# Ending 3 - Ghosts of the Past

Title: Ending 3 - Ghosts of the Past
Status: Complete
Characters: Anon, Fang, Samantha, Ripley
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: Grenadieranon
Summary: After learning valuable lessons of support, and marrying a woman that relies on it, what happens when these lessons aren't obeyed as you fall into the same hole you try to dig someone else out of?
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I woke up, the room still dark with the sun barely creeping over the horizon. The alarm clock read 4:55 am, about 2 hours before it would ring its piercing reminder to get up and start the day. I look to the side to see my wife still peacefully asleep and use that image to ground myself in the reality. The weird images that broke my sleep already having faded from my conscious mind, pushed back into the void of the subconscious.
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I get up, trying not to disturb Lucy's sleep as best as I can. No movement from her, even as the mattress shifts from my weight. Satisfied with my success, I get ready for my morning routine, changing out of my pajamas for sweatpants and a simple olive T-shirt and running shoes.
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I'm trying to keep the noise down as best as possible, grabbing my keys gently and stepping outside. The air outside is cool and soothing, a reason I enjoy morning jogs. I do a couple of stretches to prepare my body for the inevitable strain it is about to receive. 'Well, here goes.' as I break into a jog.
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The buildings pass by one by one as I follow my usual route. No music to accompany me, just my thoughts, but the physical exercise usually distracted me from them, after a while at least. I needed to do something to pass the time or the thoughts would swell up and consume my entire attention.
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For the past couple of weeks, I had been waking up early, sometimes in a sweat. I had my thoughts trailing off to questions that didn't make sense. Would she be alright? Would I be alright? What if something went wrong. What if I died, right now? Sometimes it was merely a tingling in the back of the mind, sometimes it was a drowning cacophony of noise that made me lose focus. And I don't know why as it made me feel anxious. I thought coming home from the war, reconnecting with my high school sweetheart and marrying her would be more straightforward. That it would simply be a net positive. And it was, for a time.
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And then the doubts started setting in.
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At first, I didn't know what to do. I just laid there, trying desperately to go back to sleep, but I couldn't shake the weird feelings. It was a couple of days in when I decided to simply distract myself with either chores or exercise, but they only seem to delay them for a time. Sometimes it goes for days without bothering me, sometimes it's every day for a couple of days and then it's gone again.
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When I reconnected with Lucy, she told me she was still broken, how she had the urge to preen herself again and only didn't because of how much it would disappoint me and her brother. It was clear she was leaning on me for emotional support and no matter how many times I told her how impressed I was with her, holding out by herself, finding a job and all that, it never seemed enough. She was carrying her damage and her experiences in life led her to have a hole where her personhood should be. She never figured out who she was and was desperately trying to be something, someone, by trying new things or attaching herself to labels that come with expectations she could just slot in. Rocker, non-binary, wife... I remember how shocked I was she even gave up music to distance herself from all the pain her senior year caused her.
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'Pain that you started facilitating because you made her question herself.'
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Oh, there it is again. The self-doubt I somehow caused this. No, Lucy was damaged before I met her and I only tried to make her realize she was putting up facades and attached herself to stereotypes to replace a lack of personhood. I engaged her as a person and acknowledged her skill and experience when everyone around her seemed to just take her for granted. She reconnected with her family after realizing her brother never resented her for what she did to his wing. It was a dumb accident by a dumb kid, and it didn't impair him, to the point Naser never even realized it may have been an issue. On top of that, she tried to be this edgy rocker with a troubled past, and actively antagonized her family for basically no reason, just to fit the stereotype. I made her realize this and reconcile with her past trauma, and her relationship with her family improved drastically.
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'But look at where it led her to be.'
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Shut up, that's not my fault. It's not my fault she had a falling out with her best friend, who resented me for 'driving a wedge' between them or whatever that triceratops thought I was doing. I regret losing contact with her, to talk it out with Trish and maybe have her realize what she did was not helpful. Maybe she would have come around, she seemed to genuinely care but was simply misguided.
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'What if you had died in the war? Many times you came close, a cruel twist of fate, what would happen to her then?'
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My pace slowed and I came to a stop. I looked to the sky and saw the last of the stars being washed out slowly by the advancing purple of the rising sun. The burning of the lungs and mild sting in my legs remind me I had been lost in thought again. It was a good pain, grounding me in the here and now. I run the same route every time and could probably do it blindfolded.
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'What if you ran in front of traffic one day?'
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It helped to drown out the noise. I find myself in the park, a bench nearby serving as a welcome respite. Just a short break. No, need to keep going, not dwell on these thoughts, distract myself with the pain...
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'This is why she preens herself. Without you, she would...'
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Okay, stop! What the hell is going on with me? I have a loving wife, her parents are accepting of me, even her father. I remember how Ripley used to antagonize and scare me every time I met him. And now he treats me like a son. I remember how scared I was when I asked Lucy for her hand in marriage at how he would react. But it turned out to be no big deal! Everything is going great, everything will work out and I will help Lucy get over her issues, together, you'll see.
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'Can you?'
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Fuck you!
I grit my teeth and pick up the pace.
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I step out of the shower and put on the bathrobe, faintly hearing the buzz of the alarm clock and a groan as it clicks off. The bathroom door opens and Lucy enters, rubbing one of her eyes.
"Morning, love. Sleep well?" I say. She hums and plants a kiss on my cheek.
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"Good morning, pleasant jog?" she said, still half asleep.
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"You could say that. As pleasant as physical exercise can be."
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I exit the bathroom, make my way into the kitchen and pour myself the coffee I had put on earlier. Lazy Saturday, so I just start preparing breakfast, some simple PBJ sandwiches. I set the table and wait for Lucy to join me, it doesn't take very long. She grabs her sandwiches with a word of thanks and starts devouring them, occasionally sipping from her coffee. I smile, the image still looks ridiculous, even after all this time.
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"What are you smiling at, dweeb?" she says, playfully annoyed.
"Can a man not smile at his beautiful wife?" I contort my smile into a grin. "Eating like a..."
"You best not finish that sentence, if you know what's good for you." she playfully jabs me in the shoulder.
"Alright, alright." I say, rubbing my shoulder, "Say, do you need me to pick something up before the family dinner?"
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We had a small family gathering planned later this afternoon, and Ripley made good on his threat to take me golfing in the meantime. The women would likely busy themselves making the actual food, Lucy and her mother were great cooks and allowed little to no input or disturbance when they practiced their craft. At first, I argued that Lucy didn't have to cook every meal for me, but always relented when she said it was something she enjoyed doing. I could hardly bring myself to take something she enjoyed away from her, she always looked so happy and content while working in the kitchen, better than the melancholic look she sometimes wore when she thought I wasn't looking.
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She gulps down the last of her sandwiches, I repress the urge to grin again at the sight. "No, I planned to do that myself." She plants a finger to her snout and puts her thumb underneath her chin. "Enjoy yourself with dad."
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Our breakfast concluded, we make our way to the sofa and I turn on the TV. I ask if there is anything in particular she wants to watch but just shakes her head a little as we sit down and leans against me. I just turn to a channel that was running a nature documentary and put my arm around her shoulders.
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We sit there in comfortable companionship, having small conversations about the events and information being shown by the program. Not even the doubts in my head could pierce this peaceful moment, and I try to pay little mind to them even when they happen. I haven't told Lucy that I was having these thoughts, so far they didn't seem very problematic, but I couldn't burden her with my problems. I was supposed to be the rock she leans against, heaping a load of nothing onto her would do no good. I remember one night I had a nightmare and told her about it. She was worried sick and couldn't go back to sleep after I told her the story of what probably led to it, choosing instead to comfort me. She is so fragile sometimes, I can't unload this heap of garbage onto her if it will only needlessly worry her. It's so insignificant in the face of her own struggles, anyway. But she seems to be having a good day today.
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At least I tell myself that.
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Part of me knows that I shouldn't keep this from her, but 'Hey, there is this nagging voice in my head that tells me everything with us will go to shit.' doesn't exactly sound very confidence inspiring when the one you are telling this to almost relies on you being stable and there for her. It's probably just stress of the unfamiliar, I mean, I am barely in my 20-ies, already married and still in the military on a temporary enlistment. That's a lot of change and unfamiliar territory, probably normal to have some doubts about the future, yeah?
Yeah, perfectly normal. I can just deal with it in the meantime until it goes away and then everything will be alright.
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We continue watching various programs for a while until it is finally time to get ready and leave. I take the time while Lucy takes a shower to wash the dishes, get dressed and wait for her to be done so I can say my goodbyes and leave. She embraces me in a hug, and I can feel her hands clasp to the back of my shirt like I would vanish if she let go.
"Stay safe out there..." she whispers. I can feel the unease in her voice.
"Don't worry, I will." and she tightens the hug even more. I plant a kiss on her forehead and she reluctantly lets go of me. Part of me wants to stay just for her sake, but the other part tells me it will just make things worse. Her facade of happiness and confidence drops in moments like these, where she shows her vulnerability. The fire and independence she had when I met her all those years ago seem but a distant memory. But no matter how much I try to reinforce her accomplishments, she can't seem to see what I see in her.
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I go on foot, years of walking everywhere and marching drills preparing my caveman body with plenty of stamina. Besides, Lucy was going shopping, she needs the car. It takes a couple of hours to just walk to her parents' house anyway, but I still got plenty of time. I just soak in the scenery as I walk, the nice, sunny day and the salty breeze from the ocean. This is a very beautiful place if it wants to be. Much different from Rock Bottom, altho it does have its dark places. You don't want to be walking around Skin Row or little Troodon at night alone, that's for sure. At best you get scammed, at worst, stabbed.
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I make it to the Aaran residence in good time, 10 minutes to 12 o'clock, when I was supposed to be there. I knock, even if they gave me a spare key after I married their daughter, it's quite weird to just walk into someone else's home like that. To my surprise, Samantha opens the door.
"Oh hello, my dear. Come in." She steps aside and I close the door as I step in the very familiar living room. She offers me a seat and I gladly take it. "I didn't see your car, did you come here on foot? Do you want anything to drink? Ripley should be done in the garage in a few minutes."
"Just a water, ma'am. Thank you."
"It's 'mom', Anon..." she chuckles lightly as she disappears into the kitchen, reemerging soon after with a glass, bottle and coaster. "I am not one of your army officers, but I do carry the same authority here." I try my best fake smile at this 'joke', but it quickly falters as she sits down across from me, the inevitable was about to happen.
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"So, how's my baby girl doing? I thought you were going to come here together."
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Of course, she had every right to ask me about her daughter, but I don't feel like I should be the one talking about her like that. She's going to see her later anyway, surely she can ask her then.
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"She's doing alright. We just need to do some groceries shopping and she wanted to handle that. She is likely going to come by afterward, while I'm out with Ripley." I pensively look at the glass in my hands. Yeah, she's fine, she's just groceries shopping, no big deal.
"She's doing so much better since you came back. Thank you."
"I hardly did anything ma...I mean 'mom'. In fact, sometimes I feel like I could be doing more."
"You are doing fine, Anon. You grew up into a fine young man. I'm sure you will be a great husband and father, you'll see." She has the same, sleepy, happy expression on her face she always wears. "You DO plan on giving me grandkids, don't you?"
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"That's...I mean...Uhm..." she stumped me. Anon.exe crashed. She never brought that up before, and Lucy and I hadn't talked about kids yet, really. Did she know something I didn't? No, she wouldn't have phrased it as a question if she did. Seeing me probably run a million miles per hour in my head to come up with a suitable response, Samantha interjects: "Oh, don't worry. You are still young. But don't keep me waiting too long, you hear?"
"Yes!" came the almost robotic response. I sip my water anxiously waiting for the moment to end, as Samantha just smiles at me.
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"Well, good thing that topic died." the deep, gruff voice rips the awkwardness apart. The imposing ptero-patriarch steps into the living room. I rise from my seat to shake his hand. He used to be taller than me, but I grew a couple of inches after Highschool, and the bulk I gained from PT in the Army helped as well. I always felt it was part of the reason he grew a bit warmer towards me, no longer the nerdy, weird lanklet, but a man who stared death in the face every day and came out the other end.
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He grabs my hand firmly and shakes it. "Anon. Good to see you. Ready to go?"
"Of course, Sir."
He gives a deep, hearty laugh. "No need to be so formal, boy. We are just going golfing here."
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I finish my water and Samantha gives me a hug. "Have fun, boys. I'll make sure dinner is ready by the time you come back."
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Ripley leads me to the car, already packed with golfing supplies. I get into the passenger seat and we set off. The short drive was fairly uneventful. Awkward silence, even. We arrive at the golf course and Ripley pops the trunk. Hefting a well-maintained, expensive-looking golf bag onto the parking lot. We sign in, and he gives me the tour of the place. Bathrooms, exits, some rules, where the golf-carts are, the whole deal.
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The lessons go well. After getting the swing down somewhat I was actually able to hit the ball a few times, sending it careening into various pools of water, the occasional tree, and whatever else they had for obstacles on the course. Luckily, the course was somewhat empty, or I would have felt like a hazard to other golfers. "Doing good, boy. Don't be discouraged, no master ever fell from the sky, you know. This takes practice and dedication." He swings his club and the ball flies true towards the hole. "Just like marriage."
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That reminds me of something. "Actually, Ripley, I was meaning to ask you something."
"'this about my daughter?" he turns to me with a slight scowl.
"No, not specifically...I was wondering. When you and Samantha got married, did you have...like...doubts?"
"Doubts?" I notice the grip on his golf club tightening. I fear I may have overstepped a boundary or pissed him off or something, but before I can back out and apologize, he continues: "All the time boy. In the beginning, you don't know if everything will work out or if your job will hold. I was only a lowly street cop at the time I married Sam, although a damn good one, mind you. But did you have anything specific in mind?"
"Well..." I struggle with whether or not I should straight up tell him that I worry because of Lucy's mental problems. If I can help her with them or not. What I should do. But kicking down the door like that would probably not go over well. "...just the future in general. I'm sure you heard Samantha mention 'kids' and all that. I'm also still on a temporary contract with the Army, and don't know what to do afterward."
"Well, I could see if I can pull some strings at the precinct, get you into the force. You want to do police work?"
"That...thanks for the offer. I'll think about it."
"As for the kids. Boy, I'd be as happy as anybody to be graced with grandkids, but do not think you have any obligation." He looks me up and down. "I'll be honest, I'm not even entirely sure that it works, what with you being Human and all. No offense."
"No, yeah, I don't really know either. Not really something they covered in biology class."
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'It's gonna be some freak of nature.'
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Oh great, here we go again.
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'Maybe you're lucky and it's stillborn, saves you the trouble of having to raise a sick abomination.'
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I try to suppress the thoughts as we drive over to my golf ball, stranded in a sandy pit. Ripley gives me some advice on how best to get the ball unstuck. I take the club he recommends and step up to the ball, half-buried in the sand. The feeling of soft sand reminds me of the beach walks I take Lucy on sometimes, and I take my position to strike the ball.
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'Reminds you of the hellhole you got stuck in for years.'
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You miss your strike, sending the ball and a large wave of sand flying up in front of you. The crack of the club hitting the ball and a gust of dust send you right back into a firefight in the desert, the heat hits you like opening an oven. Someone yells at you, but you can't make out the face. You are taking cover behind your vehicle's wheel, the rifle in your hand feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. This is a bad memory, but instincts drive you. You hear the snap of a bullet and another gust of sand shoots up a yard away from your feet. You peek around the side of your vehicle and press the rifle into your shoulder, click.
"Anon, look at me."
A large hand grips your shoulder, turning you around. It is a large brown pterodactyl. Weird, you don't remember having one in your platoon. Maybe he's from some other unit?
"Anon, what's wrong?"
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I snap back, Ripley standing in front of me, his large hand on my shoulder. "I...what?"
"You got all glassy-eyed after you hit the ball and just stood there, mumbling. Are you okay?" the concern in his voice felt genuine. I look at my hands, then back to him.
"I think so. I don't know what just happened." Ripley hands me a bottle of water, my hands are shaking. I take a deep breath, calming myself, and open the cap.
"Does that happen often?" he removes his hand from my shoulder and steps back, giving me some room.
"No. I don't think so...It's nothing, really. Just remembered something and got lost in my thoughts I guess." I empty the bottle halfway and dump the rest over my head. Still trying to get to grips with what just happened. This was definitely a first. Yes, I had some weird nightmares here and there but never during the day. It's been months since I've been here, been home, and never really thought about it. Ripley has an uncharacteristically soft expression on his face.
"Maybe you need to see someone about that." he cradles his chin. "Or maybe a stiff drink?"
"I think that would be nice." I actually welcome the change, drinking with Ripley, just hanging out. "But I am not the sort to drown his problems in alcohol, it's also barely past 2 pm. But really, it's nothing to worry about."
"Hah. Maybe later then." his smile swiftly turns into his trademark scowl. "I've seen that sort of stuff before, Boy. Don't take this lightly. If you want to talk about it, we can drop the golf and do it...and I'm serious here."
His sudden accusatory tone has me back down defensively, something about being confronted like that just doesn't feel comfortable. "What, do you think I'm gonna snap from a bad memory? It's nothing I couldn't handle in person, my brain has no power over me." I wave him off dismissively. "Let's get back to this golfing thing, as you said, it takes practice."
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The rest of the course goes about as horrible for me as before. But I do admit, hitting something really hard with a club felt cathartic. Ripley kept an eye on me for a while, I could notice, but he relaxed, concentrating more on correcting my pose and swing. Inevitably, it was time to pack up and return home.
The drive back to the Aaran residence felt a bit more awkward, my weird episode having clearly caused some anxiety, both in me and Ripley. I am still trying to find out what the fuck that was. I used to meme about that shit in my youth, you know, the shell-shocked veteran having a flashback during new years. Raptor Jesus, I hope I am not losing my mind.
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We arrive back at the house, noticing my car parked in front of the entrance. The smell of a freshly cooked meal is already noticeable even in the garage. "I'll unpack later, let's not keep the ladies waiting." Ripley said. I grab his shoulder before he steps away, he looks back at me with a sideglance.
"Let's not mention 'that' to Lucy, okay? I don't want her to worry about it."
Ripley scoffs, "Keeping secrets already?"
"No, it's just...I'd rather not sour the mood during the dinner." I lie "I know she will just worry about it. I'd rather tell her later."
"Fine, not my place anyway." I get the sense he's a little bit disappointed, but I really can't tell Lucy about any of this, at least for now.
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The table is already set, and to my utter delight, I see Lucy next to Samantha plating some of the sides. Why do I even worry, she spend 3 years without me, she can take a couple of hours. However, the sight of her fills me with peace and contentedness. As does the smile she beams my way when she spots me out of the corner of her eye.
"We will be done in a minute, boys. Sit down."
We shuffle into our seats and shortly thereafter, the Ladies start plating the meal they prepared. A basted meatloaf, with carrots and peas in gravy. Fried potato slices round out the meal. It smells delicious as always, and soon plates are filled with a generous helping of food. Idle conversation is being had, and Ripley remarks that I've done fairly well on the green, for a rookie. He keeps shut about my little episode, but he does shoot me a glance every now and then, as I try to keep the conversation pleasant.
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The dinner ends and we say our goodbyes. I shuffle into the driver's seat. An idea strikes my head, and as Lucy buckles into the seat next to me, I ask: "Do you want to go on a walk?", but for a brief moment her expression looks empty. Just looking ahead at nothing. She quickly puts on a smile and puts her hand on my thigh. "No, I think I just want to stay home today, we got church tomorrow and I'm pretty beat from the groceries and cooking. But thanks for offering."
I grab her hand in mine, lean in and we kiss. "Fine then, just a lazy evening."
To my surprise, she shoots me a coy smile. "Maybe not so lazy...after all.", in the most sultry voice she can, half-opened eyes and grin forming indicating exactly what she means.
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The next weekend came and went, and I've been covertly trying to find out what could be wrong with me. I called the army office to maybe talk to a psychiatrist, but they haven't come back to me with an appointment or really anything helpful. Doogle was no great help either, and I briefly contemplated posting about it on a magyarian basketweaving board to maybe get some advice, between the memes, shitposts and ridicule it will most likely attract. For as much shit as they get from the internet, there are some genuinely good people from all walks of life on that board. Maybe some of them have or are going through something similar to me.
I, of course, have a sneaking suspicion it's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, something that afflicts more veterans, but can also occur after accidents, or witnessing something horrific or traumatic. But I refuse to admit I have some schizo mental disorder before I got more proof. They would probably hook me up on some pills or lock me in an asylum, and I'd rather not do any of that. Being branded as a ticking time bomb is also something I'd rather avoid.
Besides, nothing I saw in the war really phased me, just shoved away and forgotten about. If I was going to get a mental breakdown from it, I would have gotten it there, in the moment. Right?
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As the days go by, I am hit by a particular bout of insomnia one night after Lucy broke down crying saying her feathers itched and how much it hurt to put on a brave face and ignore it. We cradled each other until she fell asleep, I hoped my words of comfort helped in any sort of way. But afterward, I just can't seem to fall asleep. After hours of trying fruitlessly, I decide to go tire myself out completely and go for a run. I heard insomnia can be caused by something unprocessed in the subconscious, but I'd rather not probe and stir the hornets' nest. As I am running, alone, the city bathed in the fluorescent LED light of the streetlamps, I am almost immediately assaulted by my brain.
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'We are just doing the same thing. Pain as a distraction'
'Distract ourselves from the obvious trying to shove it away'
'Our marriage will be childless and unfulfilled'
'We can't fix her'
'Can't even fix ourselves.'
'Ripley was right, we are just lying to her'
'Should really just talk with her but we are too much of a pussy to face the consequences!'
'Think the army kooks are going to do anything useful?'
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I really should bring music with me next time. At least at this point, I had stopped bothering to argue with my thoughts like some crazy person.
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My attention catches on a bar, some particularly grungy nu-metal blasting from it. Maybe I can drown some of the noise in there, wash up, get some water or something. Then I remember: I didn't bring my wallet. I almost resigned myself to keep running until I spot a sign outside. 'Special offer. Free drinks for Veterans, one per tour of duty!" and a flag crudely drawn under it. "Can just get a water or a beer, nothing to worry about."
'How would they know we served, not like we carry your military ID'
'They'd just kick us out for stolen valor or something'
Fuck it, doesn't hurt to ask.
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I enter the establishment simply called 'Jeff's foxhole', a gruff-looking raptor manning the bar. His many tattoos and some pictures around the bar make it abundantly clear he was in the Marines, the age of the man and the fade on the photos indicating it must have been decades ago. Not many patrons inside, middle of the week and all. I make my way over to the bar and the barkeeper glances over. "What can I get ya?" as I browse the selection of drinks on offer, I briefly consider a water, noticing it's free...
'Ordering water at a bar, fucking pathetic'
"Whiskey. Straight, no ice."
He looks me up and down, I don't have service tats or anything, just scars on my arms and wearing an army shirt. "How many?" he asks, and I shoot him a puzzled look.
"How many tours did you have?"
Did he just assume I served because of how I look? "Three, all back to back essentially."
"Ah, one of those. Don't worry about needing to show ID, ol' Jeff can tell a trooper from a fake a mile away." He puts the glass down in front of me, and I notice he didn't skimp on the contents.
"See that, those wear-lines on your shirt? Tells me you wore body armor over it for a long time. You are sweaty, probably running out in the middle of the night and left your wallet. The muscle and scars tell me you probably saw combat, or were particularly clumsy, and some of those look like shrapnel wounds. The ring on your finger tells me you are married. It's not my place to pry what brings you here, but I've been married three times, son." Great, being judged by some stranger already.
'He's just being sympathetic because we deserve pity'
I down half the glass in one go. "It's not your place to pry. But thanks." There is however one question that lingers in my mind. "What is the occasion for the free drinks anyway, it's not a holiday."
The raptor points to a purple heart in a casing on the wall. "Had a bad day 26 years ago, got me out of the service on an injury. AP-Mine tore my shin clean off." pointing down at his leg with the other hand.
I peek over the bar as he lifts his pant leg a little to show the crude prosthetic under it. "Ever since I opened this bar, I run this as a little thank you to my boys."
It's been less than a year since I've been back, and I can't say I frequented this part of town or the bar scene very much before I left.
"Well, thanks anyway. I think I needed something to take the edge off tonight."
I decided to engage with Jeff on our past, talk about the difference in branches and what time made of the service. He explains in detail the day he lost his leg, in between serving other patrons as they come. I relay a particularly nasty ambush we ran into one time. As I sip on the second glass and notice a slight buzz and some sleepiness kicking in. I check the time and notice I already spend almost an hour here. 'Fuck, I should get going' I think, as I finish my drink and excuse myself to the bathroom.
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Minutes later, I step out of the bar, raising a hand to the crowd, and the cool air embraces me. I probably shouldn't be running when I'm drunk, so I settle in for a cozy walk home. Great, more time for the bullshit to pester me, too.
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But to my surprise, nothing. Not a single doubt came to my head.
Huh, weird.
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Enjoying the peace and quiet for once, I eventually make my way home, trying to be as quiet as possible. I skip a full shower and just settle for rubbing myself down a bit with water and soap to keep the noise down, Lucy still being sound asleep. I creep into bed and lay my arm over her, careful not to squeeze her precious wings too much, and a peaceful sleep soon falls over me.
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Some weeks later, the Army finally got back to me, saying they have an appointment in 2 months. 'Good news, we have a spot to deal with your potential mental issues, please don't off yourself while you wait for it. Fucking typical. If they need something from you, they demand it in time, but if you want something from them...' "True that!", Jeff replies, and I curse my mumbling. I started frequenting the bar more often and took Ripley up on his drink offer one weekend too. He actually had some good news for me, that after I leave the army next year, I could be going into police training. Of course, I know that would probably need to be preempted by getting my problem under control, but I seem to have a handle on it now. It's not nearly as problematic as it used to be. There was the occasional flashback, some discarded trash by the side of a road. A sudden bang. But I learned to live with it. Telling whoever is around at the time that I'm just spacing out.
​
I get up from the barstool and say it's time to head home, I almost lose my footing as the world refuses to stand still for me. Damn, probably had one too many. No matter, won't kill me. As expected, the walk home is blissfully quiet. No worries, no sorrows. Just get home and sleep. But my blissful daze is shattered the moment I step into my home. I hear sobbing from the bedroom. "Lucy?" I close the door and make my way towards it, I hear shuffling, and when I open the door, Lucy is in bed, just like I left her. "Lucy, did you cry? What's wrong?" I whisper, no reaction but when I step closer, I smell a distinct, irony smell. I pull the blanket up and sure enough, her wings are a mess, she's bleeding on the sheets. "What the hell, Lucy! You promised me to not do that anymore!". She clasps her hands over her face, trying to hide it, and immediately begins crying.
​
"I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't have. B-but I woke up, you weren't there. I...I...I don't know what I did wrong, Anon!"
"What? What you did wrong? You did nothing wrong!"
"Then w-why do you feel the need to leave and get drunk almost every other night?" she's shooting a pleading look at me. "You reek of booze, and...and..."
'I caused this'
​
"I...No. It's nothing you did." I sit down next to her and grasp her hands, somewhat awkwardly as my hand-eye coordination is still a bit off.
'Congratulations, I made it fuckin worse.'
"But then why? I know I'm still broken, it's driving you away. And-and the thought of losing you again, it's...it's driving me nuts! I'm nothing but a burden..."
"You are NOT a fucking burden!" I grab her in a tight hug. "Don't ever talk like that again!"
'I know she's right'
'She's alot to deal with, sometimes'
'Most of the time'
'She's just putting on a front for the world'
'She's absolutely...'
​
I get up from the bed, hands grasping the sides of my head. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Shutupshutupshutup, not now, not fucking now!
"Then what-"
'Can't even bear you a child.'
'Can't leave her alone or she falls prone to self-harm'
'She's dysfunctional without me'
'She said it herself, she's fuckin broken'
'And I can't fix her!'
SHUT UP, SHUT UP, "SHUT UP!"
​
The look of sheer horror on Lucy's face tells me I've yelled that last part out loud. I'm also standing there with my hand raised, balled into a fist, like I'm about to fucking hit her. What am I doing? The realization makes me want to apologize, but the words aren't coming to me. She turns her gaze away and continues sobbing, blanketing herself in her feathers. I lower my arm towards her, taking a step forward.
'Good job, I fucked it up'
'Dumbass'
'The fuck am I doing, apologize!'
'Give her some room'
​
I run out of the room, shocked and with a growing pit in my stomach. I've got to shut my brain off, or I have no chance in salvaging this situation. I grab a bottle from our liquor cabinet, uncap it, and down its contents. Maybe if I'm blasted enough I can form an apology. But as I'm drinking, I catch sight of a picture on the cabinet, our wedding picture. She looks so happy. So beautiful in that white dress. Her parents were so proud. But in the frame, I spot another image. Me, downing a bottle of booze after I just yelled at her for no reason. While she's in bed crying her heart out, thinking she did something wrong. After I kept slinking off to a bar without telling her where I went. The thought had me disgusted even more.
​
'I've lost complete control of myself...'
'She probably thinks I have an affair'
'Well I do, with alcohol'
'Trying to drink my problems away'
'Numb the brain so the guilt doesn't consume you'
'You survived the war, came back, gave her hope. She was doing fine without you, and now look at her.'
I fall to my knees, crying. The sudden realization I am destroying her even more when I was supposed to be her support crushed me. Supposed to be her pillar. A pillar that is currently crumbling down.
​
'I've made a complete mess of things.'
'Go, get out, come back later when I am less of a fucking drunk'
'Just sleep on the couch, fix this tomorrow'
I grab my phone and keys. I don't even know what I'm doing. I just stumble away.
'Pussy, can't even apologize to her.'
'The fuck do I think of going?'
My phone buzzes several times. I ignore it.
I just stumble around town, until I come upon a bridge. A bridge I am all too familiar with. I pass this every time on my runs since I came home, and irrational thoughts start filling my head even louder.
​
'What, you thinking of jumping?'
'Fucking loser'
'Pussy wouldn't even have the balls'
'Oh yeah, suicide will fix it, it always fixes everything, doesn't it'
I run my hand along the railing until I arrive at the midpoint. Staring out into the skyline, I sit down on the curb. The sound of the traffic underneath was the only thing to break the silence.
​
"I should have asked for help, I can still turn this around. I can go back and apologize, I can tell her what my problem is. She'll understand. She always does."
'and what if that is just part of her facade? Part of the scheme to keep her claws in you?'
"That's bullshit, she loves me. And I love her. She's just got problems. I know this, I know the Lucy she could be again."
'But in all this time, did anything I did help?'
"Not....really...but I have to be her support..."
'And when I started having problems, did I go looking for support?'
"I don't need any, I can deal with this shit myself."
'And what makes me so sure she can't deal with hers? She's done so while I was gone.'
"No...I..."
'She'd deal with the loss, she'd deal. She has her family.'
"I..."
'At this point, I'm just making shit worse. I have a decent life insurance policy. She can use the money and start over.'
"..."
'It's perfect, I am drunk, I fell over the railing. Perfect accident. Nobody would even question it.'
​
I notice I am already standing on the railing, steadying myself on a lamppost. It does make sense. She'd get a huge payout, more than enough to pay off any debts, cover some expenses for a while. Find a nice, new husband who cares. Who isn't a useless drunk. Who doesn't have flashbacks and a need for numbing his fucking mind to deal with everyday problems. I watch the cars pass by underneath. Just one clumsy step, need to make this look like an accident. No. I can't do this to her too.
​
I barely notice a car pulling up next to me. A familiar car. I don't even turn around when I address the large ptero, half slurring my words.
"How'd you find me here?"
"Lucy called me. How else? She was crying..." of course, my phone...probably located it or something. I have been here for a while, haven't I?
"Told me there was a fight, you were drunk and you stormed off. She was worried sick you might do something stupid."
"And you are here to stop me?"
"Don't know. Were you about to do something stupid, boy?"
​
Yes, yes I fucking was. She still cared. After everything I just did, she was still worried...about me...
​
"Step down from the rail, son, and let's talk. You need help."
​
Yes, I fucking do.
​
I step down from the railing. My resolve shattered. I clumsily walk towards Ripley. He swings his arm back and plants one hell of a bitch-slap across my cheek. I'm too drunk to notice the pain, but the meaning connected. I disappointed him, almost widowed his daughter, threw away my life. I deserved it. But what came next surprised me. He pulled me into a hug. A fatherly hug. A hug I hadn't felt since I was little. "Don't ever scare me like that, ever again, son."
"I'm sorry I'm such a fuck-up. At the golf course, I should have taken your help."
"It's okay. I've seen some shit in my life, I was trying to tell you how serious of a problem it is. I know what it's like, son."
"You sounded so disapproving, I thought I was coming off as a weakling." I break out in tears.
"Son, that stuff is no joke, and it doesn't make you weak. What makes you a weakling is trying to run from it."
"I should have told Lucy like I said I would...I kept hearing these doubts in my head, that we can't have kids, that I can't help her with her problems, that I can't make it better, only worse. Samantha mentioned she wanted grandkids. I...I...I'm a fucking loser..."
Ripley just holds me there. "Let's get you home..." He eventually pushes me towards his car, but before I could take a step I heave and push myself away from him, vomiting all over the sidewalk. Ripley patiently waits for me to finish my pathetic display, and after he helps me crash on the back seat, we drive.
​
I continue crying to myself. At all the shit that was going on. How could I become so fucking lost in everything? All this time I tried to be someone's support, yet too afraid to take my own advice? In hindsight, it all seemed too simple. In my drunken state, I could barely form coherent thoughts. The thoughts I did have felt more distant, more like back when it started.
'She would understand'
'After all, she suffers just like you'
'You can rely on her, just like she can on you...'
'And you have a family'
​
As I step into our living room, Lucy comes rushing in and flies into my arms. "I'm so glad you are back. I was so scared!" I just hug her back, her tears are seeping into my shoulder. As best I can, I just calmly rock her back and forth, saying "Don't be. I'm sorry for worrying you. I shouldn't have flipped out at you preening, I-I should have been there for you. I know how it feels, now..."
​
As we sit on the sofa, I lay it all out to her, my troubles, my doubts, the voice, even the flashback at the golf course. Everything. I'm not holding any details back. I explain how I would wake up early, run to clear my head.
I explain how I came upon the bar.
How getting buzzed drowned out the thoughts.
How it kept getting worse and worse.
And how scared I was of telling her because I thought she needed me to be strong.
And how sure I was I could deal with it all...just ignore it and not worry her with my own problems.
Ripley just sits through it all, waiting patiently to finish. Just like all those years ago on the rooftop, Lucy just lets me vent it all out, without interrupting.
After I'm done, she smiles somberly. "You should have told me."
"I know...I'm so sorry."
​
We just sit there, her left arm draped around my shoulder, her right grasping mine. Eventually, my tears run out and I compose myself. Looking straight at Ripley, I manage but a few simple words: "Thank you."
​
After a short while, Lucy lifts her head. She suddenly seems very lively but also anxious. Her eyes darting around at me, Ripley, the ground like she's not sure of something. "Well, there is one worry I can clear up right now,..." she says: "...and I wanted to tell you in the morning, but..." She grabs both of my hands, sighing softly and inhaling like she has to prepare for something, and I prepare for the worst. "Anon. Dad. I'm pregnant."
The words hit me like a sledgehammer, that's great news and I feel the sadness and worry slowly fade away. I feel ecstatic, even, but the words fail me. "That's wonderful..." I manage to stammer out. Ripley just smiles in approval.
​
Only one thought lingers in my mind as I try to internalize it: "I'm gonna be a father..."
​
'You are going to be a great father'
​
==================================================================================
​
Therapy has been going great. Talking to a professional who doesn't want to just hook me on some drugs to collect an easy paycheck sure helps. The doubts and worries slowly cleared up over time. As for the flashbacks, I was told I should seek some Veterans groups and talk with them about it. There is a meeting every other weekend I can attend, where some vets just get together and talk about their experiences. That may help, but I'm also told that if it doesn't, I should monitor when and how they happen, what triggers them, and if the situation turns worse. Jeff and Ripley were a great help with that, they told me about their own experiences, and how they cope with them. Turns out the alcohol wasn't the thing that drowned the worries out, I recall that every time I went to that bar, I would talk with Jeff about something from my time overseas.
And apparently, Jeff has some flashbacks too, sometimes. But he says you can live with it if you have to. They are just a minor inconvenience sometimes.
​
I have been spending a lot more time with Ripley. I realized how absolutely stupid it was to just run away and try to deal with everything myself. I feel a lot better now than I have in months, and all it took was just overcoming my stupid selfishness, again. It's like I forgot everything I learned in Highschool. Everything Lucy helped me realize about myself back then.
​
Overall, the future looks bright, as I sit on a bench in the park, rubbing the growing belly of my wife while she lays her head on my shoulder. Whatever challenges may come our way, I'm sure we can face them, together.
​
The end.