"Alright, Harry, tell me how this one feels," the doctor says, my leg moving with the new prosthetic.
"As always, fine," I say, his head nodding.
"Did you want to look at any other ones?" he asks, but I just shake my head.
"Not worth it," I tell him, his hand grabbing his clipboard.
"Then you are good to go. See you in physical therapy in a few days," he says, my hand running through my hair. I shake his hand and put my coat on, walking out of the doctor's office.
Why did this have to happen to me?
My life was perfect before this happened to me. I had a fiancée, a house, and a strong military career. I was a sergeant, and my platoon had been transferred. Little to my knowledge, a bomb was placed at our new location and it blew up. Three of my men died, multiple injured, and almost all of us suffer from the trauma. I lost my leg and suffer from PTSD, my life changing.
My fiancée left me when she couldn't handle me waking up, screaming every night from reliving that night. She said I had changed, but I argue I'm a burden. She never loved me the way I loved her, but now I don't care. I see now she isn't what I need.
I walk down the street and I walk into the small sandwich shop, a girl running right into me. My arms quickly move to catch her from falling onto the floor and she stops, my arms lifting her back to her feet.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," she rushes, her hands fixing her hair.
"No worries," I say, my body crouching to pick up the book she was encased in when colliding into me. I smile at the cheesy Nicholas Sparks novel, my hand extending it towards her.
Then I look into her eyes and I find myself incredibly shocked at how beautiful she is. She has gorgeous tan skin and bright blue eyes. She is completely out of my league.
"Interesting choice," I say, her cheeks flushing. I haven't really talked to girls since the accident. I've lost my touch.
"Yeah. I'm a sucker for love stories," she says, my lips curving. A few people approach the door and I grab her arm and move her out of the way, her head turning to watch as the customers leave.
"Can I buy you a coffee?" I ask, her eyes looking back up at me.
"Sure," she smiles, my heart pounding. God, this is crazy.
I lead her into the shop and I order two coffees, her hand clutching her book as she stands beside me. We get our coffees and I take her to a small table by the window, her body sitting across from me.
"I'm Harry," I tell her, her lips curving.
"I'm Allie," she says, my lips smirking.
"Like the girl in The Notebook?" I wonder, her eyes widening. My ex was obsessed with the movie. I've seen it a million times.
"Same name, but not after the movie," she smiles, my smile bright.
"What's your book about?" I ask, her hand setting it down. It's called Dear John and I can only think it might be a long distance relationship.
"It's a war novel. He goes to war and him and a girl named Savannah write to each other," she explains, my eyes looking at her. She seems fond of the novel plot, and I could tell her the harsh reality of war relationships, but she seems too hopeful. She's too innocent.
"Is it any good?" I ask, her head nodding.
"I used to hate war novels, but this one is okay," she tells me, my hand setting the mug down after taking a sip.
"Why'd you hate them?" I wonder, her lips releasing a sigh.
"My brother...died a while ago in Iraq," she explains, my heart clenching. I know the feeling.
"I understand," I tell her. She looks up at me.
"You lost someone?" she wonders, my sigh heard.
"More like my platoon," I say, her eyes widening. "But I hate talking about it."
"Y-You're a sergeant?" she asks, my hand running through my hair.
"Was," I correct her, Allie's lips parting.
"Oh my gosh, thank you for your service," she says, but I shake my head.
"No, no. Don't worry about that. I've been out of service for two years," I explain, but she frowns.
"I know losing your platoon must make you feel like you lost, but you fought for your country. You should be proud," she tells me, my hands folding.
"I am proud for what I had accomplished in the beginning. But when you make it out of war but your platoon doesn't, I feel shame. I should have died out there with them."
"But you didn't. Maybe this is your second chance," she says, my eyes looking into hers. She's optimistic and I've never heard of someone telling me making it out of war is my second chance.
"Maybe," I admit, her smile growing and my hand lifts the mug to hide my smile.
~*~*~*~
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