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"Are you okay?" I asked, placing a hand on his back. He nodded, but I could tell he was still shaken. "It was just a nightmare," I remind him, trying to soothe him.
He took a deep breath and nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know," he said, his voice rough. "Sorry for waking you up."
"Don't be sorry," I said, feeling a surge of protectiveness. "I'm here for you, always."
He gave me a small smile, and I could see the gratitude in his eyes. "Thanks, Becca," he said, leaning in to kiss me. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
I wrap my arms around him, holding him close. "You don't have to do anything without me," I said, feeling my heart swell with affection for this man. "I'm here, always."
We stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other. Eventually, he pulled away and got out of bed, heading to the bathroom. I heard running water and knew he was splashing his face, washing his fear and his pain, and his anxiety away.
I lay back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I knew that Hunter's nightmares wouldn't go away overnight, but I was determined to be there for him every step of the way.
He made his way out of the bathroom and back to the bed, his steps dragging on the floor as he walked like his body was too heavy for his legs to carry, or maybe his burden was dragging him down.
He got into bed and flipped the sheets over his legs. I snuggled into him and placed my head on his chest. His heartbeat had slowed down, it felt almost stable now. I ran my hands over his chest, to provide simple comforting touches as the article had said.
After his first nightmare, I had gone on the internet and learned all I could about it, reading up at night on ways to help him, on how to be just there for him, maybe I could get him to talk about it or maybe he would talk about it. All the articles agreed that talking helped. I wished he would open up to me, that he would trust me enough to let me be there for him.
He buried his face in my hair and wrapped his arms around me tight.
"Did I hurt you?" He asked softly.
"No," I replied simply. "And even if you had, it's not your fault Hunter."
"Don't say that. I never want to hurt you, do you understand?" He replied fiercely. I snuggled into him again, wondering at how he could be so good. Worrying about hurting me when he was hurting himself. Maybe I truly was in love with him. Maybe I should tell him about the baby, too.
But now would be the worst time, so I shied away from it and promised to tell him another time, in another moment, when the time was perfect.
"It's okay," I said softly, rubbing his back. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He shook his head. "It's just...the war," he muttered, his grip on me tightening. "Sometimes it feels like I'm still there."
"What about the war?" I asked. If he could get it off his chest and let me bear the burden with him, it would be a portal to trust.
He hesitated at first, not wanting to share what had caused his nightmare. He was silent for so long that I thought he had fallen asleep on me. I lifted my head off his chest and looked up at him. His eyes were far away.
"Can we not talk about it?" He asked when he finally looked down at me.
"Hunter, I promise, all I want is to be there, to listen, and to help you heal, what is haunting you?" I asked softly.
He chuckled, his face twisting weirdly in the light. He wasn't amused.
"It's not so easy as you think Becca, I don't want you disappointed when they don't go away and I'm not some charity case to be helped, for you to try your hand at nursing, I'll be fine," he rasped out.
I sat up fast, a ferocious look on my face, my eyes fiery as I looked at him.
"I've never thought of you as a charity case Hunter, I think you're a strong man, I watched you love Mark even with all you've been through, I'm certain he doesn't even know about your nightmares, you're no charity case and you insult me and yourself by even suggesting that I think you are, so please, just stop."
He nodded, his arms tightening about me again as he pulled me closer, bent his head, and placed a tender kiss on my forehead. I put my head against his chest and decided to stop probing. He would tell me when he was ready.
So, I was surprised when he started whispering. "It's... it's about the war," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The things I saw... the things I did... I can't shake them off. Sometimes they come back to haunt me, even in my sleep."
He started to open up about his experiences in the war. His voice was strained, and his hands were shaking as he told me about the things he had seen and done. My heart broke for him as I listened, feeling his pain as if it were my own.
"I don't know Becca, they're flashes, like fast reels just playing over and over in my head, the shots, the shells, screaming, people shouting, then silence as someone else died, it's a wild, dirty song," he said quietly, his voice was choked with emotion, his vulnerability plain to hear.
I listened intently as he recounted his experience serving in the military, his voice repressing tears at times. I could hear the pain and anguish etched in his voice as he spoke. It broke my heart to see him like this.
