Kaitlin stood frozen in the doorway of her bedroom. She tried hard not to stare at Chase, but it was not just the well-muscled shoulders, back, and bottom that transfixed her. It was the legs, specifically his right one.
It was missing. Gone below the knee. Amputated - she supposed was the proper term. From the wound, stump, she forced her mind to use the word; dark silvery pink puckered burn scars rose like the flames that had created them upwards licking at and on a couple of points consuming his otherwise perfect ass.
She covered her mouth and sucked in a deep breath as she leaned against the wall. Even that must have been too much noise though as Chase half turned to face her.
"Fuck," he spat as he reached for the large bath towel that lay across her bed. He leaned part of his weight against the wrought iron headboard as he grabbed it and wrapped it about his waist.
Only his calf and a couple of inches of his left leg and the hint of that stump were visible as he leaned his weight on the bed and half turned, half hopped. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he growled.
Katie wanted to turn and flee from the anger she saw flashing in those once happy baby blues. She wanted to cry and scream at yet another injustice in this fucked up world. She wanted to simply melt into the cold, hardwood flooring beneath her feet. Disappear.
Only once before had she ever felt so embarrassed, so distant from them. She sighed, but this was much worse. Even then they had not been mad, not even when she had been a total cock tease and left them both hard and wanting. No, they had smiled and reassured her, told her that they understood, that it was all right.
But nothing had been. Not really, not since. If she had lost them that fateful evening, what would happen now with his anger boiling and rolling like a geyser just waiting to blow?
"I'm sorry," she whispered as she began to back out the door.
He shook his dark head, "No, I'm the one that should be sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that," he said as he sat down on her bed.
The silence was painful as it stretched out between them like a chasm, worse even than it had the night she teased them. She was not sure what to say, what was appropriate. Questions raced through her mind, but after a decade of virtual silence broken only by the occasional exchange of Christmas cards over the years, did she have the right to ask any of them?
He sighed heavily, and she looked back up into those intense blue eyes. Oh, sweet goddess, she had not until that moment realized that she had been staring at his leg, what remained of it. She blushed and opened her mouth, but no words came out. What did she say? What could she?
"Go ahead, princess. Say it. Ask it. We could always read what was in that pretty little mind of yours, sometimes better than you know yourself." He leaned back and pinned her with a serious stare as he shook his head once more, "Never mind, I'll save you the trouble.
"War...dirty, messy, shitty war. That is what happened. The details don't matter all that much really. And no, I don't want your sympathy. I have had enough of that to last me a lifetime."
He reached down and massaged the wound. "They say I was lucky. At least, I'm alive. Some of my friends..." his voice trailed off, his hand still on the pink flesh.
"It doesn't matter. In the grand scheme of things of this fucked up world we live in, what is one man's life? A leg here or there?"
Katie felt his pain; she always did - with everyone. But his was more intense. She wanted to cross the room, hold him in her arms as they had so often held and comforted her, but she could not.
Too much time, too much distance separated them. That man-child, who had been her friend, was gone, in his place was a man that was bitter, almost beaten. Even if justifiably so.
She inhaled as she realized just how tough this must be for Chase. Him especially. The star wide receiver, who along with his brother's throwing arm, had gotten their team to the final round of the state championship.
The young man, who had chosen a career in the Navy over a full athletic scholarship to UCLA. A man, who everyone thought even had a decent chance at playing professional football. A track star too, for whom running had always been such a release.
