect in every way."
He thought for a brief instant before standing up.
"Let me show you my scars."
Turning around, he unbuttoned his shirt. She let out an audible gasp when he let his shirt fall to the floor.
Kyle's back was covered with surgical scars. They were in different stages of healing. Some were still raw and others had a dark line of skin over them. These scars crisscrossed all over the length and breadth of his back and the back of his thighs. The shrapnel had quite literally ripped his back to shreds.
"As I said, we all have our scars. Some of us just hide them better."
She just gaped on in wonder.
"Go ahead, touch them."
She stood up and tentatively prodded a scar near his shoulder. He flinched a bit, but stayed relatively still. Her fingertip traced a long scar all the way from the back of his neck down to his waist.
"How? Why?"
"In Afghanistan. RPG shell blew up a few feet away from me."
"I don't understand. Your scars are from fighting for your country. Mine are just pathetic little signs of cowardice."
"Mine aren't as glorious as you made them out to be."
He sat down beside her. She looked at him curiously and waited for an answer.
"Around eight months ago, I saw my world disintegrate in front of my eyes, literally. My parents were in the North Tower on 9/11. I watched on from my window as the two towers came crashing down. Along with them, the carefully constructed cocoon I built to shield myself from reality disappeared."
"I am so sorry......"
"That day left an empty place in my heart," he went on. "I desperately searched for answers. I never got them. I thought I could get over their loss only if I felt I was doing something about it, so I enlisted. It was the most stupid decision of my life."
"What?"
"I made friends with a fellow Marine, Lewis Howe. We met during training at Fort Totten and became good friends. There was this one day; we were manning a supply route just outside Kandahar. We were in adjacent jeeps escorting the convoy through a treacherous pass. It was tough as the militants would show up when you least expected them and open fire. We had made it to relative safety, when it happened."
Kyle paused for a moment, dredging out this painful memory from the innermost caverns of his mind. There was the hint of moisture in his eyes when he resumed.
"Suddenly an RPG came out of nowhere straight at my jeep. I swerved in the nick of time, but the jeep behind me stood no chance. I still remember the sickening explosion. Rushing out, I saw pieces of Lewis everywhere."
Stella was listening in rapt attention, her eyes glistening as he went on.
"I looked in the direction of the attack and saw a dilapidated house. There was a bearded man on top clutching the RPG tube and dancing. I can't explain it, but suddenly I was overwhelmed by this all-consuming rage. My world went dark and all I could see was him with the tube."
Her eyes went wide as he continued.
"I ran into the house and ran up a flight of stairs before coming face to face with him. He had this look of manic joy. I didn't even take out my gun as I simply jumped on him. He tried fighting back, but I took the tube from his hand and hit him hard enough on the head for his skull to cave in. Looking up, I saw two kids, hardly five, clutching each other tightly. That was when the grim reality of what I had done hit me- I had beaten a man to death while his kids watched."
