But it will absolutely destroy me, break me beyond repair if I ever hurt her.
Which is why I softly untangle her limbs from mine even though my heart cries from the action. But it’s what’s best because my mind knows the damage I can cause once I’m asleep.
When I’m removed from her she moves to the space where I resided. Feeling my warmth where my body was and smelling my scent on the pillow she sighs contentedly in her sleep.
Moving across the room on light feet and in the dark I take cautious steps. I reach for my boxer briefs that are on the floor and slip them on. Then on stealth mode I carefully make my way out of her bedroom.
I take once last glance at her and my heart yearns to be by her side. My body physically aches from not having her close.
But it’s my head that reminds me what I’m doing is right. It tells me that I’m protecting her and deep down I know it’s true. Still, it doesn’t stop the ache that flares in my heart.
After what happened the last time a woman shared my bed I don’t trust myself to sleep besides her.
What I woke up to, what I woke up to finding myself doing, it was more of a nightmare than the one’s I’m plagued with every night.
I felt violently sick as a deep shame filled my veins and a loathing so profound resided in my heart towards myself.
I hadn’t touched another woman after that.
Until Grace.
I may have admitted to defeat but I will never put her in any danger, even if that danger is me.
So I lay down on the plush sofa that feels more like a cloud than a piece of furniture. And part of me feels uncomfortable with how soft it feels. Part of me hates how my body sinks into the plush seating. Then another part of me hates how my big frame doesn’t feel compromised.
I close my eyes and let out a deep breath as I force myself to switch off the part of me that was overseas.
But it’s easier said then done because as time passes I’m finding the sofa too god damn comfortable.
You would think after nine years I would have adjusted to civilian life. And maybe for the most part I have. But there are still those nights where I find my bed the least appealing thing to fall asleep on. There are still the days where I feel the anxiety creep up on me out of nowhere causing my adrenaline to spike and my heart to jackhammer against my ribs.
Not being able to withstand the comfortability of the sofa I lie myself down on the floor and take one of the throw pillows with me.
Turning myself on my side I lay as stiff as a board on the hardwood floors. Though the floor is unforgiving and bites into my bones I feel more at ease than I did on the sofa.
I fucking hate how this feels right.
I close my eyes despite my mind being wide awake. With deep even breaths I hope to wind my mind down. By counting back from one hundred I hope I don’t even reach one before I fall into a light sleep.
Deep sleeps are a thing of the past.
I haven’t experienced one since my first deployment and I forgot about them entirely when I returned home for the last time.
Somehow my body hasn’t given up on me yet by surviving on only three to four hours of sleep.
But it feels as if myself as a whole is a ticking time bomb, and I have no idea when it’s going to hit its last second before I implode.
Miguel, my brother in arms, wouldn’t be proud of the man I am today. Out of all the brothers on my team he was the one who always made the time to take in account how well we were mentally.
And we just talked.
All of us did.
When we were on missions that lasted for days and was forced to be in confined small spaces with nothing to do we fucking talked about anything and nothing.
Miguel led our talks to have meaning, to remind us of who are and what our purpose is.
Miguel was the heart of our group.
