My little black haired beauty with the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Born at seven fifty-two in the evening, weighing in at six pounds, seven ounces and twenty-one inches long. She was covered in all kinds of goo and screamed bloody murder. She took my breath away and I knew in the deepest depths of my soul that there wasn’t a single thing I wouldn’t do for her—even marry her father to give her the best life imaginable.
The birth itself was seriously worse than I imagined it could be. I was in labor for two whole days after my water tore. It couldn’t have just broken like normal because that would’ve been too easy. No, it tore and then resealed itself after the nurse at the hospital had already given me pitocin to help induce labor, and then when they realized that my water hadn’t, in fact broke, they tried to send me home, to which I promptly replied, “likefuckam I going home. Get a bed ready, I’m your problem now.”
My OBGYN was furious and hadn’t signed off on the pitocin, but by the time she’d been notified, my contractions had already increased to roughly six minutes apart. They had to perform an amniotomy, which meant they used a device to carefully break my water—it was crazy.
Then unfortunately for me, my epidural totally and completely failed everywhere except my right leg so I just existed in pain for forty-eight hours all while listening to Benji play on his stupid Nintendo Switch, watch Instagram reels, and talk to his friends about how hard having a baby was. You know, because he’s the one who had to endure the worst of it, obviously. My favorite quote from him being, “she’s acting like she’s dying. It can’t be that bad. This whole giving birth thing sucks. When she isn’t acting like she’s being tortured, we’re just sitting here. It’s boring.”
Then the scariest part of it all was when I was finally able to push and Hadley’s cord got wrapped around her neck and she stopped breathing, they had to give me an episiotomy and I swear they cut me open from vagina to asshole and pulled her out so fast, I couldn’t even bother thinking about the pain in that moment. All I could do was pray to a god I didn’t even know if I believed in and put on the bravest face I’ve ever had in my entire life while the doctors worked their magic. I just knew my girl was a fighter and that she’d be okay. Benji was furious when they kicked him out of the room and he decided it was my fault by the time he came back. It was whatever. I’d endure it all over again for my baby girl. I’d suffer far worse to have her in my arms for as long as she’ll let me keep her there. It was in those first moments of her existence that I knew that I’d live through whatever I needed to, as long as she gets to grow up as happy as she can possibly be.
“We did it,wife. You’re mine for the rest of your life,” Benji whispers against my lips, and I have to hold back a shudder at the way he said that. What should have come across romantic and sweet almost feels like a prison sentence.
You chose this. You chose him. You love him even if he’s still a little immature.
“We did it, Benj. Let’s go get our little girl back from your mom and go home to enjoy the time we have left together before you leave, yeah?” I whisper back, eyeing his mother’s grasp on my baby as I pull him in close to hold me so he can’t see the apprehension and discomfort lining my features.
Maybe I just need to feel like he loves me. Maybe I just need him to hold me like he never wants to let me go. Maybe a little reassurance is key…
Instead he pulls away from me and runs his gaze down the length of my body in the simple cream colored dress I found on the discount rack at a department store that was going out of business.
“Why don’t we let the little booger stay the night at mom’s tonight and I can take you home to rip this dress off of you? We’ll have all night, no interruptions,” he replies, leering at me with a gaze that tells me he wants to do something unpleasant.
The less I come, the more he tries unconventional means of trying to get me there. I’ve started faking it just to keep him from doing anything painful. It’s like I bruised his ego so bad that he can’t recover from it or something.
I can handle kink. I enjoy some of it, even. He just doesn’t have very good self-control. He goes too far and if he wants to be a dominant, he has a lot to learn. Not to mention, I’m not a good submissive. I like to be aggressive myself during sex. I like to take what I want and he doesn’t allow that to happen. He tied me down the last time we had sex and he tied the straps too tight and I had bruises for a week and a half.
“Oh, uhh. I don’t think that’s a good idea. She’s still breastfeeding and I didn’t bring any pumped milk. Plus she’s a really good sleeper and will nurse heavily at eight and sleep through the night anyway. We’ll still have all night babe.” I smile shakily up at him.
To this day I can’t let go of the fact that his mother wanted to take my baby from me and raise her as her own. I’ve tried so hard to shake my unease of the woman. She’s evil though. Her energy is toxic. I use the breast milk excuse and the fact that I’m still too new of a mom to be comfortable letting her have overnights anywhere, but really, I just don’t trust that woman.
“Or you could just do what I say and she can stay at my mom’s tonight. Don’t you want to spend time with your new husband before he leaves for a year? Gotta give you something to think about so you don’t warm our bed with someone else while I’m gone.” He sneers.
“What the fuck Benjamin? Nice comment to make less than five minutes from saying our wedding vows. Really, I’m swooning,” I murmur under my breath so that we don’t cause a scene. With a roll of my eyes, I move to walk away from the guy I’ve just committed a lifetime to. “I’m going to get our daughter now. If you can stop being a jerk and pull your head out of your ass, I might just let you take this dress off of me later so we can properly celebrate our wedding night. Stop being a dick though. It’s not cute. Being an asshole is only attractive on men in books.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, okay. I’m a little scared, is all. It’s not every day a guy marries his sweetheart and then gets ripped away to another continent to fight a war,” he says, giving me a quick half smile, and I can’t help but soften a little bit. Of course he’s on edge because of what next week will bring. So am I. We should be enjoying our time together before he goes away, not fighting. I’m an asshole.
“I’m sorry too. Let’s just go get our girl and go home. I think we need to spend time together as a family,” I say, hopefully getting through to him.
On the off chance that anything bad does happen while he’s overseas, I want to capture as many moments as I can between him and Hadley. They’ll be important no matter what, but especially in his line of work.
“Sure, let’s do that. Want to order in and buy a movie or something on Amazon?” He asks, his eyes alight with more hope than before.
“Sounds good, B. Whatever you want.”
Fourteen
War can make or break you
Aria,
So, we’ve been here for almost a year now, and I wish I could say things have gotten easier, but they really haven’t. I hate that I’ve had to do this. I hate that I’m living a life I didn’t want. I hate that I can’t tell you where we are or what we’re doing. I just want to be home and have your sexy legs wrapped around my waist with your tight cunt wrapped around my dick. I’m positive it’s the only thing that keeps me going.
A week ago, I was driving my unit from point A to point B in one of our tanks and I drove over a grouping of larger rocks, and by sheer chance, one of the rocks that was thrown out from under the tires was heavy enough or something to set off an IED just up ahead and off to the right of where I had been driving. It was clearly not a powerful explosive and likely put together too quickly, without proper supplies. Either way, it was seemingly homemade and not built to take out a military grade tank. But it fucked me up.
The rest of the guys are acting like it wasn’t a big deal and I don’t get it. We could have been blown up. We could have died. I’m not one of them and I don’t want to die here in this wasteland. I want to come home and drink real alcohol and eat real meals. I want to go out like we used to and act like someone my age is supposed to act. I think that our separation right after we got married was the worst thing that could have happened to us. I barely get to talk to you and I’m growing resentful of the fact that you’re at home enjoying life while I’m stuck in this hell hole.
When I get home, you had better be ready for me and that pussy better still be tight. Oh, and with your next letter, send some nudes to get me through the last months that I’m stuck here. I’d feel better if I knew for sure that cunt of yours was staying closed for business. Why don’t you send me proof, all right?
Thanks,
