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Some damages can’t be hidden…
CHARLIE
PTSD is a bitch.
I lived through sadistic horrors no one should be forced to endure. After my medical discharge from the military four years ago, I thought my physical scars were the worst souvenir I’d have.
I was wrong.
Now, I teeter on an emotional razor’s edge. I’m terrified of men. I can’t handle darkness. I battle night terrors, flashbacks, and panic attacks, and I’m always armed to the teeth.
Those bastards didn’t just rape me. They destroyed me.
MARK
Career-ending, life-changing injuries are a bitch.
An IED on a routine mission in Afghanistan left me fighting to survive. A lot of days, I wish I hadn’t. I lost everything – my career, my home, my brothers-in-arms, my purpose.
And of course, my leg.
Now I’m half a man, useless, worthless, destined to spend my life alone. If it weren’t for Charlie, my best friend for more than two decades, I’d end it all.
Then I end up with a front-row seat to her devastating night terrors.
Charlie’s pain gives me a new purpose. She’s helping me with my physical recovery. I’ll help with her emotional recovery. I owe her too much to do anything else.
Especially since every bit of the hell she’s been through is my fault.
