as he could, like a goddamned baby, afraid of the dark.
But he couldn’t watch it. Or listen to her. He could not save her. Not now. Not from this.
He was responsible for what happened to the girl below him. He did not save her. It was his fault.
Will woke up with a start. His breathing hurt and his heart was racing in his chest. Fuck. He hadn’t dreamed about it for a while. And hadn’t relived it in a few months. Not since they were back together. It happened more often than he liked. More often than he ever told Jessie. But when it did, he had to resist the urge to take his fist and shove it into the wall. It was times like that when he understood more fully why Jessie hurt herself like she used to do.
His anxiety was sharp and harsh. That quickly, all the things that used to keep him apart from her reared their ugly, awful head. The reason he tried so hard, and for so long to get away from her. He sometimes couldn’t face her. He sat up and held his head in his hands. Fuck. Their life had never been easy. And it never would be.
How could he accomplish the important missions he was assigned, but couldn’t fucking kill the men who continued to torture him and his wife? It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that he didn’t finish his job. The one that started the day he found Jessie.
He ran his hands through his hair. Sometimes, that was all he could think about and plan: what he’d do if he ever got his capable, skilled, soldier hands on all of them.
****
“Will?” she whispered.
It was still night and her whisper woke him up. He was barely back asleep. She crawled on top of him.
Snuggling against his chest and the couch, she kissed his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I was so mean to you.”
He shook his head to wake up. Grit felt heavy on his eyelids. His mouth tasted like someone had thrown battery acid in it. He ran a hand through his hair and finally cracked an eye open. Her brown eyes were big and in earnest. She was back in her head. His Jessie was back. He sighed and ran his hand into her silky, shiny hair.
“What happened?”
She shook her head before leaning it down on his chest, and hiding her eyes from his. “I just had a bad day.”
“Nothing provoked it?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. No, nothing specifically.”
“Does this happen often?”
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were happy. I wanted to be happy. I am happy. I don’t know why it happens. Why it doesn’t stay all gone and better. I just… don’t know.”
He stretched out his body as she held onto his neck. “I do. I know why. You made it seem like things like this didn’t happen anymore.”
“It does. I just didn’t want you to leave me. You know, because you think seeing you brings it all back up for me. But it happens whether you’re with me or not; it just happens. It’s not you. You make it all better.”
He sighed. “It brings it up for me too. Okay? It wasn’t very altruistic when I ran away with my tail tucked between my legs, afraid to be with you. Do you remember the first time we ever talked about Mexico?”
“Of course, I remember that. It’s the first time you ever talked to me person-to-person. But is this about you thinking it’s somehow your fault? When you couldn’t stop it?”
He hesitated and his head moved up and down. “I dream about it sometimes.”
She stilled. She probably had no idea. He never told her. Then again, most of their discussions revolved around her. Her demons. Her fears. Her struggles. Never his. She often cursed his leaving her, and wondered out loud how he could have left the second time. She got better, and all at his insistence. Then he said he loved her, and left her. How could she not be angry with him? But she still didn’t give his viewpoint much consideration. She never fully realized the effect her rapes and Mexico had on him. But as he well knew, his pain was half of hers, so he tried to stuff
But he couldn’t watch it. Or listen to her. He could not save her. Not now. Not from this.
He was responsible for what happened to the girl below him. He did not save her. It was his fault.
Will woke up with a start. His breathing hurt and his heart was racing in his chest. Fuck. He hadn’t dreamed about it for a while. And hadn’t relived it in a few months. Not since they were back together. It happened more often than he liked. More often than he ever told Jessie. But when it did, he had to resist the urge to take his fist and shove it into the wall. It was times like that when he understood more fully why Jessie hurt herself like she used to do.
His anxiety was sharp and harsh. That quickly, all the things that used to keep him apart from her reared their ugly, awful head. The reason he tried so hard, and for so long to get away from her. He sometimes couldn’t face her. He sat up and held his head in his hands. Fuck. Their life had never been easy. And it never would be.
How could he accomplish the important missions he was assigned, but couldn’t fucking kill the men who continued to torture him and his wife? It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right that he didn’t finish his job. The one that started the day he found Jessie.
He ran his hands through his hair. Sometimes, that was all he could think about and plan: what he’d do if he ever got his capable, skilled, soldier hands on all of them.
****
“Will?” she whispered.
It was still night and her whisper woke him up. He was barely back asleep. She crawled on top of him.
Snuggling against his chest and the couch, she kissed his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I was so mean to you.”
He shook his head to wake up. Grit felt heavy on his eyelids. His mouth tasted like someone had thrown battery acid in it. He ran a hand through his hair and finally cracked an eye open. Her brown eyes were big and in earnest. She was back in her head. His Jessie was back. He sighed and ran his hand into her silky, shiny hair.
“What happened?”
She shook her head before leaning it down on his chest, and hiding her eyes from his. “I just had a bad day.”
“Nothing provoked it?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. No, nothing specifically.”
“Does this happen often?”
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were happy. I wanted to be happy. I am happy. I don’t know why it happens. Why it doesn’t stay all gone and better. I just… don’t know.”
He stretched out his body as she held onto his neck. “I do. I know why. You made it seem like things like this didn’t happen anymore.”
“It does. I just didn’t want you to leave me. You know, because you think seeing you brings it all back up for me. But it happens whether you’re with me or not; it just happens. It’s not you. You make it all better.”
He sighed. “It brings it up for me too. Okay? It wasn’t very altruistic when I ran away with my tail tucked between my legs, afraid to be with you. Do you remember the first time we ever talked about Mexico?”
“Of course, I remember that. It’s the first time you ever talked to me person-to-person. But is this about you thinking it’s somehow your fault? When you couldn’t stop it?”
He hesitated and his head moved up and down. “I dream about it sometimes.”
She stilled. She probably had no idea. He never told her. Then again, most of their discussions revolved around her. Her demons. Her fears. Her struggles. Never his. She often cursed his leaving her, and wondered out loud how he could have left the second time. She got better, and all at his insistence. Then he said he loved her, and left her. How could she not be angry with him? But she still didn’t give his viewpoint much consideration. She never fully realized the effect her rapes and Mexico had on him. But as he well knew, his pain was half of hers, so he tried to stuff
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