I shouldn't trust him, this dark haired Irishman that's laying in bed beside me. I shouldn't trust Derek, the man in control, either. The one that could send me to my death, or could send Philip to his.
But I do. Somehow I know that they'll never do anything to hurt me. That they'll never betray my trust the way Richtor did.
Richtor.
My first lover.
My only regret.
I've turned the events upside down and sideways in my mind, trying to understand what drove him to sell us out.
Money? He had a genius level IQ, he could do anything he wanted in civilian life, make money hand over fist without really lifting a finger.
Power? I never took him for a control freak. He never tried to run any of our lives off base, and that's one of the first signs.
Believe me, live with my father for two days and you'll recognize a controller from a thousand paces.
So what else is there?
It wasn't like he didn't care about the Unit. He sat with Banks for three days straight when he got shot. Scott said he stayed by him when he got alcohol poisoning.
And he shared his bunk, and his body, with me more times than I care to remember.
I'm alive because protocol said I went on point. As the new guy, I was expendable.
Yet, they attacked from the rear.
Did Richtor make them come up from behind to save me? Am I alive because he really did love me?
I don't want to think about it. I want to go to sleep againest Philip's chest and not have these dreams anymore.
But I can't.
He hurt me. Not just when he killed my friends, but before that.
I can still feel the pain from my bruises. The ones he created when he hammered into me without lube and without warning. I remember trying to get away from him, and him flattening me againest his chest, driving himself inside me as hard as he could.
He left me crying in pain on the floor of the locker room. Scott found me and took me to the medic.
I didn't go near him at all that week. I would've stayed as far away as possible until my transfer papers arrived if that mission hadn't come up.
I was actually happy to be on point. I didn't have to look at him. Even if I died, I didn't really care, because his face wouldn't be the last thing I saw.
The jungle lit up like the fucking Fourth of July. I could hear the racket of a hundred thousand bullets leaving their casings. I ran back, determined that I'd go down fighting with my team.
Instead, they had died without me.
Because of Richtor.
Debriefing in the States, reassignment. I wanted to go back there, go back to that jungle and tear Richtor a new asshole then throw him into the river with the rest of the pirahna.
But they wouldn't let me.
And I couldn't trust the man they put me with.
Now I'm here, fighting ghosts, demons and things that go bump in the night. I'm laying my life on the line again. I'm trusting someone not to betray me again.
Am I a fool? Worse than a fool?
I wish to God I knew.
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Entry by Jax
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