His face had been a collection of slightly imperfect features that had formed something beautiful.

Audrey had loved to stare at that face while Jack lay sleeping after they had made love. She marveled at the abnormally long eyelashes, the ever-so-slightly off centre ski-slope nose and the cupid’s-bow mouth.

She wished she could stop seeing that face now.

Audrey sat in the hotel bar staring at the now-warm beer that she had been nursing for the past half-hour. Since she was here on official DOD business, she had limited herself to one beer and one beer only. Now she didn’t even want that.

I loved you, Jack. I know I did. But who was it that I loved?

When they first started dating, six months before his death, Jack had told Audrey that he wanted to be honest. He needed to let her know what she was getting herself into. He thought that was important. He had told Audrey about how his wife had died. He told her about how he once went deep undercover and returned to Los Angeles with his arms covered in tattoos and track marks, both of which he claimed were necessary to maintain his cover.

He had told Audrey all this in a voice that sounded like burnt honey. He had told Audrey the facts and left out almost everything else.

For a time, Audrey had allowed herself to believe that the beautiful face and body and voice was matched by an equally beautiful soul. She had believed that because she wanted to.

Until the last day of his life. On that day she saw Jack change into someone she barely recognized.

A line from a Nine Inch Nails song she had once heard on Richard’s stereo repeated itself over and over in Audrey’s mind:

“There’s bullet holes where my compassion used to be, and there’s violence in my heart.”

That song reminded Audrey of Jack, and not in a good way.

Jack had called her from the chopper and told her that he was afraid she wouldn’t love him if she knew the truth, if she knew what he was really like.

He might have been right. Or not. Now she would never know.

She remembered screaming at Tony, demanding to see the body. Tony had told her, very quietly, that she really didn’t want to.

“May I join you?” The new voice startled Audrey out of her reverie.

“Sure, Walt.” She gave him a small smile. “I could use the company.”

••••

Walt lay with his back to Audrey, snoring peacefully. Audrey lay on her back, the sheet pulled up to her armpits, staring at the ceiling and very wide awake.

It was times like this that Audrey wished that she smoked.

She had empty sex. She had bad sex. But this?

Worst. Sex. Ever.

It wasn’t entirely Walt’s fault. Even if he was a less than a skillful lover.

Audrey knew that she wasn’t being unfair to Paul’s memory. Or Jack’s. It was past time to move on.

She had been with Paul for eight years. She had only been with Jack for six months. Six months of hotel rooms or one of their apartments. They worried about what her father would think even though Jack was widowed and Audrey was separated and they were both grown-ups. The sex had been spectacular.

That was what Audrey wanted now. She had seen Jack for what he was, and she still wanted him.

I want someone like you.

It was an impossible request.

END

Did you like the story? You have complaints?
How about letting the author now what you think about her work?
Feedback to marinw (Please write in English)