The Traject

Author's Note: For new readers, this is a continuation of the life of a previously introduced character. While it is not necessary to do so, to better understand the story and the integral themes, I would recommend reading both "Long Road" and "Highsider" in that order to get the fully fleshed out aspects of this story. Again, I have tried my best to keep this a standalone series, and have made the necessary references to aspects that are not mentioned here.

Here is the beginning of a new chapter in the Life of D. Although it is an unpopular choice, I decided that the best way to show the many different facets of life with this character was to create open spaces and clear distinctions. Some readers have grasped that with each additional series, the character's background is more fleshed out, his traumas are more exposed and therefore explored. In the world of psychiatric medicine this is the path that is usually taken to better expose the psyche and determine the course of treatment. In literature, this effect should hopefully cause the reader to better identify with the main character and explore the same feelings and emotions that the character is experiencing.

I know as people we demand satisfaction, we are a reward driven society, but I would hope that I can also be afforded the opportunity to receive a sense of satisfaction. A satisfaction that comes from seeing a journey completed, and the trust that you, as the reader, have placed upon me, as the author, to guide you to the end of this journey. I appreciate the comments, good, bad, and nonsensical all the same, they build the character and thicken the skin. That being said, I truly am happy for those that have remained and have kept up with the story thus far.

I am grateful that some of the readers of this series have a military background and can better relate to the issues that this character is experiencing, but I am more grateful that you guys are still here and did not become one of the 22. I am proud that I was able to serve my country because of the sacrifice each and every one of you made in the past. To you, I hope you receive full canopies and soft landing zones.

Much love,

aka_Mike

The Ballad of Barbara:

"Did you know that you scream in your sleep?" Barbara had her hand on my chest while she wrapped her legs seductively around my torso. She was the first woman I had dated following my bitter divorce from the cheating whore known as Ann and the first woman I had spoked to following my first trip to the Middle East as a contractor after I had left my career as an Army Medic. "Not very loud, but it can be a little unnerving at first."

"Sorry," I said as I grabbed the glass of water I kept on the night stand.

"I know very little about you," she continued, "it's like you purposely hide a lot about yourself that you don't want people to know. You know I am here, you can talk to me."

"I know," I leaned in and kissed her softly, "it's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you someday."

"Ohh," she giggled and climbed on top of me, her giggle sometimes caught me off guard, it reminded me so much of Ann. "Are we making plans for the future?" She held the blankets tightly around her body like a shroud, there was something particularly sexy about this woman when she did that. When we met I was not looking for a relationship, I wasn't looking for anything in reality. It was a chance encounter at the most unlikely of places: group therapy.

...

After my arrival with the contractor company I was assigned VIP escort duties, and with my medical background I quickly gained the confidence of our clients. Usually we would escort dignitaries, congressmen, senators, high ranking officers, basically important people that felt the need to visit the frontlines for whatever they needed back home. Sometimes it would be for votes, other times just to provide entertainment for the troops, I have to admit that those morale trips were my favorite.

But I had become a little reckless, truth be told I had stopped caring about myself and my own survival entirely. Every single firefight that we took part in, I was there, taking the more dangerous positions and taking pleasure in doing so. I was shot three times in the first six months, nothing serious just mainly flesh wounds but these instances were noted by my employers. The high death toll I was inflicting was also noticed, but along with that success and my technical knowledge and medical expertise carried me successfully through the first contract. When it came time to renew it, my employer made it very clear, I would need to take three months off and seek psychiatric help. Not just counselling, they were very clear it had to be a forensic psychologist that had to treat and clear me for duty.

I met Dr. Cargill and immediately he administered a series of tests in order to find out the cause of my issues, apparently military training and a fucked up childhood were not enough for him. He finally diagnosed me with: emotional detachment, PTSD, anxiety, depression, and a variety of stress disorders. He felt that I dealt with my issues through alcohol abuse, that I used anger as an armor that protected me from forming any type of attachment with others, and my sarcasm as a finely tuned weapon to ensure people don't get too close. I think he's full of shit and he's interfering with my drinking time, but the boss man wanted me to do this to keep my job so I kept my mouth shut. He ordered me to attend group sessions in his office, these sessions helped people deal with PTSD and the interaction with others could give people tools that have been tested and tried by others.

As I walked in the office for the first time, there she was: Barbara. I can still remember her first words to me, even now looking back at that moment years after it occurred. "You look lost, and maybe a little drunk. AA is a street over, sugar."

"Oh wow," I replied, "comedy night? Shit, I didn't practice my material."

"Never mind," she laughed, "you're in the right place. You must be the new guy Dr. Cargill mentioned, I am the group leader, Barbara. Please don't call me Barb." She extended her hand which I took.

"How about Babs?"

"How about a kick to the nuts?"

"Nice to meet you, Barbara. How long do these things last?"

"It really depends on how much the people want to share, but they are for a minimum of an hour. Why, you got a hot date somewhere?"

"I was hoping I would," I replied. This was completely out of character for me, but after so many years of playing my role in the world then there was little left for me to lose. If I wanted to stop losing and getting shit on, I would have to stop being the way that I had been and become someone else.

"Ohh, you're smooth, but how about we get through this meeting first and then we'll see if I'm in the mood for coffee." The meeting went as well as anyone could expect, I did learn a lot and met a few people that had similar experiences as my own. Some were fellow veterans, others were fellow divorcees, others came from an abuse childhood, I was batting a perfect game in these three fronts. Every time we started to get off topic, Barbara would interject with a question and pick out someone from the crowd that could answer it in a way that would return us to the topic. It was almost magical to watch her work. After two hours, she called an end to the session and made sure that we were all aware of any follow up appointments with the various doctors in the practice.

"Why does it seem like I'm the only one seeing Cargill? Is he new or something?" I asked her after the last of the people had left the room, there was some coffee in the table and I poured myself a cup while offering her a cup which she accepted.

"No, he's not new," she said while she laughed softly, "he's the clinical director of this practice. You are his only patient at the moment," she continued.

"How did I get that pleasure?"

"Well, your employer personally contacted him, that's all I know about that. You'd have to ask him to get the rest of the story." We sat down and made small talk, I learned a lot about her that night.

"So," I downed my second cup of coffee, "are we going for coffee?"

"What are you talking about?" She giggled, that was the first time I heard that giggle and it immediately affected me. A chill crept up my spine, my eyes narrowed in a combination of disgust and anger, something she really noticed. "Sugar, we just had coffee. I have to go home, but you're a really nice guy and would like to get to know more about you." She reached out and grabbed my face with her hand, yet another memory from Ann that I so desperately wanted to forget, "but sugar, I am not easy."

"Well, I am," I said, prompting yet more laughter from her. She took my phone and typed her number then pressed DIAL and her phone began to vibrate.

"I'll call you," she leaned over and kissed my cheek, "don't forget about your appointment tomorrow."

...

"I heard great things about the session yesterday," Cargill began, "would you like to talk about it?"

"What's there to say? I was surprised by the amount of people that I can relate to, seeing how they learned to cope with their issues was enlightening."

"What did you think about the suggestions? Do you think that would be something you could do yourself?"

"I don't know," I replied, "I mean if I take the full course and actually take care of the issues that I feel have kept me alive for this long, when I go back I feel like I'll go back naked." His confused look made me elaborate, "these people are full civilian, they have normal jobs, they go home each night. And that's fantastic, it really is, they did their time and came home. They can afford to forget all that, they can forget all those lessons we have to learn to stay alive. I can't afford to, at least not yet."

"So, you think that your job is putting you in a position that prevents you from healing? From finding peace?"

"I think that I am still alive today because of luck and skill. And if I get rid of the skill in order to heal, then all I'll be left with is luck and I don't think I have much more of that."

"Then maybe you know what you have to do," he said, "but I think that it's a good idea for you to continue going to the group sessions. Besides, Barbara seems to think that area would be most beneficial for you."

"That reminds me," I continued, "why am I your only patient?"

"It's a favor for a friend," he said, "your employer is a good friend of mine, and for some reason he took a liking to you. That in itself was a miracle, as long as I've known him I can count on one hand the number of people he tolerates. I'll be honest with you, other than this being a favor you intrigue me in a professional sense. What you have told me about your past, your childhood, your upbringing, your failed marriage, your career; all the patients that have come through this office with half of those issues have at some point made suicide attempts. But you? I don't think the thought has crossed your mind.

"Honestly, a patient with the amount of trauma that you have experienced should be far worse that how you are, or by some point should have at least attempted to commit suicide at the very least. I have patients in this facility with a fraction of your issues but with a laundry list of substance abuse and addictions. But you have an almost inhuman resilience, and don't get me wrong you are messed up, but yet you should be so far worse. I want to know how you do it, what makes you keep going?"

"I'm stubborn," I replied. It was the truth, I was stubborn. But the sessions continued, I made great progress in the one on one sessions and the group sessions were very enlightening. I spent a lot of time with Barbara after the sessions, eventually having dinners and meeting for lunches. After two months of talking and dating she invited herself to my small apartment with the excuse to see me outside our regularly scheduled hours. In her normal innocent fashion, she brought over a movie while I busied myself in the kitchen preparing a light dinner of salmon and grilled vegetables.

"Gotta love a man that can cook," she said as she sipped her glass of wine and looked over my shoulder and looked at the cooking fish.

"Well," I replied, "if I don't cook, I don't eat. I'm not a big fan of fast food places, and going out to restaurants daily can get a little expensive."

"Still, it's not a normal thing to see, I don't think I've ever really dated a man that..." my expression immediately forced her to quiet down, "what? Did I say something wrong?"

"I think that's the first time you have said that we are dating," I replied with a smile, reaching to the counter of spices to put the finishing touches on the meal. "It's nice to hear it out loud." Dinner was a huge hit, she enjoyed the flavor of the brown sugar mixed with the red pepper flakes and mint leaves in the fish with the garlic taste of the vegetables. The white wine flowed freely and before we knew it a second bottle had been opened and we were both settled into my couch to watch the movie.

"This is by far the best date I have ever had," she said, a slight slur in her words, "but if we are going to do this you need to understand what it is that I am looking for, and what I hope we can become. I know its not what guys want to hear, but it is very important to me."

"Barbara," I replied, a small sadness in her eyes as I spoke, "we met in the most unusual place we possibly could meet, under the most unusual of circumstances. You hear me talk about my issues and experiences pretty frequently, I seriously doubt that there is anything you can tell me to scare me off if you're still here after hearing all my bs."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she said as she gently placed her wine glass in the coffee table and in one fluid motion she straddled me. "I am not sure why I am so attracted to you," she continued as she lowered her head, our lips met for the briefest of seconds, "you are completely and utterly broken." A second kiss, this one more passionate, more lustful, each of us trying to steal the other person's breath, "it shouldn't be like this," she continued as each kiss interrupted her speech, "it's just not fair," I pulled her away after tasting the familiar saltiness of tears.

"What are you talking about?" There must have been something drawn on my face, some type of emotion that I did not consciously feel, however it inundated those eyes of hers that I have heard so many people talk about. She immediately took me in her arms, placing my head between those beautiful mounds on her chest, clutching my head tighter into her as if she was afraid of letting me go.

"You're a nice guy," she continued, her silent tears continuing to flow, this time more freely. "All this shit you've been through, all those stories you tell in the sessions, you don't see it. Every time you talk, it's like you're breaking everyone's heart, they all feel for you and you don't even have a clue. I don't think you allow yourself to have a clue." She again kissed me, softly, her lips lingering for a second longer than necessary, "nice guys like you shouldn't have to deal with so much, so quickly."

"It happens," I replied, the blood was slowly returning to my body, my breathing slowed. I hated these conversations, and while I was not expecting anything more than a quiet dinner, the mood of the room changed into one of deep melancholy.

"No," she replied, almost as if she were reading my mind she stood and grabbed her wine glass, "it doesn't happen. It shouldn't happen to nice guys like you," she downed the remaining wine from her glass in a single gulp and looked at me through the glass. Without a word, she extended her hand and helped me to my feet, "you have a lot of anger built up inside you, D. Please, just for tonight, please use me."

I led her to my bedroom, knowing that I would only be stateside for a few weeks I had decided to keep my belongings to a bare minimum, I was still having trouble sleeping in normal beds so the only thing I splurged on was my mattress. When you first lay on it, the heavy memory foam material can seem hard, almost board-like, however as your body heat warms the material you begin to fall into the mattress as it wraps you in its cocoon. I knew what Barbara wanted from me, she had just given me free reign to use her body as a tool to get rid of some anger, but I knew that there had to be some gentleness for our first time. My walls were bare except for one item that I took special care to hang in the place of honor within my bedroom: my family's Coat of Arms. Needless to say, Barbara and I were far too busy exploring ourselves for her to notice anything in that dimly lit room. Our breathing was increasing, between small moans and gasps I could see the lust beginning to take over her body, I could feel the nervousness of the first coupling slowly leaving her body.

Without a word, I took her arms and pinned them to her sides and turned her around without difficulty, the gasp that escaped from her mouth revealed that she was not expecting this turn of events. I slowly moved my hands away from her arms, my silence was enough for her to know that I wanted her arms to remain where I had left them. Without a word I reached to the front part of her blouse, a button up silk shirt that fit well to the curves in her body, and felt her body tense up in expectation. Instead of reaching for her breasts, however, I reached to the thin material that held the shirt together and in one forceful move I pulled the two parts of her shirt free. She let out a long sigh and a small moan as I slowly lowered her shirt, gently caressing her arms as I moved about them. I allowed her shirt to fall onto the floor almost unceremoniously, my hands reaching to her shoulders and using my ring fingers I hooked the shoulder straps of her bra while delivering soft kisses to the middle part of her upper back.

Her skin was covered in goose bumps, her breathing increased in intensity and speed as I again ran my hands over her arms while lowering the straps. With one hand I unclasped it and just like the shirt I allowed it to fall onto the floor. I reached for her chin, turned her head and kissed her forcefully while pulling her body closer to mine. She tried to turn around but I held her in place, she quickly understood that I still wanted her to remain in that position. She did not notice my hand move to the button on her jeans, she did not notice how quickly I undid that single button, not until her jeans started falling down. They cascaded and joined the rest of her clothes in the floor, and as she stood in nothing but her black boy short style panties I made an exaggerated amount of noise as I started removing my own clothes. Once again she tried to turn around, and again I held her in place with her back facing me.

I could sense my own anticipation growing wildly, seeing this barely clad beauty standing before me, ready to submit herself to my every desire threatened to cause my already sensitive erection to give way to its desires. But I had to wait. It had been far too long for me, I knew I wouldn't last very long and if I wanted to pleasure her wholly this had to be the way I had to perform. Once again, I ran my hands along her arms feeling every bump of excited flesh as my lips once again met the flesh of her back. I moved my head downward, kissing my way to her lower back. As she felt my hands reach into the waistband of her panties, she once again gasped for breath in a sudden and violent intake. Much like I had done with her previous articles of clothing, I gently caressed her legs as the last article of clothing fell like another stream joining the pooled clothing at her feet. The smell of her arousal beckoned me, the temptation to dive in and take her was an overpowering aphrodisiac. My animal instincts were screaming out to me to take her, to ravage her, to let go of all my pent up anger by using her as she had requested. But thankfully, my logical side was the louder voice at this moment.