Military Romance Navy SEAL: Dangerous Affliction (Alpha Male Bad Boy Urban Romance) by Snow Rush-Sinclair Page B
Authors: Snow Rush-Sinclair
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must have enjoyed going home to their families and bragging about all the lives they were saving. Meanwhile, when they kicked me out the next morning to make room for the next group of poor assholes, I was headed right back down to the corner liquor store to inevitably end up there again. I'd rather they let me die than keep putting me through the endless cycle.
“We're gonna get ya cleaned up, Roman,” the police officer in the passenger’s seat said, unbuckling his seat belt. “We hate seeing you like this, buddy. You're a war hero and here you are, drinking yourself to death, man. What happened?”
I didn't answer. I couldn't remember the cop's name because every time he found me, I was so drunk I could hardly remember my own name. Every time I had an encounter with him, it was the same conversation. He reminded me of my military achievements and asked why I would be doing what I'm doing to myself. Sometimes, I'd feel inclined to tell him. Sometimes I wouldn't. No matter what I decided to do, I was always annoyed with the questions. I didn't like being treated like some kind of special case. Homeless veterans are all over America and have been all over America for decades. If anyone really cared, they would do something about it instead of blaming us.
“Well, I hope things get better for you, buddy,” said the other police officer. “You ready?”
I made a throaty noise, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of a straight answer, but well aware that my only other option was jail. With a heavy sigh, the first police officer opened the passenger's side door and stepped out of the car. He opened the back door and pulled on my jacket, lightly. I stepped out, knowing that if I showed any resistance, I was going straight downtown. The cuffs were beginning to rub against my wrists in an uncomfortable manner, but I kept my mouth shut, knowing that they'd take them off as soon as we got to the front desk in the mission. The officer kept jabbing me in the spine with his fingers, making sure that I went where he wanted me to go. As soon as we got to the doors, he kept his fingers pressed firmly against a pressure point in my back. I wasn't going anywhere, but cops never trust the homeless.
“Back again, I see?” a stern-faced, elderly woman said, barely glancing up from her clipboard. “Can you follow the rules this time?”
“Yes ma'am,” I murmured without looking at her.
She grabbed my arm and gave the officer a nod. Slowly, he removed his fingers from my spine and sauntered back to the police cruiser. The woman pulled me inside and led me directly down the hall to a shower room. That's always the first place they send you when you're in the mission. God forbid they have to touch the filthy homeless they claim they want to help so badly.
I waited in the check-up room, waiting for the nurse to come see me. After getting a shower and a change of clothes, enough time had passed that I was starting to get shaky again. I expected that the alcohol from the night before would get me by, but I was clearly too hopeful. Having the shakes was already hard enough and it only was harder waiting for some nurse to come tell me how bad my health was. The nurses there were never friendly and none of them really seemed to understand addiction. Usually, they just told me to find God or my liver was going to shut down within a month. Well, I had heard that for years. A lot of months passed and I was still alive, so obviously they didn't really know what they were talking about.
Then, the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen walked in the door. She was pale and blonde, which was really one of my weaknesses. She was absolutely breathtaking, but in a tired way. Her bright green eyes didn't match the fatigued, black circles beneath them. She was a woman that deserved to be happy, but she looked just as tired as I was. It was one of the saddest things I'd ever seen.
“Hi there,” she murmured, not looking up from her
“We're gonna get ya cleaned up, Roman,” the police officer in the passenger’s seat said, unbuckling his seat belt. “We hate seeing you like this, buddy. You're a war hero and here you are, drinking yourself to death, man. What happened?”
I didn't answer. I couldn't remember the cop's name because every time he found me, I was so drunk I could hardly remember my own name. Every time I had an encounter with him, it was the same conversation. He reminded me of my military achievements and asked why I would be doing what I'm doing to myself. Sometimes, I'd feel inclined to tell him. Sometimes I wouldn't. No matter what I decided to do, I was always annoyed with the questions. I didn't like being treated like some kind of special case. Homeless veterans are all over America and have been all over America for decades. If anyone really cared, they would do something about it instead of blaming us.
“Well, I hope things get better for you, buddy,” said the other police officer. “You ready?”
I made a throaty noise, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of a straight answer, but well aware that my only other option was jail. With a heavy sigh, the first police officer opened the passenger's side door and stepped out of the car. He opened the back door and pulled on my jacket, lightly. I stepped out, knowing that if I showed any resistance, I was going straight downtown. The cuffs were beginning to rub against my wrists in an uncomfortable manner, but I kept my mouth shut, knowing that they'd take them off as soon as we got to the front desk in the mission. The officer kept jabbing me in the spine with his fingers, making sure that I went where he wanted me to go. As soon as we got to the doors, he kept his fingers pressed firmly against a pressure point in my back. I wasn't going anywhere, but cops never trust the homeless.
“Back again, I see?” a stern-faced, elderly woman said, barely glancing up from her clipboard. “Can you follow the rules this time?”
“Yes ma'am,” I murmured without looking at her.
She grabbed my arm and gave the officer a nod. Slowly, he removed his fingers from my spine and sauntered back to the police cruiser. The woman pulled me inside and led me directly down the hall to a shower room. That's always the first place they send you when you're in the mission. God forbid they have to touch the filthy homeless they claim they want to help so badly.
I waited in the check-up room, waiting for the nurse to come see me. After getting a shower and a change of clothes, enough time had passed that I was starting to get shaky again. I expected that the alcohol from the night before would get me by, but I was clearly too hopeful. Having the shakes was already hard enough and it only was harder waiting for some nurse to come tell me how bad my health was. The nurses there were never friendly and none of them really seemed to understand addiction. Usually, they just told me to find God or my liver was going to shut down within a month. Well, I had heard that for years. A lot of months passed and I was still alive, so obviously they didn't really know what they were talking about.
Then, the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen walked in the door. She was pale and blonde, which was really one of my weaknesses. She was absolutely breathtaking, but in a tired way. Her bright green eyes didn't match the fatigued, black circles beneath them. She was a woman that deserved to be happy, but she looked just as tired as I was. It was one of the saddest things I'd ever seen.
“Hi there,” she murmured, not looking up from her
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