I hesitated, jaw tight. I didn’t want to name it. The word was a brand. PTSD. Letters stamped across me as proof that I was damaged.
Finally, I forced it out. “It’s… PTSD. That’s what they call it, anyway. I despise the label. Feels like it defines me, like I’m just a broken Marine with bad wiring.”
Her hand reached for mine, hesitant but sure, fingers uncurling my fists one by one. “You’re not broken,” she said softly. “You’re human. What does it look like for you? When it shows up?” The question gutted me because no one everasked, not like that.
I swallowed hard. “Sometimes it’s nightmares. Sometimes it’s the noise of fireworks, a car backfiring. My chest locks up. Feels like I’m back there, waiting for the next blast. Other times…” I exhaled, shaking my head. “Other times it’s just me. Staring at a wall at 3 a.m. because sleep feels like a trap.”
Her thumb brushed my knuckles, grounding me. “You didn’t have to hide that from me.”
I met her eyes then. They were wide, worried, but steady, allowing me to believe her. She wasn’t running. Not from the mess. Not from me, and for a long moment, silence hung between us. My breathing was still uneven, the ghost of sand and smoke clinging to me. I half-expected her to pull away, to shift to her side of the bed, deciding she didn’t sign up for this.
Instead, she moved closer. Her hands were small and steady as they slid along mine, prying my fingers open gently. She pressed her palm flat against my chest, right over my heart. “You’re here,” she whispered. “Not there. Here. With me.”
The words cut through the fog sharper than anything else. Her touch was grounding, warm, real.
I let out a shaky breath, my forehead dropping to hers. “I hate that you had to see that.”
“I’d rather see it,” she murmured, “than let you fight it alone. Plus, I’ve noticed things before, just never knew how bad it got, I guess.”
I didn’t know what to say. The shame was still there, crawling under my skin, but so was…relief.
She eased us back against the pillows, her body curling into mine, her arms wrapping around me like she could anchor me there. Her cheek rested against my shoulder, her breathingslow, deliberate. “If it happens again,” she said softly, “wake me, please. Don’t carry it by yourself.”
They were words no one had ever said to me, and if they’d come from anyone else, I wouldn’t have believed them. But the way she said it with confidence and empathy, I knew I could trust them.
I pressed a kiss to her hair, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her skin. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for,” I whispered.
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t change anything for me. I know what I want.” Her certainty unraveled me. My hand slid into her curls, tilting her face up to mine. She was so close I could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, even in the dark.
“Camille…” My voice was hoarse. “You’re the only thing that’s felt real in a long time.”
Her lips found mine, soft and lingering, not rushed or desperate, but gentle. It wasn’t about forgetting the darkness. It was about us, about this moment, about choosing to be here. I kissed her back, slow at first, letting her fingers tangle in my hair. My body, still tense, softened under her touch. Every pull of her hand broke down more of my walls.
I shifted us gently, easing her onto her back, my forehead still pressed to hers. Her voice was steady as she said, “I love you, Hunter. Please don’t treat me like I’m fragile.” The words weren’t just a plea. They were a claim of her own strength. Even as I wanted to protect her, her gaze told me she was just as strong as I was.
I kissed her again, deeper this time, breathing her in. My hands traced the lines of her body, slow and careful, memorizing the shape of her. She arched into me, a softsigh escaping her lips.
“Beautiful,” I breathed, my mouth trailing down her jaw to her throat. Her gasp sent a shiver through me.
My hand drifted lower, tracing her hip, slipping under the fabric touching the swell of her breast. Her breath caught, her body moving with mine. She cradled my face, her thumbs brushing my mouth as I moved.
“You’re here.” Her voice airy, the words catching on a soft gasp.
“I’m here.” I echoed, my voice breaking, because it felt true in a way it hadn’t in years.
We moved together like that, slow and deep, the room except for our breathing. When I finally eased into her, it was slow, steady. The sound left a fire in my lungs. She clutched my shoulders, nails pressing crescents into my skin. The stretch of her around me was almost unbearable, tight and hot, but I held back, giving her time, giving us time.
Her lips parted on a shaky breath. “Hunter…”
She kissed my mouth, my cheek, my throat, whispering “I love you” between each press of her lips. I found a rhythm, not rushed but deep and steady, each movement drawing another sound from her. Her legs tightened around me, holding me close, her soft cries finding their way through me, filling the quiet with something I didn’t know I’d been missing.
“Look at me,” I whispered.
Her eyes opened, wide and trusting, pupils dark. The connection knocked the breath from my lungs. This wasn’t just her body. It was her, trusting me, choosing me.
With our bodies tangled, I remembered seeing her for the first time: the hidden confidence, a storm in her eyes. I knew then she was strong enough for both our demons. Camillebroke the silence with a soft laugh, pressing her palms to my chest and rolling me onto my back.
Her hair fell around us, a dark curtain, as she moved over me, straddling my hips. My hands slid up her thighs, settling at her waist as I looked up at her, undone.
