Page 43 of Beast

I wrapped my arms around her slender waist and went outside. For the first few minutes, I enjoyed the mountain air, the sweet, smoky smell of ribs from a neighboring barbecue, the comfortable silence between Isa and me. We walked around the grounds, weaving in between cabins, trees, picnic tables, and a tiny creek.

Then it happened again.

The roar of plane engines overhead, the towering mountains in the distance, the scent of dust mixed with diesel, the chill of the wind on my face, the haunting glow of the sunset highlighting the sky.

I choked on the air and fear penetrated my soul.

Fuck.

The perfect blend of the elements had triggered every sense in my core.

The rapid beating of my heart pulsed through my chest.

My gut clenched and dread overtook me. Like some fucked up time warp, my mind was back in Iraq, trapped in an eternal hell that I could never escape.

“Grady, you okay?”

But I could barely hear her words—my ears were echoing with my screams, the screams of my fellow Marines. I could see Rafael’s face as the bullet hit him, his brains splattered around me. The heat of the bomb underneath me. Counting down until my death.

10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1.

I needed to get the fuck out of here. But no matter where I went, I would never flee this terror.

But almost as soon as it had started, my flashback was over.

Fuck.

“Grady, babe, let’s go back.”

I wiped the sweat beads from my forehead with my clammy hands and attempted to steady my breathing. My fingers tore at my clothes, ripping my shirt, wanting to relieve the pressure from my chest.

Flashback. I’d had another flashback. They’d never go away. This was my new reality; my fucked up brain didn’t respond to any of the drugs or talk therapy I’d been given. In the movies or in books, it was made to seem like flashbacks were movies in one’s mind or images of dead friends. Yes, I relived that night vividly in my nonstop nightmares. Though I couldn’t speak for all other vets, for me a flashback was more than a film playing in my head. Sights, scents, sounds. A primal feeling that I was in grave danger, that I would never be safe, that everyone I loved would be taken from me. That I was helpless. As if I were entombed in an unbreakable dark box underwater, suffocating and gasping for air. All taking me back to a night I didn’t want to remember, to a night I’d never forget.

26

Isa

I grasped Grady’s hand, and the sweat from his palms seeped into mine. His face registered a blank stare and I could see his breath in the cold night air puffing short, labored breaths.

Within minutes, we were back at the cabin. Grady sat in a chair and I turned the stove on to make him tea.

He exhaled. “I’m sorry, I—” His words were sharp and staccato.

I cut him off. “No, babe, you have nothing to be sorry about. We don’t have to talk about it unless you want to.”

I wanted to talk. I wished I could climb into his mind and erase his memories of war.

Maybe he could return the favor. Erase the memories of seeing my mom dead. Erase the memories of what I knew.

We could both start fresh, no pasts, both of us could learn to be present and just be here now.

But that was impossible. All I could do was love him.

His hands finally stopped shaking.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure.”