After I had showered we made love for the first time. It was slow and natural, we bonded like long term lovers but with the appetite for lust that accompanies the first flushes of a new relationship. We rolled and tumbled, feasting on each other's bodies, the sating of inner flames doused by the overload of the senses, the sight of Owen disrobed, his thick veiny penis ground between us as I took him in, his smell, the aftershave, musky and inviting, and the touch as I caress him, his body warm and comforting, kneading his chest muscles, taught as I bend down, my lips joining the search as I take his nipple into my mouth.
We come together, both engulfed by simultaneous explosions of passion and fluids. We lay panting, a sheen of sweat as I watch Owen's chest rise and fall, the rate slowing as he recovers. I reach for him and draw him to me. Soon, we are asleep.

*************

I was back in my seat. The countryside whizzed by the train windows, the rain still streaking across, droplets of rain chasing each other as they dance across the glass. I check my watch and try to plan forward, of what to say when I finally meet up with Owen again. I rehearse it again, for the hundredth time, changing a word here or there, fine tuning, changing intonations, to make myself clear. The flowers judder their petals as the train increases speed, reaching top velocity as we streak across the countryside. I give up on my rehearsal and instead of looking forward, I retreat back, back to my memories, and back to my phone with its messages.
I bring the phone to life with my fingerprint and the screen brightens. I search for message file again and spin through them, trying to pick up my feelings from the time of our first lovemaking, and the aftermath

Me: So you're gonna ignore me now??

(Three hours later)

Me: oh I get it, one night stand.

(The next day)

Me: Hi

(Four hours later)

Me: are you ok? I'm worried. If it was a one night stand, that's fine. Well it's not, but you know what I mean, I just want to check you're ok

(The next day)

Owen: Hi

(Then immediately after that)

Owen: I'm sorry, I just don't to hurt you

Me: by ignoring me, you hurt me. I just want to know you're ok

Owen: I know, I'm sorry.Yeh I'm fine, just got to get my head sorted

Me: Can I call?

Owen: not right now, can we just chat here?


My fingers swipe the screen up, messages spin by, some I remember, some seem new again.


Me: it was great to see you again. Seems like ages since me met last. You still hungover?

Owen: dunno yet, your text woke me up. You alright?

Me: yeah I'm good. Thanks for telling me more about what happened to you in Iraq. Helps me understand better. To watch your mate die must have been tough

Owen: he was blown to bits

Me: I know, I know. I wish I could take that pain away

Owen: Should've been me

Me: Don't say that.

Owen: if I hadn't had told him to check that truck.

Me: it's not your fault

(Two hours later)

Owen: I just don't feel well sometimes

Me: Let's get you some help.

****************

Hi Adam,

I said I would write when I could. The therapist says I need to cut myself off from everyone while I'm here. It's weird being here. Everyone is nice and the sessions are good. We talk a lot, I've done more crying than I think I've ever done. There's a few here with even bigger problems than me! And that's saying something. Six weeks in, and I'm just starting to talk properly about what happened. It hurts to keep going back over and over what happened in the gulf. I guess I have to really taste the pain again to move on. We used to say in the army, pain is just weakness leaving the body. Turns out the weakness is in me and not in the pain. The therapist says she is giving us the power to defuse our feelings, to live with them
I don't feel as angry now, and I'm off the drugs. You saw me on the coke at that concert. I'm sorry I put you through that, having to watch me lash out at anger that was actually in me all the time.
I'm probably talking shit but it makes sense to me.
I'll write again when I can. One thing I've realised since I've been here, is I think I have found someone I could fall in love with

Take care.

Owen


*****************

We stopped at the final station before my destination. The customary silent departure of alighting passengers played itself out, and their replacements clambered in, joining the charade of silent and distant, yet intimate travel. We pulled out the station for the final time on my journey and I contemplated the reunion. Could I actually go through with it, or would I turn and run as my strength and confidence evaporate and I retreat back, out of sight, like I had never been there.
A couple catch my attention, obviously in love, talking nothings, but connecting to each other both physically and emotionally. She touches his lips with her finger, shushing him and she giggles.

**************

Owen shushes me with a finger pressed to my lips. "Don't say a word" he breathed, "it's perfect"
He replaces his finger with his lips, the kiss joyous, delicate.
We look around our new flat, our first home. His tenancy agreement on his flat was up, mine was soon, so it made sense to pool resources and live together, plus my yearning to commit to this man was at its height. After Owen had finished his therapy, he spent a year out recovering. He admitted he had already been discharged from the army when we had first met due to his PTSD and was living off army benefits. I let the lie slide, I understood why, and would have forgiven him most things. I was infatuated by him, and an understandable sleight of hand when it came to the truth I could forgo.
He had put his life back together, working again, first as a general builder then spending time to retrain as a plumber. I was still at the solicitors, still moving forms from A to B. Sometimes to live on the edge I moved them to C as well. We were now a proper partnership and we both felt a fulfilment that a few years ago neither of us had envisioned.
Owen still had the odd days when the demons returned, retreating into silence, the sudden realisation I was talking to myself, Owen back in the sand of the dessert, the heat and the bullets and bombs. He would wake up at night sometimes, shouting at comrades long dead, or bathed in sweat as he juddered and shuddered pulling his knees to his chest as I rubbed his back saying I was there, and he was safe. I wondered what he was like before the therapy if he was like this now. He considered himself in 'management phase' where the skills he had learnt allowed him to at least not succumb to the terrors to a debilitating degree.
We still had the mad moments, the gunging, the pouring of stuff over me when least expected. I understood it was his way of taking control, having power over me meant he had power over himself, the hand on the tiller controlling things. It got him off, which got me off, so it was winners all round, we both got something. He could perform naturally without it, our sex life was fine, but I could tell when a gunging was coming. I could sense a subtle shift in him, the restless uncaged part of him roaming free until it could feast and be sated. If I could help him cope by being the stooge so be it. The things you do for love.

**

The girl and the boy sat opposite me kiss, fingers entwining as they embrace. I look away, not wishing to invade. I think I see a break in the clouds in the distance far away on the horizon. The train still ploughs its way through the rainstorm towards the brightness ahead. It looks like both the train and I are moving towards a brighter time. Who knows? If I can get what I want from the reunion the sun may shine again. For now, like the train, I'm moving through a miserable place. I urge the train on suddenly looking forward to the end of the journey and what could happen wanting to leave the rain behind. I rehearse what I will say to Owen again. Even though they don't need it I tidy the flowers on my lap, making sure the petals look just right. Careful not to keep looking at the lovebirds I check outside the train again. The countryside slides by, the fields sodden with the constant rain. A few depressed looking cows lift their heads and forlornly look at us as we trundle by. The fields are cut up by their hoofs as they sink into the mud.

**********
As soon as Owen said let's go to the beach for a walk, I knew what was coming. The last week, I had felt the slow build in Owen. It was almost a sixth sense now. I mean, ten years into a relationship I should know the man by now. Even though he had changed, his dark luxurious hair becoming thinner and receding, finally succumbing to a buzz cut, I could still read him. In the autumn after a week of rain, we both knew the walk on the beach was code for throwing me in the mud pools that ran behind the dunes of the beach. As always I accepted it, if it gave him enjoyment I would be willing as ever to take whatever he wanted to give. If I was a pressure release for him, so be it. The mud, gunge, or whatever would wash away, and I would be clean again. Owen, on the other hand, lived with the stain of his past regardless of the methods he used as a coping mechanism to try to wash away the trauma.
We walked hand in hand towards the dunes, buffeted by mild autumn winds, mostly in a comfortable silence, seagulls overhead calling and swooping.
Knowing why we were here, and the purpose it would serve my mind wandered back to the conversations we had in the past, about the horrors he had seen in the Gulf. I don't think even now he was totally honest with me, and was shielding me from the worst of the atrocities he had seen. Pushing him to give up information would most likely be counterproductive, causing him more strain on his tenuous grip on keeping the lid on his emotions. He blamed himself for the death of one of the people in his company, sending Jason to check on an abandoned vehicle on the outskirts of Baghdad only to watch the van explode in flames killing him outright. Owen felt he had made fundamental errors in managing the situation and this lack of judgement resulted in the instant death of a friend and colleague, and even now, after the counselling the weight of it hung heavy from his shoulders.
From fragments of shouts during dreams I believe the horror went deeper still, with night time terrors crying about limbs being blown away, disfigurement and terrible wounds that Hollywood only show in simulation. I could only imagine what it must be like to actually live through that, no make up, no cries of cut, no second chances.
The research I had done on people suffering from post traumatic stress disorder showed that sufferers cope in as many many ways as the disorder manifests itself. From my reading it would appear that Owen has felt so powerless and had failed to process the trauma, his inner mechanics went into overdrive taking dominance over facets of his character he did have power over, a kind of obsessive compulsive disorder. His natural instinct in our relationship was to assume control. Initially it irked me that he wrested control of our relationship, where we went, what we did. It was always his choice. The friction soon lessened as my reading and understanding of him, and his condition increased. The gunging and the mess was just another way of him keeping control. It wasn't a dominance over me, but of himself. I gripped his hand a little tighter.
After a few more minutes we found ourselves walking along the beach, waves crashing in, as dog walkers threw balls for dogs to chase, returning eagerly to their masters feet to drop the ball and beg for repetition. Clouds scurried across the grey sky, chased by the wind as they made their way across the land and out to sea. I felt a tug and looked over to see Owen leading me in land. We trudged through the sand, sinking into it ankle deep as we climbed the dunes, the barrier between the sea and sand and the mud pools behind. Reeds bowed in the wind as he reached the top, and we made our way back down the inland side, following the footsteps of those before us.
We reached the first mud pool, skirting it to deeper, more secluded ones behind, hidden from view by scrubby bushes that struggled through their life, making the best of the alternate sand dry landscape and the boggy muddy pools as the seasons changed. Owen seemed to find the third pool suitable and stopped.
"Take your clothes off" he ordered me, the role play commencing.
My boyfriend was gone, in his place stood the dominant army soldier, steely eyed and determined. I complied immediately, and in silence, adopting my role of the subservient one. I was aware that in a way I too was the dominant one, in control of allowing Owen to gently release the pent up emotions that had built up in him again. I could quite easily assert dominance, controlling the extent I would allow him to use my created character to provide relief. Again, the things you do for love.
I left my clothes in pile, and stood, naked awaiting the next order.
"Ok," Owen said, "dive in"
I could see the burgeoning bulge in his jeans, the sign of encouragement I needed, and turned and waded in knee deep into the sucking mud. It was cold, and thick, and stuck to me as I walked into the pool, sucking at my legs, slowing me down. When I was a few feet in, I launched myself head first, like a swimming pool diver, and submerged myself completely in the mud. The sound of the seagulls and the wind vanished into a void of silence as my head went beneath the surface. Instant coldness, dark and enveloping encased me and I was briefly alone in my alternative reality. My feet found the bottom, mud soft and velvety as I found purchase and stood emerging from the mud. I opened my eyes to see Owen smiling back at me, enjoying his power.
"Again, dive in" he ordered.
I fell backwards into the muddy pool, a curtain of muddy water splashing up, droplets landing on the vegetation on the banks. I floated, feet sticking out of the mud, as I flapped my arms beneath the surface to stay buoyant. I spun around, laying face down, and allowed myself to sink, the mud slowly sucking me under the surface. When my lungs started to yearn air, I surfaced, standing again.
To my amazement Owen was almost naked himself. He had shrugged off his T-shirt, and was stamping his jeans down to his ankles. He whipped his socks off and tugged at his boxers, his erection bouncing free. I gazed at the body that I had loved and cherished, a body I now knew as much as I knew my own, as he waded towards me. Ten years in, and he was finally joining me in mess.
He launched himself me and we both splashed deep into the mud. His clean bronzed skin immediately tainted in mud. I pulled him under, wanting him submerged fully. He wrestled, each pulling each other under, emerging gasping but laughing. Grabbing fistfuls of mud from the bed of the pool we pelted each other, grinding it into each other's heads, faces, bodies, cocks and asses. We took turns, the pummelling turning into caresses as the initial playfulness turned more sensual. Our bodies slipped against each other, sleek and moist as he held me. We kissed, and we ground lips together, tongues penetrating, searching.
We parted, gazing into each other's eyes, our faces and entire heads caked in mud. He knelt.
"Marry me?" He said softly. I saw his eyes well, deep pools, becoming glassy, gleaming back my own expression. A tear toppled from his eye and ran a path down his cheek. I pulled him close, embracing.

*********

The tinny announcement crackled from the speaker in the ceiling of the train. We would arriving at our final destination in ten minutes. It was the end of line, and we were advised to 'all change' and we had the companies thanks for travelling with them. Despite the ten minute warning, passengers started packing away iPads, laptops, closing kindles and folding newspapers. Some stood, shrugging on coats, or retrieving baggage from the overheads.
I was still on my phone, scrolling the pictures of Owen and my wedding day. We stood together in suits, looking dapper, smiling, surrounded by family and close friends.
No one came from the army, in fact Owen only had his parents, and a few employees he had, now that he had his own plumbing business. Owen taking control, no surprises there. I felt my eyes sting, tearing up, my vision blurred as I happily smiled down at the screen, twenty five years of life with him flooding back, jogging my memories. I swiped through, pictures of holidays, Owen snorkelling, Owen eating paella, Christmas pictures, Owen blowing up balloons, Christmas hat on. Owen looking stuffed after Christmas dinner, the hat still on but skewed. I smiled, memories ignited. A picture of the both of us mid drop on the first decent of the roller coaster. The frame mounted camera capturing our screams. Two mouths wide, the scream silent, caught in time, Owen with his eyes screwed tight, mine wide in terror.
I swiped through faster, knowing my time left on the train was short. My smile widened as my history unfurled in pixels. I wiped away tears, both happy and sad. I closed the photo app and the screen darkened as I locked the phone stuffing it back into my pocket. I looked from train as we rumbled into London, the rain finally stopped. Shards of sunlight sneaked between breaks in the clouds. The London city skyline stood waiting as we finally pulled into Paddington, the station familiar as I returned to my childhood home. The good and the bad rolled up in the dirty, cold, uncaring, electric, fantastic, glorious metropolis. I fetched the flowers from my seat, buttoned my coat. I took a few deep breaths and stepped from the train.

********

The walk was familiar, on autopilot I walked through the station to the tube, taking the line north, back home, Owen waiting.
I felt my heart rate start to quicken and my hands were moist, clammy. I swallowed back a panic attack, the fight or flight adrenaline rush. I took deep breaths, my eyes closed, counting the breaths in and out, taking back control.
Memories snapped through my mind, brief snapshots, snippets of arguments, the disintegration, the recovery, the breakdown again. I saw myself stood at the top of our stairs, pleading for Owen to open the door, to talk it through. Then me, slamming the door on my way out, flicking a middle finger to our neighbour as she peered out through the blinds, the commotion rousing her away from Coronation street. The wild make up sex, animalistic and feral, and the cold shoulder nights, hugging our side of the bed, backs facing backs, a cavernous gap between us.

Out of the tube I rode the escalator up, the mechanics moving me involuntarily to the mouth of the station, where I would be spat out to face Owen, and try to make things up to him.
The cold air greeted me, stinging my eyes, the bitter wind cutting through my coat, chilling. As expected there was no sign of Owen, which I knew and bowed my head against the cold, pulling my coat tighter as spits of rain spattered my coat. In the distance the cloud was breaking, the wind scattering the cloud cover apart. I headed towards it, the rain easing as I trudged forward.
I deliberately cleared my mind, admonishing all memories, to slow my heart rate. The sun was trying to break through again as I rounded the final corner where I knew Owen would be waiting.

************

I finally faced Owen. After the year of separation. My heart was hammering and I could feel the blood rushing through my veins, my frantic heart pushing blood around my arteries as I stood before him my hands both clammy and hot. I could feel the sweat tricking down from my armpits, crying their salty path down my sides, tickling and warm.
I knelt, as he had knelt in front of me back in the mud pool all those years ago. I placed the flowers in the dirt and reached up to trace his name in the cold stone. His name immortalised in the granite, Unweathered by age, still pristine. I leant forward and kissed him. My lips touched the hard cold stone, but I pressed in. The cold stung, but I held it, tears squeezing through my closed lids, the warmth a counterpoint to the cold of the stone, and of the wind. I placed both hands on top of the gravestone and embraced it, embracing Owen.
I stayed in place unaware of my surroundings, I was fully enveloped in my meeting. The rain fell again, cold pellets splattering my head and shoulders. In my mind I said my apologies over and over. I held him tighter, the stone digging into my palms, as I cried.
The rain fell harder still, hammering down, and I opened my eyes, moving my hands to caress his name once again, so gentle, so carefully. I could feel my shoulders juddering as the emotion ripped at my soul.
My lips muttered silent apologies again, trying to make it up to him. Owen stayed silent, the rain dripping tears from his name, down to the date of his birth, and his death. His tears mingling with my own, mourning the death of our relationship as I walked out on him as he buckled again under the weight of his past. Succumbing back to drink and the drugs, the lines of coke hidden from me, the empty bottles of whiskey hidden in drawers finally broke me. It was my turn to take dominance, to make a decision to take time out, get myself sorted out, resetting myself and our relationship.
Cancer beat me to it though, taking him. Undiagnosed, the headaches presumed to be stress, rather than the insidious creeping tumour burrowing deep into his brain. The end was quick, unknown to me until it was too late, a late night call and a one hundred and twenty mile an hour dash across the M4 only to find him departed, his mum at his side, holding his lifeless hand. Her eyes blamed me, and I folded at her feet. She looked back at her son, so handsome, my Owen, my soldier, and held his hand tightly.

I rose eventually from the grave. I kissed my hand and transferred it back to Owen's resting place. My head bowed, I slowly walked away. Until next year, when I knew I would return