19
JOHN
“John… John, wake up!” I hear Mia’s muffled voice from far away. Mia? My shoulder moves back and forth as if someone’s shaking it. “John, wake up!” Mia’s panicked voice gets louder, and the shaking gets more real as I’m pulled from my dream. I shout as I sit up, coming back to reality. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. Fuck. I look around, searching for any small detail to focus on to help calm myself down.
Where am I?
I’m in Mia’s bed… in the cottage... drenched in sweat, my body shaking uncontrollably. Mia’s hand touches my arm, and I jump at the contact. I swallow hard, trying to keep my throat from closing.
I need air.
I stumble out of the bed and move down the hallway, slamming into the wall as I go. Opening the front door, I sit down on the top step of the stairs, put my head in my hands, and focus on taking as deep of breaths as I can. I zero in on the smell of the air, the color of the leaves on the trees, and the buzzing of the street lights. After a few moments, my heart starts to slow down, and my head clears. I spend a few minutes breathing in and out, my body not ready to move yet.
The door opens behind me. “John? You all right?” Mia cautiously peeks her head out. I turn to face her. She looks terrified, and I hate that I scared her.
“I’m okay. I’m sorry… I just need a minute, okay?”
She nods. “I’m right inside if you need anything.” She quietly shuts the door. I exhale out a deep breath. I hate that she saw me like this, that I had a night terror right next to her. God only knows what I had said out loud. I shake my head, feeling discouraged and embarrassed. Even though my body is relatively back to normal now—whatever normal means—my mind is still wired. I think back to the events that triggered the night terror. The events that trigger them all…
7 months earlier
Iraq
The sound of a twig breaking under my boot echoes through the trees. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I clutch my rifle and scan my eyes over the brush for anything out of place.
My platoon, which consists of about twenty-five soldiers, is conducting a daily perimeter check that’s taking us down the left side of the mountain. We perform this mission every single day, and every single day it has the same effect of scaring me shitless.
Private Connor Roach, who’s been my buddy since basic training, is about eight people ahead of me, right behind Private Luis Garcia, who I also consider a good friend. Not that I don't consider every single one of these guys my brothers, cause I do. Roach and Garcia are just the ones I’ve spent the most down time with. We’ve become super close.
Our cots are next to each other back at base camp, and we’ve spent many sleepless nights talking about our lives back home and where we grew up. You can learn a lot about someone if you’re desperate enough to take your mind away from wherever you are.
We continue down the trail, all of our senses heightened and on guard. All of a sudden, a bullet whizzes between Myer and Rodriguez, missing Myer by about 3 inches.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
We all take cover as best we can. I crouch behind a nearby tree, rifle raised and pointed in the direction of where the bullet came. Mere seconds later, another bullet whizzes through the trees. Luckily it doesn’t make contact with anyone, but unluckily, that’s when I notice helmets rising up out of the brush ahead of us. Those helmets are fastened to about forty enemy heads, whose rifles are pointed right at us.
Shit.
They easily outnumber us. Blood pumps through my veins as adrenaline kicks into high gear. Sergeant Cooper calls out, “Stand your ground! Hanson, radio for air support now! We need drone assistance ASAP!” Adam Hanson was our signaller—he always traveled with a radio and was our point of contact for field communication.
Hanson is a few feet from me, and I hear him radio in coordinates for a drone strike, but my eyes stay glued to the enemy. It would only be a few minutes while we wait for the drone, but unfortunately, it looks like we’ll have a fight on our hands while we wait. More gunfire rings through the trees, and I hear an anguished scream from somewhere on my right, then, “We need a medic!” I join my fellow soldiers in returning fire, holding our position.
I didn’t think I could possibly be any more scared, but I was wrong—fear and panic become absolutely paralyzing when I realize they’re starting to advance toward us. It’s at that moment the missiles from the drone come flying down and connect with the group of enemies, sending bodies flying.
“Hanson! Another drone strike!” Sergeant Cooper yells. Hanson relays another set of coordinates into his radio, his voice shaky with adrenaline.
This was the moment that none of us would ever forget, because Hanson’s heartbreaking mistake would not only come with grave consequences—it was also the one thing I haven’t been able to forgive him for.
Somehow, he is off on his coordinates by eighty feet, missing the mark. Instead of hitting the enemies, the missiles come into contact with a line of bushes that are on the outskirts of our position. As it hits the ground, it also takes out four of our own men.
Fuuuuck.
My body shifts into auto-pilot and keeps returning fire. My brain won’t allow me to process it until much later, once backup arrives, and we make it to safety. It is then that I learn two of the four soldiers killed are Roach and Garcia.
I don’t allow myself to think about what happened very often. There is absolutely no hope of keeping my head above water if I constantly live in that memory. It is a big reason why I can’t bring myself to talk to Adam. I know I shouldn’t blame him; it was a mistake, and I know he is extremely remorseful about it. From what I’ve heard, he hasn’t been dealing with it well. But how can I extend a life raft to someone else if all I have is the raft I’m on and it’s barely keeping me afloat?
I let out a shaky breath and wipe the tears that fell from my eyes. I push the memory down, just like I do every single day, and open the door to head back inside the cottage. I need Mia. I know I won’t be able to sleep anymore tonight, but I know without a doubt that I need to be close to her.
I walk into the bedroom and crawl in the bed, sliding over to put my arm around Mia, who is curled up on her side facing the other way. I push into her until every part of my body is touching hers. She lays her arm gently over the top of my arm that’s pressed against her stomach.
“I didn’t know what to do… you were screaming and shaking, so I wanted to wake you up—was that okay? I’m sorry if that wasn’t the right thing to do,” she says quietly.
“It’s fine… I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“What happened? What were you dreaming about?”
“Mia… I can’t.” If I can hardly allow myself to think about it, how am I supposed to talk about it?
She nods, and we spend the rest of the night not moving from each other. Mia eventually falls asleep, but I am wide awake, wondering how the hell this was fair to her. When the clock finally reads 5:45 a.m., I kiss Mia’s temple and quietly slip out of the bed. I feel guilty that she had to experience that, and I hate that it’s something that I can’t control. Maybe this whole thing is a bad idea. She’s supposed to be on vacation and enjoying herself, not worrying about me and my baggage. I quietly grab my things and walk out of the cottage, needing to be alone.