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scramble, grabbing my gun from the drawer.
    Finding my own two feet, I keep the gun in my right and turn on a light with the left. If I have to shoot, I’d prefer to see my target. That’s gun ownership 101.
    He looks up at me, reality registers and remorse pummels him. He coughs, closes his eyes in pain and groans out, “Rion, Christ I’m---”
    “Leaving,” I tell him, catching my own breath. “You’re leaving.”
    “I thought you were---”
    “I don’t care what you thought,” I warn him. “That’s twice, Loyal.”
    “I have nightmares,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
    “I may not have full use of my throat for a couple days but, I’m fine otherwise. That really isn’t the point here. It’s been real, but I can’t do this with you.” When he stands there blinking at me, I figure I need to step up my game. ”It’s not you, it’s me. You don't look half as good as you did on Christian Mingle. I just can't be with someone who liked Sharknado. My dick is committed to you, but my heart isn’t.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “Not one for subtly, I take it,” I offer up as I walk to the door. “How’s this? I’m going across the hall to work and try not to use my throat for the rest of the day. When I’m done doing that, I’m going to come back here and that’s your cue to not be here when I get back.” When he stands there doing nothing, I said ‘fuck it’, turned on my heel and left anyway.
    The second I went to open my office door, he just guts me with five words. “I was a Marine too,” he says quietly. “I’m pretty fucked up, Rion. Came here to find my brother and found you instead. Didn’t mean to hurt you, I’d never hurt you on purpose. Never.”
    Closing my eyes, I hear him walk down the hall towards the step. Second chances Junior, second chances. Senior wouldn’t be proud of me if I let him walk away and deep down I knew I didn’t want him to either. My gut cramped knowing he was going to walk and I didn’t know why, but I knew we needed each other. “Loyal wait…”
     

‘Reality is just a crutch for people who can't cope with drugs.’
    ~Robin Williams
    When I heard her call my name I stopped dead in my tracks. I don’t deserve her kindness, never would, but I stopped anyway because she asked. It was the sound of my name coming from her mouth that did it. She drew my name out and said it like it was important. Like, it meant something. Fuck, like I meant something.
    I don’t have friends, no family to speak of. I’m fucked in the head and I have nothing to offer the woman standing behind me. Not even friendship. No doubt she wants to save me or some shit because you can see it in her smile. She’s a do-gooder. She’s also really fucking naïve to think I’m salvageable. Her reality and mine are on opposing sides, but I stopped anyway because I won’t say no to her. I can’t explain why, I just know that it’s not possible and in the end it’s going to fuck me.
    “I’m sorry about the things I said to you. I know better than to speak out of anger.” Standing in front of me, she cranes her neck back to look up at me, so I back up so she doesn’t have to. “You were a Marine like my dad, huh?”
    “That’s what I said.”
    “He used to say once a Marine always a Marine,” she smiles and it cripples me. “You know look like a Marine. At first I thought fighter or cop, but Marine makes total sense. I’m actually mentally slapping myself for not pegging it.”
    At a loss of what to say, I chose to stay quiet. Quiet was safe. But Rion, it seemed, had enough words for both of us. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes in the office?”
    “Why?”
    “You’re really going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”
    “You wanted me to go,” I remind her then, pointing over my shoulder at the exit I say, “There’s the steps.”
    “I changed my mind. I’m a girl. Girls do