Ripped Bandages: A Squad A Short

A’s Home
Tokyo, Japan
2014

Peters had been the one to drive her home.

See, it was supposed to be Touta’s job to take the half-English lady home, to make sure she didn’t throw up all over and got to bed safely. It wasn’t that Peters disliked A, no, not really. The two had better relations after Peters’ accident. Admittedly, it was purely because he wouldn’t know what to do in times wherein a lady was drunk.

Peters knew what to do when his friends back in America were wasted. He knew that to do when Jake would have too much to drink. He would know when to stop a lady he liked from going overboard – after all, he couldn’t sleep with someone drunk. It would go against his personal morals. Although a flirt, Peters still had respect for those he dated and made sure that they were thinking straight.

Due to that, he had no clue on how he could handle a drunk A.

He needed a guide – like those ­Dummies series he frequently saw. As he parked into A’s usual parking space, he took out his phone and hurriedly checked his messages, throwing apprehensive glances to the side to see if she was still out cold.

She was.

‘I’m in A’s driveway now. She’s out cold. WHAT THE FUCK SHOULD I DO?’

‘Calm down, Peters. Can you carry her in? There’s a spare key under the welcome mat.’

“Spare key,” he muttered to himself. “Shouldn’t be too hard.” Peters deftly exited his car, soon checking underneath the soft red mat by the main door. To his surprise, the key was there.

Unlocking the door right after, he went back for A and carefully lifted her, the girl over his shoulder. Peters easily carried her inside, noting that for someone in her early twenties, she was so goddamn light. The American closed the door with a small kick, locking it up and putting the extra key back under the mat.  

A made a small snuffling noise and Peters gave a curse as he navigated his way to her room.

He had only been to her house a few times, and that was for the Squad A Weekend Meetings that they had if they really needed to go overtime for work. Still, the place was as clean as it could be. Cream-colored walls, dark brown flooring, a couple of soft-looking rugs thrown here and there…he suspected that she gave the place a cleaning every week because it looked terribly pristine.

Kicking her bedroom door open, he was mildly shocked at the sudden change in mood. Her kitchen, dining room and living room? Spotless. Her bedroom, however, was another story.

The bed was unmade, the numerous pillows thrown around as if someone had just slept in there. The covers were wrinkled and tossed around. A coat hung over the chair, files and papers were abandoned on her table along with the white laptop. Earphones were clumsily left behind. Her shoes were knocked over, the dresser looking mightily disheveled. Peters briefly remembered how unsettled and mildly wrinkled her clothes were upon coming in for work that morning.

Aside from that, what was supposed to be a cozy, warm room instead became a goddamn mess. Even Peters’ own bedroom back at his apartment was neater, if not cleaner by a mile.

Either way, he put her down on the bed. His phone rang and he checked the latest message from the Japanese, who was sending him tips ever few minutes.

‘Lie her down on her bed. If she’s still out, get her a pitcher of cold water and a glass from the kitchen. After that, go to her bathroom and get her some painkillers. She’ll be having a headache soon enough. Then, just wait for her to wake. Made sure the lights are dim. A’s sensitive to light after waking up from passing out. I’ll be there in half an hour. Just stay with her – and make sure she won’t get her hands on her whiskey downstairs in the liquor cabinet.’

“Fucking liquor cabinet,” Peters muttered. He had managed bring the water and the glass to her room, putting the tray on the table by her bed. As he entered the bathroom, he heard her give a groan and searched for the medicine box, immediately grabbing for the painkillers. “You alright?”

“What – how am I…” A managed, sitting up. Her eyes were slightly squinted and he turned down the lights, stepping into the bedroom with the meds. “Peters?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I brought you home after I caught you drinking yourself at the bar,” he explained. Peters poured cold water into the glass and took the pill from its container, giving it to her. “Take this. Your headache will act up anytime soon.”

“Thanks,” she murmured. A took the pill and washed it down with cold water, looking relatively better after having a drink aside from alcohol rush down her throat. “What time is it…?”

He peeked at his watch. “Nearly two. Touta will be here soon, he wants to check up on you.” A looked unhappy at that. He frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Does he really have to come over?” she picked at her cuticles, “He should be resting. Doesn’t he have something up for tomorrow?”

“You know how he is.” A remained quiet and put the glass back on the tray, Peters finally filling the silence with another question. “Operation Brokenhearted didn’t work.” He said it simply, not bothering to lace it with a question mark at the end; rather, he posed it as a statement needing confirmation. A didn’t reply, but he saw her shift nervously and avoid looking in his direction. “Hey. Come on; don’t feel too bad about it. Touta and I aren’t exactly the best impromptu organizers. Besides,” he added, “You don’t heal that quickly. That’s bullshit.”

She managed a small smile at that. “Speaking from experience, play boy?”

“Not mine.” He pulled the office chair and sat near her bed, looking at her. A looked thoughtful now, pulling her hair into a bun. “Jake – my older brother – got his heart broken when he was in his second year of college. I remember how brokenhearted he was when he came home for the holidays,” Peters explained, remembering perfectly. “He really liked a girl he met in his class during Junior year of high school. Both of them got into the same university. Summer before Soph year of college came and he had fallen hard.”

“How hard?”

“Incredibly hard. You have infatuation and you have love. He was already going for love,” Peters said. “So he ended up confessing. A month later, he was dumped and Jake came home for Thanksgiving looking like shit. It took all break to get him to go outside and get some sun. Soon enough, he told me how beaten up he was over it. See, she had broken up with him cleanly. I told him it was a bandage thing. Better to rip it quickly and hurt for a bit than rip it slowly and go through the pain and burn throughout.”

Looking back at A, he went on. “Your situation is nearly like his. Nearly. Except, both of you were in love and were giving equal efforts, but now he ripped the bandage off you and disappeared with it. It hurts like a bitch now. You want to drink off the pain and lie in bed in numb drunkenness. Everyone does. I had to help Jake sober up seventy-five percent of the time. But if there’s anything I learned from Jake – it’s that drinking will not help.”

“So don’t drink it off. Don’t numb yourself. Don’t prolong this additional bandage.”

Peters didn’t mean to be cruel with his words – in fact, he wanted to be motivational, inspiring. The last thing he honestly wanted was for A to take them the wrong way.

So when he looked at her – really looked at her – he was alarmed to see tears going down her face. “Shit,” he panicked, “Shit. I didn’t mean–”

“Peters,” she broke in, “I don’t think I can get to love like that again.”

The words were eerily familiar.

He remembered where he heard them.

Jake was drunk off his ass.  The younger grunted as he pulled his brother to the couch, sitting him down firmly. “Stay there, you asshole. I’ll get you some coke.”

As Samuel walked to the fridge to get a can, he heard Jake mumbling something under his breath. The boy gave a mildly irritated sigh. It was Jake’s fourth day back, second night coming back drunk. He was momentarily thankful that both his parents were sleeping.

Once he got back with a can, he saw Jake sitting up, his flushed face not too euphoria-touched. “…Jake?”

Jacob Peters buried his head into his hands.

“Don’t fall in love, Sammy.”

Samuel stared blankly at his brother, the coke can remaining in his hand.

“Love will hurt and tear you apart.” Once he looked up, Samuel was slightly frazzled at the sight of Jake with tears in his eyes. Despite that, he was smiling.

“You’ll find someone–”

Jake gave a harsh laugh. “It won’t be that easy, Sammy. I don’t think I’ll get to love again.”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped. A blinked, staring at him in shock. “God, don’t fucking say that. Just because you met one guy and fell in love and things didn’t work out, doesn’t mean that you’ve lost your chance. There are worthier men out there, A. Better than Matt.”

Another tear slipped down her cheek.

She didn’t talk, but he knew exactly what she was thinking.

And at that moment, Touta entered the bedroom, a plastic bag of Japanese take out and soda in his hands. His eyes met Peters’ and the latter nodded towards A, to which the older man set the food down and  moved forward quickly, wrapping the girl in a tight embrace.

Peters moved closer and put a hand on A’s shoulder.

You’ll love someone again, he thought firmly. I’m sure of it.