13. 1942

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

1942

CYRIL

T he fire has gone out, and the storm is still going. I hold Teddy in my arms so as not to disturb him. Not that he will wake and grumble.

There will be no Cairo.

I can only hope that my pathetic promise offered him some hope.

I should have left some for myself.

My fingers prickle with pins and needles, the weight of his head becoming too much. I carefully pull my arm free and lay his head on the sand. For a while, I lie on my back, staring into the dark and wondering if this is what it's like to die.

To lose everyone and all hope and be adrift.

I've not become a better man. I am colder and more distant in an effort to protect my heart, and yet somehow, it is breaking for what will never be. I take the letter out of my pocket and turn it over in my fingers several times before turning on the flashlight .

My dearest Cyril,

From the first day I saw you, I knew you were the man for me. I delight in seeing you every morning, even if you are barking orders. I have wanted to kiss you so many times it is impossible to count, but I never find the courage, even after too many drinks. If I were a braver man, I would have made my feelings clear and risked the rebuff. Instead, I have chosen the coward's way to avoid asking if you harbor similar feelings for me.

Eternally yours,

Teddy

My eyes burn, but there are no tears left.

If I were braver, I would have made my feelings known. I am the coward who doesn't deserve even a tenth of what Teddy was offering. He was full of life and laughter, and I can't remember what it's like to feel anything but loss.

I read the letter again and again until I have memorized each word, then I place it in my pocket. If the storm stops this second, I won't be able to get up and walk out.

Perhaps I am meant to die in this cave.

Again.

My waking dream of a violent death at a soldier's hand now offers some comfort. The war won't end, but I don't need to fight anymore, and Teddy doesn't need to be alone.

I consider writing to my parents but see no point. There is no one else I wish to write to. In the dark, I contemplate my options. I do not want my parents to be devastated or for them to be praying for my soul.

Instead, I draw inspiration from my waking dream. One cut in the right place.

With my mind made up, I sit up to locate the vodka and the satchel—so it appears that I protected it until the end. The golden cat and armband glint in the light. While I am hesitant to touch them again, I place the cat in the satchel, and I slide the armband onto Teddy's wrist. For a moment, I am the priest again, wanting to dress his lover in stolen gold before worshipping at his feet.

Now I am believing my own imaginings.

I've lost my mind, but I no longer care about such trivial matters.

I whisper in Teddy's ear. "You can wear it in Cairo and nothing else."

It would have been easy to love him if I had let myself try. And if I had, maybe we wouldn't be in this cave. Replaying a twisted version of what happened last time. As tempted as I am to lie next to him, to hold him close, I cannot bear the thought of being found like that.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as I inch away to lean against the wall. My leg rests near him, and from where I sit, it appears as though he is only sleeping and will wake at any moment.

I pull the pain shots out of the med kit and drink the vodka like it's water. After that, the weight of dread lifts, and I float, holding onto the thread of hope that there will be a next time.