Free Wynter's Horizon by Dee C. May

shed. I punched my way out the door. It was the first time I’d shown my strength and lost control of my anger, not shielded by my parents. It petrified the neighbors. I survived the trauma to my arm despite ripping the skin off to the bone but not the following hysteria. I was shunned by parents and children alike. We had relocated shortly thereafter.
    “Punched my way out of a locked shed.”
    “Seriously? Tough guy or crazy?” She smiled and her face lit up.
    “Maybe a little of both.” Since we were discussing past injuries, I motioned to her shoulder. “What happened to your shoulder?”
    Her smile faded. “Car accident. Collision with an eighteen-wheeler. We flipped off the highway over the guard rail.”
    “Really? You survived. Lucky or strong?”
    “Neither,” she answered flatly, picking up her phone. She looked at it briefly then put it back down. Taking a long draw of beer, she stared off across the bar.
    I took a drink. Silence filled the space between us. “I’m…”
    “Don’t say it,” she whispered, looking back at me, her hair falling forward. Her voice was thick with emotion. “Please don’t say you’re sorry. That’s what everyone says. And you … you don’t know.” Anguish filled her green eyes. It was as intimate a thing as anyone had said to me in a long time. My gut twisted. Something happened that night, and, whatever it was, she felt responsible.
    I wanted to tell her that I was there, maybe not that instant but soon after. I saw her on that beach. But then, that would probably have her screaming for the door, as certain as my true self. She glanced away, draining her beer in one gulp.
    “I was just going to ask if you wanted another,” I lied.
    She looked back at me, and half-smiled, the tension easing around her eyes. “Sorry. Sometimes, I just…”
    I shook my head, shrugging that it was okay.
    She curled her hair behind her ear, angling her body closer. “I … actually have a question for you. Kind of silly, really, um, would you like to go to my winter formal?”
    I leaned toward her. I had excellent hearing, but she didn’t know this, and I needed some time to process. “Pardon? I’m sorry I didn’t quite hear?”
    Playing with her phone, she spun it around on the bar, staring at it as she mumbled, “There’s a formal at my school. Would you like to go?”
    Emotions flooded me and I froze, eyes locked on her. I was a human weapon. Born with skills that my government had utilized, honing them and forging a killing machine. Yes, I had been educated in the process, travelling the world, but, in the end, all I knew was death and destruction. We were about as different as two people could get.
    She smiled shakily, worry on her exquisite oval face. “You can stare a really long time.” Damn. I always forgot. I blinked and took a sizeable swallow of beer. We didn’t even have blinking in common, and yet, somehow, we had been to the same place. Did she remember? Was it twisted into her dreams like my memories had been?
    Human reflexive qualities and fucked up reasoning aside, I knew what I wanted. I wondered whether I needed a tuxedo or if a suit would do. I smiled back at her. “Well…” I started, only to be interrupted by a loud crash as a case of liquor fell behind the bar, along with Jim’s new bar back. Blood sprayed upward, splattering across the bottles stacked against the mirror. The room swayed. Shit. A buzzing sound like a million bees started in my ears, followed by intense pain radiating through my head. The voices in the bar faded, replaced with the screams of men from my past. Someone grabbed my elbow. I yanked hard, but his grip was stronger.
    “Easy, buddy.” Quinn. Cupping my elbow in his hand, he dragged me after him. He knew I needed to exit and fast. Faces I passed changed into men I’d known, men who had served under me. Men I’d killed.
    I glanced over my shoulder. Through my foggy vision, I could see Wynter perched at the bar watching