Seven Letter Words #Wattys2016

Part 2

Juliet

I kissed my mother's cheek and told her I'd meet her back at the house later. I couldn't bear to stand there any longer while person after person told me how sorry they were for my loss. Hearing those words didn't do me any good and I was trying hard to be strong for my mom. Sharp stabbing pain in my hand reminded me that I'd been gripping my brother's dog tags too tightly. It was nothing compared to the pain I was feeling in my chest.

I hurried across the freshly cut grass, trying hard not to let my heels dig in too deep. There was a trick to walking on soft ground in heels--always keep your weight on your toes. I chanced a quick peek over my shoulder and watched as my mom was swallowed up by a sea of mourners dressed in black. He hated black. The toe of my shoe caught beneath the edge of a flat cement grave marker and my arms flailed as I felt myself going down.

"Damn it!" I cursed out. The skin on my knee burned as I tried to brush it off quickly and get back on my feet. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't—the tears began to fall. I brushed them from my face, the salt making my skinned palm sting. A few more steps and I would be out of view.

As soon as I moved over the peak of the small hill and down around the old statue of a soldier saluting, I felt the strength I'd been trying to muster leave my body on one giant sob. Crumbling emotionally and physically, I curled into a ball and lowered myself to the ground. The crying seemed to take over as I no longer tried to stop the tears from flowing.

It had only been days since that dark sedan pulled up outside of our house. I'd barely had time to let the news of my brother's death sink in before we had to lay him to rest. He was everything to me and now I was alone. I finally loosened my hold on his tags, but couldn't seem to let them go. My palm was red and imprinted with the outline from the solid metal.

"Hey, beautiful. Are you ok?" A deep voice said from behind me. It seemed to slip up my spine and fill my chest. Before I could answer, a strong hand was on my back, gently moving up until he reached my shoulder. "Come here," he said as he slid his hand beneath my arm and tugged me to my feet. My eyes met his and I recognized him immediately as one of the Marines that had brought my brother home. His eyes were green and staring into mine, causing my stomach to dance to the pace of my beating heart. He was so handsome, his clean shaved face peaking out beneath the shiny black rim of his cover. Cover. My brother had taught me that word, insisting that I call any hat he wore with his uniform a cover.

My eyes pinched shut and a silent cry shook my shoulders. How was I going to get past losing him? "No, don't cry," the Marine before me insisted. His hands moved to my upper arms as he pulled me to his chest. My arms were limp at my sides until his wrapped around me, drawing me in and cradling my head in his hand. Mine seemed to move instinctively then, embracing him with a gripping strength I didn't think I had left.

"I'm sorry." I said against his uniform. Then more softly to myself I admitted, "I just hate seven letter words."

"Don't be sorry. I've got you." He tucked my head beneath his chin. He had no idea how good it felt to be held again. The last person to hold me that strongly had been my brother, the day he said his last goodbye to me. I didn't know my heart could ache so badly for someone. My lungs burned and struggled to pull in air. I felt my free hand gripping the back of his jacket, but I couldn't let him go. I was so tired of letting go.

He held me until I was finally able to lift my head. I pulled back a little, meeting his eyes once again. They were warm and filled with empathy. "Thank you. I'm um, I'm sorry about that." My words were soft and thick with sadness. I'm sure my eyes were red and my face was blotchy, but he looked at me as if I were beautiful. He lifted his hand slowly and wiped a tear from my cheek.

"No need to be sorry." He took a small step back, sliding his hands down my arms and turning my palms up when he reached my wrists. I watched him examining the damage. His thumb brushed over the red abraded skin. I noticed his dark lashes and a strong jaw. My eyes wouldn't move from his face. "You're hurt."

His words snapped me out of my haze. "Not really," I answered. Right on cue, the skinned knee began to sting again. I looked down at it the same time he did and noticed a small amount of blood gathering on top of the skin. He looked up to my eyes and lifted a brow in doubt.

"You're hurt," he said more firmly that time. He lifted my palm up to my line of sight. "Come sit down." He kept his hands on my wrists as he pulled me to a small reflection bench just beyond the statue. I sat and he sat beside me. He took off his white gloves and used one to press against my palm. His other hand wrapped around my knee. The energy from his touch shot up my leg and bolted along my spine like a jolt of electricity. I held my breath as he pulled it up and across his. He looked at my face again, then retrieved his other glove from his lap and pressed it against the wound.

"Thank you," I whispered as he stopped the bleeding.

"You're welcome." He moved the glove on my palm and when the blood didn't return, he dropped it. "I think it stopped." His hand fell to the inside of my knee and was warm against the sensitive skin. I watched him pressing the glove to me, moving it slightly each time as he checked for the bleeding to stop. When it finally did, he set the glove on the bench beside us. He didn't move to remove my leg from his.

"You knew my brother?" I asked. My eyes moving from his down to my fist, where it rested on my lap, clenching the tags.

"I did," he answered as he followed my gaze with his own. I relaxed my fingers and let the dog tags rest in my palm. He reached up and took my hand in his, running his thumb along the tags. "He was a good man." His eyes lifted to mine. I don't know what it was, but he felt familiar. I felt safer being with him. I was immediately irritated at myself for feeling that way about a Marine. I was just vulnerable. Maybe it was because I'd had to be so strong the last couple of days and now that my brother's services were finally over and I was away from my mom, I could start to grieve.

"What's your name?" I whispered as he traced the angry red lines the tags had left in my skin.

"Liam Smith," he answered.

"I'm Juliet." With my name, his lips tipped up. Despite all the sadness that was weighing down my heart, his smile made me smile too. I felt my heart flutter again, knocking lightly against my ribs, urging me to see just how cute he was. I moved my knee from his leg and stood quickly, adding tempted right behind goodbye and funeral on the list of seven letter words I hated. 

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