by Kris Nacole
“Julia?” I said, stopping her. “Would you and Jake mind taking the kids back with you while I stay behind with Zane and try to help him through this?” I asked dismally.
I didn’t want to be apart from the kids. The thought was torture, but I needed to do this for all of us. I needed to stay behind to help Zane.
“Of course, sweetie.” She gave me a warm and understanding smile. “Whatever we can do to help. I know you two will get through this. Just believe and never lose hope. Once you lose hope, that’s when you fail.” Her eyes held a gentle warning.
I nodded. I knew it would be a long road ahead, but Zane was worth it. We were worth it.
Her hand rested on the doorknob. “Now I’m going to go out there and pretend we didn’t have this conversation. I think it will make it worse if Zane knows that I know. You just reach out to me if you need me at any time, okay?”
I nodded again, and she left me in the room.
“Get it together Chesney,” I said, giving myself a pep talk before going to face Zane again. “You can do this.”
Taking a few slow, deep breaths, I gathered myself enough to plaster a smile on my face for my kids and went back out to join everyone else.
“Is everything okay?” Zane asked, looking a little confused.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” I said, kissing him on the cheek.
His eyes widened in surprise as he tried to figure out what had changed between the time in the truck and now.
I sighed and looked at him. “I was asking your mom about taking the kids back, so we could stay here and pack and get ready for your big move.” I wasn’t lying. I did talk to his mom about that; I just didn’t tell him the whole truth. He didn’t need to know that his mom knew. It would only make things worse.
I went on discreetly, so only he could hear me, “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. From today on, can we please move forward and forget what happened? I understand and believe in my heart that you’d never do anything to hurt me on purpose. I want us to focus on our future and get our relationship back on track.”
“Of course,” he breathed a sigh of relief and pulled me into his arms.
Breathing in his scent, I leaned into him and relaxed. I remembered how lonely I’d felt while he was deployed. I’d missed him holding me. I’d missed smelling him, feeling him, and laughing with him. I’d missed us, and I was going to do everything I could to make sure we’d be okay.
A little while later, I told the kids they’d be going back with their grandparents, and I would follow with Zane. They were elated, of course. They had already fallen in love with Jake and Julia and were very comfortable around them.
Later that night we took them to the airport and said our goodbyes. Then Zane and I went back to his house to begin packing. I only hoped that our time together would be utilized with him seeking help and opening up to me about what had happened over there to cause him so much pain. He didn’t want to admit he was struggling with PTSD. I was scared out of my mind with doubts, but I also held out hope that he was going to get through it, one day at a time, with me by his side.
“WATCH OUT! JONES! NOOOOO!”
Jones stood there in front of me, blood dribbling down his chin, and he just looked at me. He wouldn’t speak or anything. He just stared at me. I stared back at him as his eyelids grew heavy. His blinks started getting slower and slower until, finally, his eyes never opened again. “Help me,” was all I heard as he dropped to the ground in front of me. First to his knees and then falling forward. I ran to him, tried to save him, and begged him not to die. But he died anyway…
Jumping straight up in bed, I gasped for air, unable to breath. Sweat was rolling down my body; the sheets beneath me were soaked.
The dreams were always of Jones, but each was a little different. They weren’t always exactly how it’d happened. Sometimes he would die the way I’d watched him die. Other times, he’d die in front of me on the desert ground while I watched and could do nothing.
Get out of my head. Stop haunting me, please! I already said I’m sorry!
Walking to the closet, I reached for the case on the top shelf. Opening it, I pulled the gun out and loaded the clip. Walking back over to the bed, I sat on the edge and stared down at the heavy, blued steel in my hands, wrapping my fingers around the cold, smooth handle. Pulling the slide back, I heard it click as I chambered the round. Grabbing the whiskey off the table beside of me, I took three big gulps, and it burned all the way down. I needed to numb the pain.
No, I need to stop the pain.
With the gun wavering in my hand, I brought it up to my head, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to find the courage to pull the trigger. “I’m sorry,” I spoke as I wrapped my finger around the one thing that could make it all go away.
Suddenly Chesney’s face flashed through my mind, and I started to break down. I pictured the way she’d look when she found me dead and the effect it would have on her life for years to come. I couldn’t do that to her.
No, just do it. End the pain. You deserve to die anyway.
I blinked, my eyes stinging with salty tears. Through blurred vision, I could see the small rock Dylan had given me lying on the dresser.
Oh God, Dylan.
Chesney would have to explain to him how his dad took his own life instead of fighting his demons head-on.
Dylan. What the hell am I doing?
Letting go of the trigger, I slowly put the gun down on the table, grabbed the bottle of whiskey, and decided to go drown my sorrows some other way. I needed to feel something. Anything other than what I was feeling. I turned the water on as hot as it would go and sat on the shower floor in my underwear. The water started out freezing and quickly turned to scalding hot. Each drop felt like fire as it poured over my skin.
Grabbing a bottle of shampoo from the shelf above my head, I threw it violently across the shower, hitting all the other toiletries. They all crashed to the floor, spilling out; the white liquid washed down the drain—along with any hope I had left.
A loud crash jolted me awake and made me jump off the couch. Zane and I had decided it would be best for us not to sleep in the same bed until he had more control over his nightmares.
My heart raced as I almost tripped over my own feet trying to get to the bedroom. “Zane!” I yelled as I threw open the door in a panic. I gasped when I saw a gun on the bedside table, but Zane was nowhere to be found. “Zane!” I called again.
I slowly approached the bathroom, my heart pounding loudly in my chest—so hard I could feel it in my ears. The sound of the shower was all I heard as I opened the door. Steam engulfed me as I slowly pushed it open. My stomach was churning. I was afraid of what I was going to find in the shower.
I turned on the overhead fan to clear the steam. The bathroom was dark except for the dim light in the shower. And then I saw him…
“Oh my God, Zane!” I stared at the grown man before me soaking wet in his underwear, sitting on the floor, sobbing with an almost empty bottle of whiskey by his side. My heart hurt for him. I could feel his pain, too.
He was sitting with his legs crossed in front of him looking down into his lap. Then he glanced up at me with bloodshot eyes. “I’m so sorry, Chesney. I just want it to stop. I want the nightmares to stop,” he said, pulling at his short hair with both of his hands. “Ahhhh, just make it all stop,” he wailed.
I stilled for a moment, trying to recall what I’d learned about PTSD. I didn’t want to approach him too fast and startle him. He was in the worst state I’d ever seen him in. I had to make sure I approached him in a way that was safe. I also made sure I left the door open in case I needed a way to escape.
His face twisted in pain, and his eyes were glassy. “You need to leave. I’m so fucked up. You deserve better than me. You don’t need to see this,” he slurred, taking another drink of the whiskey. When I didn’t move, he barked at me, “Leave, dammit! I don’t want you here!”
As I crouched down in the shower doorway,
I tried to give my voice a soothing but stern tone. “You don’t mean that. I know you don’t.” His words had hurt even though I knew he hadn’t meant it. “Zane? Zane, look at me, please,” I begged with tears in my eyes. My heart shattered seeing him like this. I wanted to take his pain away.
“I was going to killing myself,” he admitted. “Making the pain go away. Making the visions in my head stop. I was so close.” He paused for a moment and continued, “You know what stopped me?” he whispered. I was barely able to hear him over the sound of the water. “You. You stopped me, Chesney. The thought of you waking up to the sound of a gunshot and finding me in bed with my brains scattered all over the same bed we’ve made love in. The thought of you having to live with seeing me like that and having to tell our children that I killed myself. That’s what stopped me, Chesney,” he said, barely able to hold his head up as he took another gulp of the alcohol.
My lungs burned as I breathed in the hot steam and tried to process the shock of his confession.
He was going to kill himself. Oh God, he was going to kill himself.
His shoulders shook with another sob. “I don’t want to die. I just want it to stop. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I can’t fight this.” He dropped his head in his hands and wept. I’d never seen him like this before. He was completely broken, the lowest he’d ever been. This had to be his breaking point. Hopefully he would only go up from here.
Slowly, I approached him, the hot water stinging my skin as I stepped into the shower.
His back was against the wall, his front facing me and the door. Bending down in front of him, I tried to reassure him, “Zane, I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how many times you tell me to leave. I’m going to do whatever it takes to help you. Please, let me help you. I love you. I’m not giving up on us.”
When he made eye contact with me, I slowly dropped to my knees. “You’re not weak, and there’s nothing wrong with you. There’s a reason you feel the way you do. You’re dealing with PTSD. We can get through this.”
Putting my hand over his heart, I lightly let my palm fall against his chest. “Your heart is still beating. That’s because your life has purpose. You’re alive for a reason. Please, please don’t ever give up. Fight like hell with me. It’s not too late. We can do this, together.”
He grabbed my hand in his, and he collapsed into my arms. His reaction startled me, but I knew he didn’t want to hurt me. He wanted to feel me as much as I wanted to feel him. He needed to believe in something bigger than himself, and it was my job to show him—that something was the love we shared.
His weight knocked me backward, but I wrapped my arms around his strong shoulders as he sobbed in my lap, and I stayed there. I cried with him, too. I silently said a prayer over him hoping for some kind of guidance as to what to do next.
“It was Jones,” he finally said.
Maybe this is it. Maybe he’s ready to talk.
The water had run cold, and feeling it was safe enough, I slowly stretched up and turned it off. Goosebumps lined my arms and legs, and I shivered. Sitting there, in silence, I waited patiently for him to open up to me.
“We were out on a mission. I asked. He went first to take the lead…I asked him to go first,” he said, sounding so angry with himself. “We were going to clear a village and something wasn’t right. The next thing I saw was Jones’ truck being tossed in the air. There was so much smoke from the fire. I called out for him. I tried like hell to save him. There was blood everywhere. I can still smell the smoke, fuel, blood, and burning flesh like it’s still happening.”
He took in a sharp breath in between sobs and tried to compose himself enough to continue.
“The gurgling sound Jones made as he tried to breathe still haunts me every day. I promised him he was going to live to see his wife and beautiful daughter again, but I couldn’t keep that promise. It should’ve been me who died that day, not him. He was a good man. He deserved to live. My best friend, my brother died, and I couldn’t save him. We were supposed to come home together,” he finished, spitting out pieces of the story through his slurred speech and sobs.
I wasn’t sure if he was done, so I sat there—silent.
It took me a moment to fully process the pieces of what had happened.
Oh, my gosh, what the hell happened to him?
Not only had he been surrounded by death and violence every day, he’d had to watch his best friend die in front of him.
Looking down at his shoulder, I noticed a scar and ran my finger across it lightly. He jerked.
“I was shot,” he said slowly.
I gasped, my head spinning.
He was shot? He was shot. He never told me he was shot. Why didn’t he tell me?
“You were shot?” I said as calmly as I could, so I didn’t upset him even more. I rubbed my fingers through his hair and chose my next words carefully. I wanted to scream, but I knew I had to keep my composure with him like this.
“Listen to me, Zane. You did not deserve to die that day. You also had nothing to do with your friend’s death. You never intended for him, or anyone else, to die,” I said firmly.
He raised up off of my lap and fell with his back against the wall again. He blinked slowly and focused on my face.
“Jones’ death was not your fault. You do deserve to be here. For me, for the kids, and for our families. You are not responsible for his death. You have to realize that. Please realize that,” I pleaded with him, still sitting on the cold, wet floor.
He shook his head violently and threw his head back against the wall, making me jump to my feet and move toward the door. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand!” he yelled back at me. His voice changed to a whisper as he said, “You’ll never understand.”
I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. I stood my ground and took a deep breath. “You’re right, Zane. I’ll never understand what you went through on any of your deployments, what you went through when you held your best friend in your arms as he took his last breaths, or what it felt like to be shot. I won’t ever understand what that feels like. But what I do understand is that you’re only human, and Jones would want you to move on. He’d want you to stop blaming yourself. He loved you, and he knew you loved him. He died doing what he loved, fighting for our country and our freedom. He fought so you and I could live our lives. He died for us, all of us. Now we need to honor him and make sure no one ever forgets what a hero he was.” I sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly.
He looked at me, his eyelids growing heavy. His brows furrowed, and his lips tightened. “Why’re you still here?” he asked, trying to stand.
“I’m still here because I love you, and you’re worth fighting for.” I slowly approached him and tried to help him regain his balance as he stood.
He shivered as he threw his arm around my shoulder. His skin was so cold, and his lips and skin were pale. We’d been sitting, wet and cold, for so long that we were freezing.
We walked toward the bedroom. Once we made it to the bed, I peeled his cold, wet underwear off and tucked him in under the covers. As I sat on the edge of the bed, he blinked a few times, and his breathing slowed as he fell asleep.
I sighed in relief. At least for now, he was at peace. “Please come back to me Zane. Please,” I whispered, as I watched him sleep. Laying my head down on his chest, I listened to his lungs filling with air as he breathed in and out. His heartbeat returned back to normal, and I was thankful he was still alive and with me. As selfish as it sounded, I was glad it hadn’t been him. I hated that Jones had died, but I couldn’t imagine my life without Zane in it.
The gun—I had to get rid of the gun.
Picking the gun up off the bedside table, I walked out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and out onto the back patio. As I emptied the chamber, a shiny bullet fell at my feet. That small piece of lead could have been the one thing that ripped my entire world away from me, in a second. Staring at it, I
grabbed my chest and set the gun down at my feet. Then, I fell back against the exterior of the house and slid down slowly until my butt reached the ground. What would’ve happened if he’d pulled the trigger? I could’ve easily lost him tonight.
Why hadn’t he told me he’d been shot? How could he keep that from me? And he had almost killed himself with me in the other room. What if he had gone through with it, and I’d walked in to see him like that?
But he didn’t, I reminded myself.
My body trembled with every gasp for air and chills spread across my body as I imagined walking in and seeing him there, dead. That would’ve destroyed me. Something had to give because I was at my breaking point. I wasn’t sure how to help him, and it killed me seeing him in so much agony. His head was in a dark place, and I needed to get him out of it.
Feeling desolate, I pulled my knees up to my chest and sobbed uncontrollably, letting it all out at once. Trying to stay strong for Zane was really taking a toll on me, and I wasn’t sure how much more heartbreak I could take. I was helping him through it, but who was helping me?
My chest ached with every sob, and I could barely breathe. My throat burned as I sucked in the cold air. I was being so strong for Zane, but who was there to wrap their arms around me and tell me it would be okay? Nobody. I hadn’t lived through the hell he had, but I was living my own personal hell right alongside him.
Why? Why him? Why us?
Pulling myself out of hysterics, I stood up, picked up the gun, and went inside to hide it. I wasn’t sure if he had another one in the house, but he sure as hell wasn’t getting this one back.
In the living room, I grabbed my pillow and blanket and headed for Zane’s room. Wiping my face, I curled up on the chair in the corner by the fireplace and watched him sleep until my own eyelids grew heavy, and I surrendered to the darkness.
“Uhhhh,” Zane murmured, startling me awake.
I blinked my eyes open just in time to see him grab his head and look over at the clock on the table. Zero-eight-forty. At least I’d gotten a few hours of sleep even if it was on an uncomfortable chair. My back was as stiff as a board. I winced as I stood up and stretched to relieve my aching muscles.