Here's my new story, guys. Thank you for those who voted for option number 1. This story was inspired by my favorite author, Nicholas Sparks, with his two books "The Lucky One" and "Dear John." Both of these presents some of the elements of combat, as well as romance. So... :D Read, enjoy, and review.

This isn't fair!
Don't you try to blame this on me.
My love for you was bulletproof but you're the one who shot me.
- Taken from "Bulletproof Love" by Pierce The Veil.

Four years. Four freaking years we've been apart, and in that time, I'm only allowed to see her two weeks per year. In the service, men were imprisoned by their patriotism, caged by the will to serve, only to be left with nothing but memories and pictures of the ones they loved back at home. The only thing I have from her is a picture, and in the hard times during my service, it's the only thing that kept me company other than my friends and buddies.

It's been ten years since I joined the army, stationed in the middle of nowhere part of Philippines to counter a small Moorish group. In those ten years, I've only been granted two weeks to go home, see my brothers, Dave, and my friends back in California. And Six years later, while temporarily reassigned to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, I met this southern belle named Charlene.

She's everything I dreamed of for a woman. Blonde hair, pale and white complexion, brown eyes that matches mine, and most importantly, she's not insecure as most girls. Not once did she ask me whether she was fat, or whether her hair was too long, whether she put on too much make-up. And not to forget, she doesn't mind what she eats, and for the first time we dated, I wondered whether this Charlene was too good to be true.

We were inseparable. But then my squad got reassigned permanently back to the Philippines, and the only thing I had was a picture and the memory of the Chanel perfume she always uses. Four years after that, you can guess what happened to me. As said in my job description, every soldier gets shot, and receives a Purple Heart and a few months to go home, to relax, and to recover - But mostly relax than recover. But the good news is, I got my Purple Heart. And instead of four months home, they gave me a choice.

Number one, I get to come home to my girlfriend, leave the army, start a new life, live with military pension, maybe go to college and all those stuff.

And number two, I could come back, and they name me Lieutenant Red Aces (that's my nickname), A.K.A. Alvin Seville. And then, I could come back to new big-ass list of drills, training, head back to Philippines and get shot again.

Yeah, I said to myself, screw number two! I'm going home! Which home? North Carolina, of course. I now live with Charlene. It's a small house, but big enough for a college student like her. And it beats chores back in Los Angeles. I may be 28 years old now, but Dave - that's my adoptive dad - doesn't care. He gives everyone chores. He's one of the "You live under my roof, you live under my rules" type of dads.

Granted and confessed, yes, I do miss Dave. And I do miss my brothers, too. They're going well with their lives. Married, good jobs, good kids. We're just the same age - we're born triplets - but their lives have more directions than mine. Simon's a doctor now in the field of medicine and psychology. Theodore just got his Master's Degree in Home Economics and H.R.M., and now owns one of the biggest chain restaurants L.A.

Simon's married to Jeanette Miller, a childhood friend of ours, right after their graduation. They're nerds and perfect for each other, and better yet, Jeanette won a Nobel Prize in literature just last year. And Theodore - we all saw this coming - is married to Eleanor Miller, a sister of Jeanette. They got married after Theodore opened his first restaurant back home, and they made their vows outside Dave's house.

And look at me! What am I?

Sgt. Alvin Seville, Juliet 2-4 of the 206th Sniper Regiment. The crusty, twenty-eight year old Sergeant. The guy who cried for weeks after getting hit by a rubber bullet back at boot camp. The guy who received his purple heart after getting hit by a bullet in the ass (Upper thigh, to be specific).

Yeah, I've seen a lot of action. And sometimes, I was the action myself. But that's a long story.

Well, anyways, I'm going home now, to meet Charlene, and I've met one strange thing after the next. First, I booked for First Class suite in the plane, but when I got there, I sat in the coach, crying babies hurting my ear, all because the pilot had a few guest. Damn his soul, by the way.

Second, I arrived at the airport, and Charlene didn't greet me. Perhaps she's busy. She's got a whole semester to cram for. Damn the school, by the way.

Third, my back got lost in another plane. And now it's on its way to Germany, leaving me nothing but my wallet, a few extra bucks, a key to Charlene's house, a few candies in my pocket, and no clothes. The employees told me they were going to deliver it to me, so I gave them Charlene's house number, address, and my phone number. Damn the airport, too, by the way.

I roll my eyes as I approach the exit, carrying nothing. Outside, I'm greeted by the fresh, southern breeze of Raleigh, North Carolina, and the peaceful traffic patterns of people who never seem to be busy. In the taxi lane, I pull over a cab. I check my pockets before heading in, afraid that I might not have my cash after all.

With the autumn breeze, the yellowing leaves of the forests, the dampening of the air the drive home is nothing but the end of the one of the bad days I've ever had. But something tells me it's just the beginning. The taxi arrives at Lenoir and I give the driver some directions to Charlene's house.

When the view of her home came close, I widen my eyes at the sight of her driveway. When there's supposed to be one car belongs to her, a red Saab convertible, another one is parked in front of it. A green Ford car, and I don't know what model it is.

Perhaps she has a visitor.

The taxi pulls over in front of the green Ford. I paid the fare and reach for the bag that wasn't there. I roll my eyes and curse the airport under my breath again as I open the door. I greet the outside breeze and slowly climb my way up to Charlene's front porch.

As I open the door, I raise an eyebrow. Strangely, her front door wasn't locked. I step inside the room, and when my gaze found the living room, I felt that the bad day didn't end after all. I clenched my muscles and anger burned in my eyes, blood boiling in my head.

At the couch, Charlene laid on her back, wearing only her bra and skirt, her shirt thrown carelessly at the floor. On top of her was a guy, a son of a bitch with only his boxers, his mouth eating her lips.

With the surge of anger and adrenaline, I found my voice. "What the hell!"

I watch as the man flinch and leave her lips, meeting my intimidating glare with widened eyes. "Holy Crap." Was all he could say.

"Oh, God," Charlene, now known as bitch, started. "Alvin,..." She smiled as if nothing's going on. "y-you're back."

"Well geez, what a surprise, huh?!" I yelled out and looked at her 'friend'. "You have ten seconds to get out of here before I blow your freaking head off!"

Charlene seem startled. "Alvin, don't shoot him, please."

"Shoot him? That's a good idea if he doesn't get out of here." Of course, in fact, I'm just bluffing. Everything I had from the army, my uniform, my badge, my guns were in that back. Damn the airport again, by the way.

The man chuckled.

"What?" I asked. "What's so damn funny?"

"I'm a police, sir. And even though I'm off duty, I can still arrest you for illegal possession of firearms, and threat."

And it was my turn to laugh. This guy's an idiot, and I know it. I reached for my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I opened it and presented my I.D. "Sgt. Alvin Seville, and the police is nothing but the army's bitch. Checkmate." I pointed to the door in one swift, storm-like motion that I could feel the wind.

Mr. Policeman-with-the-boxers-and-possibly-small-prick didn't move. "Out." I look over to Charlene with the same glare. "Or I will."

Despite being the one who cheated, I seem to still have control on her. She breathed in hard and pleaded. "No, Alvin. Please don't." She went over to the man. "Rex, you've gotta get out of here, please. I don't want to lose him." Her horrified face looks threatened with tears.

So, that's his name.

Rex gives me an intimidating glare, but for me, it's not something to be worried about. To me, I say it as a soldier that he's as harmless as a female rabbit giving birth. After a moment, Rex finally moves and gathers his shirt and pants from the floor and walks out the door.

As soon as the front door closes, I hear the steps on the porch. As soon as I know he's out of earshot, I glared directly at Charlene. She still looks horrified, and after what happened, I don't know if I should take her in my arms or yell at her. So I decided to do neither.

I soften my face into a sad look, hoping that it would give her a thought of what she's just done. Not to Rex, not to me, but to my heart.

"Unbelievable," I sighed before saying. I look deeply into her brown eyes, seeing that the tears were there but have not drop yet. I sigh again, thinking of what to say next. "For the past four years, I only got the chance to see you for two weeks a year. The last for weeks we shared was when? Last month? I left you alone for thirty days and this is what I get?"

I know that Charlene probably feels guilty and small. Instead of comforting her, I continue.

"I bet you did the 'cause you didn't know I was coming home, didn't you? I bet that wasn't the first time. Who else have you been with? Randy, Charles, the whole pub down the street?"

She shakes her head, finally saying something. "No, No. Alvin, I'm not like that. Please understand-"

"Understand what?" I interrupt. "That while I was in the other side of the world, dodging bullets, trying and failing not to get shot, blowing people's head off and sewing dismembered body parts back in place, you were here blowing Rex's brains off? I bet what you're doing must be fun, huh?"

"No." She shakes her head. I'm getting the feeling that I'm dealing with an errant child.

I sigh in frustration. "Then, what were you thinking? That you could just be with someone behind my back just because I'm somewhere else very far? When the cat's away the mouse will play, is that it?

"No." She says again. I suddenly get the feeling of dominance and control over her. A tear drops from one of her eyes.

"Oh, so now you want to cry? After what you did, all you can do's cry?" Suddenly, all feelings and urges to comfort her disappear.

"Alvin, please stop. I don't want to lose you."

"Well, you just did!" I yell out, raising my voice.

Without waiting for another word, or waiting for her reaction, I quickly stormed into our room and open our closet. I reach for my bag and start to fill it with the clothes I left here with her. In my favorite jeans, I search for my other wallet (For civilian use only). I found it and stuff it in my current jeans and storm out of the room.

Charlene sits crying at the couch. A pitiful sight, but after what she did to me, giving me pain that was more agonizing than the bullets that hit me, all I can do is stare. She looks up at me, tears stained in her face.

"Don't... Don't leave. Please. I can't handle it. Please stay."

"Fat chance. I'm leaving, and you brought this on yourself, you know." She buries her face into her hands. I ignore her and turn to the door and walk.

When I stepped out into the porch, I hear footsteps storming towards me, then pairs of arms were wrapped around me. I feel Charlene wiping her tears at the back of my shirt. "Don't go. Please don't go. I'm sorry. Please, I'll do anything for you. Just don't go."

For a moment, I curse myself for thinking about dropping my back to hold her in my arms. I lock myself from my emotions and didn't look back. "Goodbye, Charlene." I unwrap her arms, then walk out of the porch.

I greet the sun outside, suddenly feeling used and exhausted. Rex's car was gone. After what he did with her, I hope he runs into a truck or something. Yeah, other than the airport, school, the employees, my bag, damn Rex.

And because of what Charlene did to me, yeah, damn her too.

I hope you guys liked it. I hated it. While writing it, I came across some block and realized that I'm not as good as I thought. Damn, how does Sparks do this?

Well, anyways, after reading "Dear John", "Fifty Shades Of Grey", and "Fifty Shades Darker", I found out that most First Persons were written in present tense.

PLEASE REVIEW! GOOD STORIES IN THIS GENERATION ONLY GET 1 or 2 REVIEWS, AND THAT'S VERY DISCOURAGING TO AUTHORS! REVIVE THE OLD ARCHIVE! REVIEW THIS STORY AND OTHER PEOPLE'S STORIES! NOW! START REVIEWING! IT'S A REVOLUTION!