The Walls We Break (Beta Version)

Cole POV

I was used to the harsh light of a desert sun. I knew the sticky feeling of sweat mixed with sand on my skin. It was a smell etched into my memory—a smell that always lingered beneath the surface of my waking life.

The desolate landscape, surrounded by the ruins of a war-torn village had become a constant factor in my mind. Each stone, the unbearable heat, and the smell. It triggered a fear inside my chest that only a man who has seen hell could understand.

And hell was a place where gunfire and explosions turned into soft background noises. Almost like a cruel melody. A song of the dead. All I could do to drown out the sound, was to concentrate on my breathing. But each shot fired sent a jolt through my body. My heart raced as I scanned the area for my squad. Faceless man, their mouths opened wide in silent screams. Indistinct shadows of people I once knew.

I wanted to call out for them, but I had no voice. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. ’Help them!’ The thought kept running through my head. ’You need to get out of here!’ Run, when there was nowhere to run.

A deafening roar shook the earth. The air thick with dust and sand. Black smoke rose from one of our armored vehicles. Infinite flames licking at the sky.

The cries of my comrades echoed in my ears, the desperation and terror palpable in their voices. I tried to move, but shapeless hands clawed at feet, dragging me under.

For a moment, the falling sensation was a relief. It was better than watching my friends die. I no longer had to listen to their screams when I knew I couldn’t save them. But their screams turned into my own. The bright sunlight eclipsed by darkness. I was suffocating in a cramped, dimly lit room. The walls slowly closing in.

I knew the sound of shuffling footsteps and whispered voices, but when I turned to face them, all I could see was the reflection of a broken man. His eyes wide in fear and confusion. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead, dripping down into his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision. I reached out to touch the mirror, but it shattered into a thousand pieces, each shard reflecting a fragment of my terror.

I stumbled backward, away from my reflection, but the ground gave way beneath me, and I fell into a bottomless abyss. The world around me spiraled into a chaotic blend of colors and sounds, the cries of the wounded mingling with the roar of explosions. I grasped at the air, trying to find something to hold on to, but there was nothing but emptiness.

I woke up with a jolt, drenched in my own sweat. The lights from the TV flickered in the darkness, a documentary about whales casting blue lights on the wooden walls. The warm voice of a narrator talking about the deep blue was the only sound besides my hammering heart.

With a groan I slouched back into the couch, rubbing my hands hard over my face, trying to get rid of the icky feeling of fear that kept haunting me for almost five years now. The first two years were the worst, but I found ways to exhaust myself enough to get a few hours of dreamless sleep.

The human body could only go so long without sleep before either losing its mind or dying, so I came up with a system. It was anything but ideal and probably not very healthy, but it was the only thing that worked for me.

A soft whimper sounded from the corner of the room. Almost invisible in his corner was Boots—a black German Shepard. My mother got him for me when I returned home from Afghanistan to keep me company. It took me a minute to get used to him, but she was right and in a way that dog saved me from completely losing it.

I had something to take care of. Someone who depended on my sanity. So, I got my shit together and raised that puppy to be my four-legged best friend. That dog knew me better than anyone. It was easier to be myself around him and not feel the constant pressure of being okay when I was not.

“Come here, boy,” I patted the space on the couch next to me, and the dog jumped into action, leaping towards me to get comfy as close to me as possible. His head resting in my lap so he could lick my hand as if to tell me he got my back.

I took a deep breath and ruffled his floppy ears. “I’m okay,” I lied. It was one of those lies I kept telling myself and everybody else, until I believed it myself. A white lie. Something I hoped would eventually become true.

Boots sat up, tilting his head to the side, his bushy tail wagging expectantly. “How about I get a cup of tea, and you get some breakfast before you and I go for a run?” I suggest not sure if he understood more than the word ’breakfast’. But as soon as it left my lips he was off the couch and in the kitchen, waiting impatiently in front of the container I kept his kibble in.

It was the crack of dawn, barely light outside. A little too early to feed him, but what the hell. His nights were just as short as mine.

I let him eat while I stepped outside with my steaming cup of green tea, inhaling the clean air that always had a cleansing effect on me. It was like with one deep breath I could wash away all the ickiness and tight knots in my body.

My nights bled into days, and it was hard to keep track of time. My routine was anything but normal, anything but healthy. I tried. But it was hard ever since I landed on US soil. Home. My body battered and bruised. My body had healed, but my mind never fully recovered.

I sipped on the tea, letting it burn my tongue so my mind couldn’t wander too far. I needed to stay in the moment to remind myself that I was alive and—all things considered– well. I was surrounded by green, and nothing here could harm me.

The scent of wet soil and vibrant fauna in my nose. It was peaceful out here. Life in Glasswater was slow, easy-going, and no one dared to ask too many questions. Most of them were curious about my time abroad, but they knew not to ask questions.

When I first came back, they didn’t know that. They just asked away, but my PTSD kicked in hard and it either ended in a panic attack or I randomly yelled at people. They quickly learned to leave me alone.

Now they would just tell me that I have changed. No surprise there. I was eighteen when I left to join the army. I was a fucking idiot back then. A careless, shithead with no idea of how the world worked. For most of my career I enjoyed it. It gave me a purpose, but then within a day everything changed.

The man who came back from that hell was broken and ruined by his choices. Ruined by what life had put him though. In retrospect, I wish I could tell myself to stay at home. Go to college. Become a lawyer or whatever my mother wanted me to be. Anything but join the Forces and let war ruin the person I could have been.

I rolled my shoulder to shake off the stiffness. Falling asleep on the couch always came with consequences, such as sore muscles and a stiff neck. I could handle that easily. In fact, I welcomed the pain as a reminder that I was still alive. That God had given me a second chance at this weird little thing called life. I just didn’t quite know what to do with it, but I was figuring it out one day at a time.

I left the mug outside on my porch and headed back inside to change into my running gear. I enjoyed running in the mornings, while most of the town was still fast asleep. It was the first step to exhaustion before I would get ready for work.

I didn’t quite know what it was about working at a carpentry. It was loud and anything but tranquil. The harsh sounds of machines cutting and sanding wood kept me wide awake. The hard physical work sucked the energy right out of me so that by the end of the day I could get my two, if I was lucky three hours of sleep.

I was grateful to Violet for hiring me. She gave me a shoot despite the state I was in. I had quite a temper. I lashed out when the anxiety got the better of me. But she didn’t give up on me. She set me straight and put me to work and I quickly learned that exhaustion helped with the insomnia and the frequent panic attacks.

I got better with time. Not good, but better.