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There’s the rumbling again. Things are shaking. And another explosion propels me out of the car.
I can’t find her. Everything around me is on fire.
Then I see the bodies. My teammates are lined up in neat order. And at the end of the line, I see Marisa’s body—dead, lifeless.
“Tyler? Tyler?” I could hear her but couldn’t see her. Her words were calling me to come to her. Her voice was coming from far away.
“No!” I yelled. “Please no,” I whimpered.
“Tyler!”
My eyes popped open, and I sat bolt upright. I was yanked from sleep and back to reality. I tried to adjust to the darkness, blinking several times. I was awake. It was a dream.
A night terror.
A reminder of everything that happened.
How spectacularly I failed.
The sheets beneath me were drenched in sweat. “What the fuck?” I asked, still trying to decipher dream from reality.
And then I felt Marisa’s hands gently brush against my skin, making sure she didn’t startle me.
“Hey, hey.” Her words were filled with compassion and understanding. Her hands on me were tender and light. I knew she understood what had happened.
I pulled her onto me, thankful she was real and in my arms. Thankful she was alive.
She straddled me as I dropped back onto the pillow behind me. I placed one hand on her hip and used the other to wipe my eyes dry. I had been crying in my sleep. I didn’t want her to see me like this. I squeezed the tears out and blinked a couple times.
“I’m gonna turn on the light.” It was more of a question than a statement. She waited for permission—a squeeze of my hand—before she leaned over to flick on the bedside lamp. The pounding of my heart still thumped in my chest. The sting of the phantom pain in my leg made me wince. I hadn’t felt that in a while.
I hated night terrors. Nasty little fuckers.
I thought I had gotten over them. Over the worst of them anyway. But this one took the fuckin’ cake.
This time, instead of only seeing my team’s lifeless bodies strewn about the dunes of Afghanistan, I saw them and Marisa. The feeling that it was a sign, a bad omen, ravaged the happiness from hours ago.
I scrubbed my face with my hands and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I reattached Bee and wiggled my toes into the plush piled carpet. I rested my elbows on my knees and let my face fall into my hands.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to beat the shit out of something.
I wanted to cry.
I sniffled, and the foul odor still seemed to be floating around me. Was it the scent of death and burned flesh I could still smell in the air? In my nose? It was all too real. I tramped to the bathroom and blew my nose, trying to get rid of the scent of death that refused to disappear. “Fucking A,” I said as I looked at myself in the mirror.Shit just got really real.
I splashed cold water on my face and took a leak. I dreaded going back into the room where Marisa was. I didn’t want this shit touching her. But it had.
And now I had to face it.
I slipped back into bed, and Marisa snuggled into my side. The light was off.
“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like a complete and utter pussy.
“Don’t apologize,” she said. “There’s no reason to.” Her fingers traced over my chest again. It helped quiet the noise in my head.
“It was a mission gone wrong,” I started to explain. Her hand froze in place at my words. Maybe she didn’t want to hear this.
