Monster

I don't know whether I was disappointed or relieved that there were none But I suspected it had been a very long 15 minutes for Brian.

He didn't talk to me at all in the car. Which was probably for the best. I cringed in my seat and decided to see what he had planned. He'd always been fair and I just knew he loved me.

The next day I barely began to understand what I had already sensed. He made it very clear – he was completely up front about what he was. But it's really hard to grasp that someone you loved was gone, even when they sit in front of you and tell you.

It was only later I realized that if I had reacted wrong, it would have been my last day on earth. He made it very clear that his only interest in me was concern for the well-being of the children. And if I had been a threat to him watching over them, then I would have been a threat to them.

I don't think I really, fully accepted that my husband was truly gone for months. Only the "father" slice of him was left. When I did accept it, I mourned for the guy I'd met in high school and loved for years. But he was gone and I had to face this new reality.

I couldn't have my husband back; he was dead. And this new "man" didn't – couldn't – love me. But I could be a partner in raising his children. So I chose to be a full partner.

On the day I had the last laser removal treatment for the tattoo, I left a copy of my STD and HIV test results on his night stand. I visited his bed that night. Even without the emotion, there was still physical relief for both of us. I doubt if he cared about the tattoo, but I hoped he'd see the symbology of me sleeping with him after the tattoo removal. I realized I wasn't building any emotional bonds, but I hoped I was removing doubt about my commitment to our project. I wouldn't risk the illusion we were building over an office affair, by either of us. I suspect if the illusion collapsed, I would simply disappear.

I eventually convinced him to let me move into his room. And that lowered the chances he would seek physical relief with one of those damn co-eds running around in their short skirts. I'd already been used in every possible way, so I had no qualms about anything he would want and made sure he knew it. Still, he had no interest in degrading me or playing power games with sex, so it became more of a form of pleasant exercise than anything else. Like aerobics with a few orgasms thrown in.

I do avoid eye contact though. Its not the scars, it's the eyes.

Especially the clear one.

I took RN classes after ensuring he was okay with it – and used my electives to look into his condition. That led to an RPN with an emphasis on psychology. And for the first time, I really, really, looked at what he had been – he no longer felt the need to shield me, so he handed over his service records with no hesitation. What I found was pretty terrifying.

He'd been on hostile fire pay for nearly our entire married life. Honest to God, I had no idea that HFP wasn't a normal part of every soldier's paycheck. He had far more medals than normal for his rank – most of them combat - and the write-ups were nearly all redacted. His tours in "Kuwait" were to units that didn't actually seem to exist.

He told me a little more when I asked. Not details about missions. What he was, what he did.

His nickname had been "Monster" – I'd heard it, but never realized what it meant. Now I knew. His injury hadn't really changed what he was, it had simply stripped the veneer of humanity away. The human part of him had been killed by that shrapnel. All that was left was the highly trained, very experienced Monster. No remorse, no regret.

The irony of it all is that people meet him and try to do the right thing. Look past the scarred demon face to see the real him.

But the demon face is the real him. The humanity is a mask. If you cross him, threaten the children, you'll find out.

He really is the Thing in the closet.

Or under the bed.

Open and close that medicine cabinet.

I dare you.

There are some benefits. Gangs surged around the clinic I worked at, and a young mother was raped and beaten, I mentioned it to him. Just conversationally. There was a sudden and unexplained rush of young men admitted to the local hospitals, severely beaten. None of them was able to identify their attacker. I heard they were too terrified to talk. Some died, the rest were crippled. A house or two burned down. And the problem went away.

I knew what was likely to happen when I told him about the attack; that neighborhood was too close to the children' school.

And wondered if that made me a monster too.

Three men attempted to rob us one night when we were walking down the riverfront to a restaurant. We dumped the bodies into the river and never discussed it again.

He's not the only monster out there, but lesser monsters would do well to avoid him.

There have been others. I'm not even sure how many anymore. I've been there for some.

I'll admit I have a little fascination with watching him "work". It's not like the movies at all. No fancy kicks, no flurries of punches and blocks, and it never lasts very long. Just a heartbeat or two. There's an elegant, relentless, simplicity.

And despite how twisted it sounds, I'm drawn to him more then than any other time. I can even look into his eyes.

Maybe I'm the only Monster here. He is what he is; a finely honed sword with no conscience. But I've pointed that weapon knowingly. If it helps, I've been very, very selective.

Mostly.

And I always try to find other solutions to problems before he deals with them. And he allows me to do that.

Mostly.

I do my best to help him maintain his mask. It's important for everyone.

In many ways, he's the perfect "husband"; he provides well, he is supportive of my career, he's great with children, never forgets to take out the trash or mow the lawn. He even helps with laundry. Despite my worries, I am certain he'd never stray, no matter how enticing a piece of ass gets dangled in front of him. He takes me to dinner twice a week, and even brings flowers home. He can even cook. Because that is the mask he wears. Like most sociopaths, he can be charming and engaging when he chooses. You'd most likely never know. But I do.

I know, that if there ever comes a day when he sees me as a threat – or even just of no value to his offspring – that's the day I stop breathing.

But as I said, don't feel sorry for me.

We have grandchildren on the way.

*****

Post Production Note: I've never decided whether I feel sorry for Ex (Anne) or not. She made some bad decisions that negatively impacted her children, but she tried to do the right thing all along. Monster isn't her fault, he is an unforeseen consequence of war, but she takes responsibility for him. He is, in the end, a self-aware weapon that has escaped into civilized society.

Monster started as a throw-away of sorts in "Shameless"– a half-formed idea in the shadows, a mostly harmless, self-medicating TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury) victim trying to drink his nightmares away in the corner of the bar. A Checkov's gun who would sacrifice himself and save Grease and Shameless, thereby achieving his own redemption. But as that story progressed, Ex showed up and sat down with him. And then he turned his head and I got a good look his face. And I'm afraid there isn't much redemption there.

One of the curious things about stories where the hero turns out to be a SEAL or a Delta Operator who is crossed and then goes on a rampage, even a controlled one, is just how unlikely that is. It doesn't matter if you're talking SF, SFOD (Delta), SEALs or AF Combat Control Teams or one of the ever-shifting DoD "activities"; lack of control, lack of discipline will kill you, and likely everybody on your team. Most operators are extremely self-disciplined. That discipline is absolutely second nature to most of them, almost to a fault. It has to be. They are also very pragmatic people and would use lawyers more than violence if possible. One of the key things they learn is when a situation becomes untenable, you have to put it down and walk away.

That said, with TBI a more common occurrence, who is to say what kind of brain damage could occur? Could it strip away human emotions, and leave "trigger mode" permanently on? That question is at the root of Monster.

One terminology note: "Top" is the common informal form of address for a First Sergeant – the "Top Sergeant" of a Company. In this case, however, given the nature of Monster's unit, Top refers to the Sergeant Major of the "activity".