The sound of someone yelling for a medic, only to not hear an answer.
My throat burned. I could almost taste the metallic tang of the blood and the way your mouth goes dry when the adrenaline finally runs out.
People think PTSD is just fear. It’s not. It’smemory. It’s your body remembering faster than your mind can forget, like a smoke alarm that blares for burnt toast as if the house were on fire. Just a hint of smoke triggers the siren, regardless of how real the threat is, and your body is trapped in that same loop, responding to echoes of danger long after the fire is out.
Another explosion—louder this time. My hands shook. My heartbeat felt like gunfire under my skin.
I hated that I couldn’t control it. Hated that some cheap fireworks could pull me apart.
Then my phone buzzed.
A picture from Cami.
Zeke was holding a sparkler, grinning ear to ear. The twins were beside him, sticky with Popsicle stains, and she was smiling— she was smiling, that tired, beautiful smile that always made me feel like maybe I could stop running.
Camille:Wish you were here.
And it wrecked me.
Because Ididwish I was there. I wanted to be in that driveway, laughing with them, holding her hand, not sitting in a dark apartment fighting ghosts that never learned to stay dead.
The fireworks didn’t stop.
Pop!
Every echo rolled through me like aftershocks, too sharp, too close. The walls of my apartment felt smaller by the minute. Outside, I could hear a neighbor’s carefree laughter, a reminder of celebrations that only deepened my sense of isolation. I needed noise, something I couldcontrol.
I grabbed my phone and opened the first playlist that came up. The speakers kicked in, bass rumbling through the floor, so loud it almost drowned out the sounds in my head. Almost.
It was country at first, something easy, but it wasn’t cutting it. Too close to home. Too full of words that felt like things I’d lost. I switched it to rock, volume up until it rattled the windows. The guitar hit like a wall of sound, drowning out the phantom explosions outside, replacing one kind of chaos with another.
For a minute, it worked.
The vibration under my feet, heavy drums, voices rough and wordless, all of it kept me anchored in the present. Loud meant safe. Loud meantnow.
I stripped my shirt off and walked straight to the shower, not caring that the lights were still off. The water came on hard and cold at first, then scalding, filling the room with steam that burned the air from my lungs. I braced both hands against the tile, head bowed under the spray.
It was the only thing that helped drown out the weight of it. The sound. The simplicity.
No sand. No smoke. No ghosts. Just the steady rhythm of water against skin, trying to wash away everything the night had brought back.
I stayed there until my fingers wrinkled and my head felthollow, until the heat had faded to lukewarm and I couldn’t tell if I was shaking from the cold or from everything else.
When I finally turned the water off, the thoughts quickly returned.
The music was still blaring from the other room, but it sounded far away, muffled by the steam and the fog in my head. I dried off, walked barefoot across the floor, and grabbed my phone to shut it off.
That’s when I saw her text.
Camille:Hope you’re feeling better. The kids
and I missed you tonight.
My throat tightened.
Even in a few words, she managed to bring a warmth to my world. Like light after dark.
I stared at the message for a long time, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The words lined up in my head, the truth right there:I wanted to be there. I’m sorry I lied. I’m trying.
