Chapter Text
Feelings were a funny thing. A strange concept, Bernie thought. She remembered her mother telling her, when she was younger, that passion fades but love endures. Perhaps it did for her, for both Bernie’s parents. But Bernie knew now, as clear as day, that wasn’t always true, and love wasn’t always enough. Something was missing, and it had taken an IED in the desert for Bernie to realise that. For her to accept her marriage was over.
It had taken Marcus longer to accept what Bernie had known for months. For, when Bernie had lain in bed with him and felt a distance between them, an ache deep in her chest, her husband had been oblivious. His love had endured, it was enough for him. Bernie had to question why hers had not.
She’d gone on her next, and what turned out to be her final, tour with a heavy heart. Filled with confusion and an emptiness that she couldn’t identify. They say time heals all wounds. So it stood to reason that it might help this one, and perhaps some space would be good for her too. It could act as a healer. A salve to her soul.
It wasn’t until an attractive Captain, an anaesthetist newly attached to their unit, caught her eye that she started to understand. Her heart thumped in her chest, and her breathing shallowed, every time the woman came near. Sparkling eyes and a brilliant smile captured Bernie’s heart like nothing else had before. Like no one else had before. Guilt filled every pore, every inch of Bernie, Marcus always in the back of her mind. Even as she flirted, unable to stop herself, longing for a connection she’d never realised she needed.
It was all too late, however. The IED hit. Bernie was injured, almost lost. The Captain died. It was then, as raw pain cut into her heart, and unexplored regrets filled her dreams, that Bernie knew. Knew what she had to do.
While still in hospital, she’d asked Marcus for a divorce. The real reason was kept secret, locked away somewhere deep inside her like her heart caged by her ribs. Instead, she managed to persuade him that the explosion had given her a kick in the arse, a clarity that had brought her to the conclusion that they no longer worked. Something she’d realised was a long time coming, she’d said. The words felt bitter in her mouth, unable to bring herself to look Marcus in the eye and witness the pain she knew would be there. But it was something that had to be done. Her life meant more than being stuck in an unhappy marriage. Bernie needed more.
This was why Bernie found herself in room 402. Her temporary home and a place to convalesce. It was taking her body longer than she’d anticipated to heal from her injuries. There was a stiffness to her gait, and pain had carved indelible markings around her eyes and mouth, as if the incident had aged her. Creeping insomnia wasn’t helping, nor the rhythmic banging from next door at just before 2am every night – did that man get any sleep?
Still, the room was nice. A plush, queen sized bed that Bernie tried to pretend was a luxury and not a cavernous expanse of emptiness beside her every night. The desk and chair were not her style but suited for their purpose. The armchair was Bernie’s favourite place in the room, situated by the window and giving great views of the sunsets on evenings where the weather was kind enough. The walk-in shower was a godsend to her battered body, and it was nice, after all those years of military bathing facilities, to have something out of indulgence rather than necessity.
Since she was still on medical leave, Bernie didn’t have to worry too much about expenses. Not yet fit enough to work, her focuses were on her weekly therapy and thrice weekly physio sessions. Those regularly left the Major exhausted and frustrated, unable to tell whether she was making progress, at least compared to her high standards. It didn’t matter how many times someone told her to have patience, to give it time, Bernie wanted it all fixed yesterday.
The hotel symbolised her feelings on the entire matter: she felt stuck in limbo. It was her home and yet it was not. It was her life, and yet it was not. The freedom and relief she had expected to come from leaving Marcus hadn’t arrived. She felt as encased in her own existence as her shattered thigh bone was trapped by the pins and plates holding it together.
All Bernie could do was to fall back on routine. Every day the same. What might be monotony to some brought balance and structure to Bernie. The military had imprinted that much onto her, and more. It provided a feeling of safety to counterbalance the increasing anxiety and mind-numbing boredom she felt, every inch of her craving her work. Something to drive her forward, help her move on. Her fingers itched to get back to it, missing the rush of fixing another biological puzzle, under pressure. Although even Bernie couldn’t deny the plus side of having the comforts of a hotel versus the plain living of the army. Her body certainly complained less.
The highlights of her stay were whenever she got to see her kids. The divorce was hard on them all and the two young adults still struggled to understand their mother’s reasoning, but they were trying to accept it. The distance between them felt enormous and it had taken more courage than she ever thought she would need to explain why her marriage was over. To come out to her children, not knowing how they would take it. She had thought, more than once, that operating under fire had been easier than this.
But they’d all come out the other side unscathed and better for it. Both Cam and Charlotte had hugged Bernie before they’d left, with the latter whispering into Bernie’s ear that they both loved her, no matter what. Bernie had been left with a wave of emotion that she tried to keep in, only a few tears betraying her. The kids had promised to come back and see her again soon, leaving Bernie with the hope that the relationship she had with her children wasn’t completely broken after all.
That was what Bernie’s life had become. A rollercoaster of emotions while the world trundled along merrily around her. The hotel bustled with life and movement. Bernie felt stale and withdrawn. It hadn’t helped that her unit, and her friends within it, were still back in Afghanistan. Communications with them were spotty at best, but Bernie had arranged to meet up with some of them on their return. That was her aim, her target. To get rid of her cane by then. She planned on pushing herself to that end.
The details of the carpet, as she hobbled along towards the lift, were more than a little familiar to her now. The slightly worn patches, where not to place her cane, patterns she’d picked up and noted as the trips had started to blur into one. The way her cane pressed, and imprinted, into the carpet’s pile, a little bit of her left behind on her journeys, however briefly. It had become a habit of hers to count her steps to the lift, and in doing so place her cane in particular spots as she went. This was especially true on days where her body felt more tired than usual, when even the smallest of movements were an effort to produce.
It was on one particular Tuesday that Bernie had been pulled out of her thoughts on the carpet and towards the door of her next-door neighbour. A little late for the usual housekeeping, Bernie was surprised to see the door wide open and two cleaners, chatting amongst themselves, going in and out – stripping the room. It was not a busy day of the week for the hotel and Bernie couldn’t help noting that from her position the room looked to be completely devoid of bags or personal belongings.
“Maybe the week’s looking up,” Bernie muttered to herself as she turned to make her well-accustomed journey to the lift and down to reception. She’d been hoping that wretched man would leave at some point soon. Perhaps now she might get an uninterrupted night’s sleep.
Bernie laughed at that. A self-deprecating, hollow chuckle.
As if her sleep issues could be whittled down to being blamed on one man and his overactive libido.
Jealously and loneliness bit into Bernie at that thought and, as she took the lift to the ground floor, she forced herself into practising her breathing exercises to refocus her mind. Little would come from falling into that deep, dark hole. Staring up into the bright lights of the lift as a light rattle signified that it was coming to a stop, Bernie’s grip on her cane tightened, her own stubbornness pushing her forward – out of the lift and towards the reception desk.
She really did need to get some proper sleep, she thought as she caught a glance of herself in the mirrored side of a column and grimaced at what she saw. Luckily, no one ever commented on the bags under her eyes or her drawn complexion. It was hard for Bernie to tell whether she had lost a few pounds or whether it was the weight of everything that had happened that made her cheeks look thinner than usual, her eyes a little sunken.
Leaning against the reception desk, she picked up her redirected post. Tapping the light bundle, Bernie decided to let curiosity get the better of her and enquired over her next-door neighbour.
“Oh, yes. He checked out this morning. Very last minute. Another business trip, I believe,” came the reply, much to Bernie’s relief.
But the young man on the desk didn’t stop there.
“You’ll be getting a new neighbour this evening. A woman, I think. Rang up needing a room straight away.”
Bernie nodded, an odd mixture of excitement and nerves bubbling up within her at the prospect of someone new. Her only real hope was that they were quiet, and hopefully friendly enough. When you lived on either side of a wall that seemed to let every little bit of sound through, it was an advantage to have a good relationship with your neighbours. Bernie had never said much to her old neighbour but for the odd nod in the corridor. She wouldn’t expect anything more than that.
“That explains the quick turn around then,” Bernie murmured, not really expecting a response from the young man.
Thanking him for the information, and her post, Bernie turned on the spot and started to make her way outside. Tugging her coat more securely around her, as best she could while holding the letters in her hand, Bernie made slow progress through the door and down towards a bench a few feet away. Not only was this good for her muscles – her physio had encouraged her to walk more, short distances and nothing too strenuous – but it also gave Bernie an excuse for a cigarette.
Letters tucked securely under her thigh, cane balanced next to her, Bernie sat back as she pulled out the warn packet and lighter from her pocket. Pale, thin fingers brought the cigarette to her lips and Bernie let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging, after the first inhale. Rolling the cigarette between her thumb and index finger, the roar of the road muffled as she was drawn back into her thoughts. Images flashed in front of her eyes, as they quite often did. Her guilt playing on her, over and over, as she revisited the explosion and crash. The lifeless face of the pretty Captain stamped across her mind, a seemingly permanent and cruel reminder of all her regrets and mistakes; of a life ended before its time.
Blinking, Bernie was abruptly pulled out of her trance by a head of short brown hair, the flutter of the edge of a blouse caught in the wind, and a voice whose tone caught Bernie’s attention immediately.
“Yes, Ellie. I’ve just arrived.” The woman said into her phone before sighing, stopping just before the door to put her bag down so she could rub her temples. “You could at least have let me get into the building before you gave me the third degree.”
Bernie couldn’t help but notice, under the layer of stress that had obviously enveloped the woman, that she was strikingly pretty. A strong jaw line, a dimple that begged to be looked at, if not touched. Bernie realised she’d been staring and snapped her head over to the opposite direction, hoping the woman hadn’t noticed.
“This will all be temporary, I’m sure,” the brunette continued, as she glanced over at Bernie before looking agitatedly around at the rest of the deserted street. Somehow only just realising that her conversation could have been overheard by anyone.
Watching her out of the corner of her eye, Bernie wondered if this was her new next-door neighbour. She certainly hoped so. It was a bright spark of hope that flickered into life in Bernie’s chest, having been extinguished for weeks. Bernie took another drag on her cigarette as she stared down at her own knees, her free hand picking at a loose thread on her coat.
The brunette finally went inside and left Bernie alone once more. Alone with her thoughts, and a new fluttering in her stomach prompted by a pretty brunette with fierce eyes and voice as rich as the darkest chocolate.