Dedicated to all those who fought for us, all those who are protecting us and all, who left us

We thank you for your service.

Leonardo

The smoke-filled sky burnt my eyes. Desert sand settled on my goggles, cutting my vision in half and rendering me to rely on my sense of hearing.

The sounds of bullets swooshing past my ears jumbled my nerves. A searing pain shot through my limb, penetrating my pelvic bone, branching into every muscle in my body.

I still tried.

My troops growled for medics. The smell of burnt flesh danced in the air. My chest gripped over my ribs. My stomach churned bile, tossing it up but I bit into my sleeve, unwilling to throw up like a weakling. They needed me and I had to keep moving.

The ringing in my ear - a constant buzzing grew louder, bleeding my ears, pricking the sides of my head - drilling into my skull and melting my brain.

I still tried.

My feet trembled for grounding as the earth shook. Unlike an earthquake, this was a human-induced intervention. An intervention for our encroachment upon their territory.

Something cracked beneath me - a soft snap.

Although I couldn't see, I knew what I stepped on. I have heard plenty of sounds; horrifying, gut-wrenching ones but that one, that soft crack was different. There was no protest from the exposed bone when it snapped. The man who once had it inside his body assimilated with the universal powers that created him.

My insides squeezed shut. It begged me to disobey the marching order.

I still tried.

A loud boom compromised what remained of my hearing. It tossed me back, miles from where I began. The burnt tire and aluminium stench lingered, marrying the repugnant smell of human flesh.

Muffled voices called out for me. Cried out for a medic. Cooed out to God.

The constant buzzing died, only a flatlining resonated from my ears to my chest. I could taste the gritty soil, the metallic tang. I was injured too. My heart started drumming when I continued my march. The enemies were hiding in bunkers, attacking us from higher altitudes. They had the advantage.

A grenade shook the earth and spewed lava from the skies. I had nowhere to hide from the hellfire, nowhere to run.

I still tried.

I felt someone pat my shoulder. It was Specialist Novak, signalling me to cover for him.

"No, you're running black on ammo, Novak. Stay put." I said, clutching his elbow.

"You are bleeding, Sarg..." He thrust his fist above my ankle where blood-soaked uniform clung onto my skin. "Cover for me. I'll get it done."

With two fingers signalling forward, he dropped to the ground, crawling with the others. Aligned in a burrow, I scoped the target location for movements, index finger hovering over the trigger.

Something blasted again. My head spun around, my team was missing. Everything fell silent. A vacuum suctioned my ears, braiding into my spine.

"Brenton."

Someone needed me. I couldn't make out whom.

"MEDIC," I tried yelling. My hearing and sight had long been compromised, it was now when my voice too gave up. "Medic." Only tears dripped.

I still tried.

My feet thrashed on a soft surface. "STOP."

"PLEASE DON'T." I was losing them. I knew the medic wasn't coming.

The soot-filled air entered my lungs, burning up my nostrils. Unable to breathe, my heart pounded on my ribs. I was about to meet the same fate as that of my troops, my family.

A muffled voice called out to me. "Leo... Sergeant Brenton. It's a dream."

My hands reached out but couldn't feel the person.

"Nobody's hurting you."

My eyes flew open. A room came into focus. I looked around for my troops, for Specialist Officer Novak. They were missing.

I tried. But I failed.

"You're at home, Leo. You're safe and fine. Nobody's hurting you... It's a dream." Zemira patted my face and rubbed over my shoulder, trying to pull me up.

I still looked around. My boys were missing. There was no smoke, no burnt stench. Cool air caressed my face. A soft mattress rested beneath my drenched body. Yet, I panted, feeling my dry mouth. I wasn't in pain anymore. My left limb didn't bleed but I still couldn't sit up.

War zone images imprinted in my mind, rendering me useless... again.

My hand coiled around her body, pulling her closer. Her warmth knocked me out of my frigid dream and thawed me into reality.

"It was a... was a sleep terr... orr," I said, dragging back my vulnerability from spilling more truth. Zemira didn't sign up for this.

She pressed herself over my body, patting my back and gently swaying me from side to side. She cupped my face, staring into my eyes. Her smile soothed more than the sounds of crashing ocean waves through the white noise machine. On her knees, she sat for long, waiting for my recovery.

The episode faded, shrivelling into a ball, a dot, into nothing. My mind adjusted to the reality of my room. I was home. I was safe.

"You had an episode." Zemira ran her cold knuckles over my face and swiped her palm over my drenched forehead. "Do you have any medication for it?"

She looked around my room before fastening her grip over my sides. Her honeyed tone was the pacemaker that calmed my heartbeats into submission. It pacified my heaving chest, my flared breaths.

"No. I don't..."

"You want something? She looked around. "Perhaps water?"

How was she so calm?

Upon my nod, she handed me a glass, pouring it to the brim. I washed it down quickly, asking for more. Parched, I finished the entire jug within seconds.

The recurrence of a PTSD episode was hardly new. It continued for so long that I lost count of the years and the duration of its torture. Despite its hold, it never faded quicker than today.

"Okay, Leo, I'll be in my room. Please call me if you need anything."

"Stay..." Reflex action sprang up. I held Zemira's elbow before she could escape the borders of my bed. I crumbled under the desperate need for company. "Please, can you stay with me tonight?"

Without pondering for a moment, she slid under the covers, patting my side. I aligned next to her, descending into my pillow. Her droopy eyelids confirmed I woke her up from her slumber.

She patted the side of my face, rubbing the back of her fingers over my jawline. The want of a human touch made me hold her retracting hand, intertwining with mine. Zemira's smile and eased blinking were the last I remembered before my eyelids grew heavy, pulled into a dreamless sleep.

The phone alarm chimed beside my bed, alerting me of the time. 

It was six and though the blinds were closed shut, a soft beam of sunlight escaped in. I shut my device, pulling off my cover when the stirrings of someone beside me dragged up fresh memories.

I turned to face the other side of the bed. Zemira's face cradled over her clasped palms - a barrier between the pillow and her cheek. 

Her dewy face covered with a soft smile make me lean back into the bed. It was like a commercial, watching her emit soft moans as she happily trotted around in dreamland.

Zemira's eyelids fluttered when I straightened. Any moment on the bed caused her to stir in her sleep. She seemed to be a light sleeper. 

Sliding, inches after another, I rose from the bed and walked into the washroom. Coldwater splashing from the shower was the punch required to toss away any remnants of the nightmare.

After cleaning up, I walked back into my room. My usual routine was to get dressed, chug my caffeine and leave for the office. As I walked into my closet, my peripheral vision registered Zemira still sleeping on the bed. 

That sight disrupted my routine. I stood at my place with no recollection of time, watching her sleep.

This was the first time Zemira came inside my bedroom. Our formal arrangement had me send her off into her room but that changed yesterday. Without even asking, she came to help me.

I had seen in other's eyes, how night terrors changed their perception of me. Seeing a strong man crumble had many a woman troubled. They would strap on their Miss Fix-it hat and try to talk about it or recount how someone from somewhere had it too.

I expected Zemira to attune to the same but she didn't. For her help and kindness, I drowned in gratitude.

Donning my office attire, I grabbed my stuff when yet another soft stirring turned me over to her side.

My mind was split into two. One part of me badly wanted to move back to bed and rest beside her. That was saying something because over the years, once I was up, I couldn't be tempted by the comforts of sleep. 

Still, it was the rational part of my mind which called me out.

Ours was a ticking arrangement and once it was over Zemira would find someone who could love her without his issues. It was also the same section of my mind that made me walk away from the bedroom and from the enchantment that she created, even in her sleep.

I liked leaving notes for her and it seemed, she loved receiving them because there were never to be found anywhere. I pulled up another sheet, going old school like my mother and writing down a message for her.

In my defence, it was Zemira who started it when she abandoned me at the hotel. This was me, returning the gesture. 

As I walked away, sliding the note behind the magnetic stamps that decorated the fridge, a voice inside my head questioned my intentions.

Was I merely returning the gesture? Or was I trying to create something new?

Was I trying to take the next step to move on?

That thought scared me more than any sleep terror.

~

The first step is always the hardest. The first ask for help is always the most difficult. But then again, so are all subsequent ones, till you find its reciprocation.

This is just a small part of what many military personnel and veterans undergo.

I'm sorry if this triggered anyone. I hope you find the help and the right people to get through it.