24
Christian
“Hey, man. Can you meet me at the sober house?” I called my sponsor as I drove down the highway, headed toward a little area outside Los Angeles in the foothills.
When I met Julian and started to go to my appointments at the VA, they connected me with this group of individuals who also had some military trauma. Over the years, we all became close and bought a house together. It would be used every so often when each of us was triggered. It was secluded, and we had a therapist and a doctor on call when we needed them. The best thing for us was to sometimes escape to solitude to fix what we needed and then come back to reality.
“Yes, heading there now.”
My sponsor happened to actually be one of the guys in my old unit. He worked under me for a couple of years before transferring to the West Coast, where he finished his career. We didn’t know much about each other’s personal lives. I didn’t have social media and purposely asked Julian and James not to look into him. I didn’t want to make any judgments about what he had done, just as I had hoped he would have done the same with me. He was always there for me when I needed him—night or day.
After a couple of hours, I finally pulled into the house and noticed that my sponsor was already there.
I grabbed my bag and headed into the home. A group of four of us—John, Patrick, Stephen, and myself—worked together to make this place happen.
The quaint place was in the middle of a forest and had a long gravel driveway leading up to the main house. There was a small guesthouse on the property, but the main house was modern, dark black, and deep cherry wood.
It was a bit ominous to the naked eye, but it felt like a place where I could unwind.
I walked up the steps leading to the front door and used the key to open it.
“Hey, brother, I’m in the back.” I heard my sponsor pipe up and then smelled coffee. It felt like I was in an AA meeting again. I knew it was a sign that we would be up for a while. It was already well into the middle of the night when I left Maeve alone in the house before I called Julian to tell him where I was headed. I begged him not to tell her. I grabbed a mug and went to the back porch.
It was a wraparound wooden porch that extended well into the woods. There were a couple of grills and a beverage fridge filled with sparkling water out here, but otherwise, there were a few chairs and a roaring fire that my friend sat next to.
“Come sit.” Stephen was a tall guy with short brown hair. In the service, he was always the quiet one, but he had mentioned that since getting out, he feels like he found his purpose in volunteering at the local VA.
“We haven't been here in a while. I was worried about you when you called.” His low voice was soothing.
“I fucked up tonight, and then I think I fucked up even worse,” I confessed, grasping onto the mug. It wasn’t particularly cold, but there was more of a chill in the hills than on the coast.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“I met someone, man,” I admitted and stared straight down. My thoughts started spiraling, so I focused on the liquid inside the mug to make them stop.
“That’s good, Christian.” I looked up at him, and he only laughed. “When most people say they’ve met someone, it’s usually good.”
“We both know I’m not like most people.” I sighed. “I didn’t expect that I would actually like her. She has a really shitty ex, and we are supposed to be fake dating, but somewhere down the line, I think I started to have real feelings for her.” I lean back in the chair and look up at the stars in the sky.
“When I stopped drinking, I think I just replaced that feeling by fucking women. It just got really bad, and now that this feels different, I feel really out of sorts.”
“I get it. When I got out and got sober, I went to clubs obsessively, which wasn’t healthy in any way because I was surrounded by drunk people and alcohol. It was an addiction, though. I would go to day clubs, night clubs, all day raves. It wasn’t until I actually fixed the problem inside that my taste and need for addiction stopped.”
Stephen reached over and gave my shoulder a quick pat.
“I don’t think you’ve ever processed what happened to you over there.”
I shook my head because I hated when the moments started to permeate my mind.
“You gotta talk about it.” Stephen encouraged.
“You were there. Why do I have to?”
“Because our minds process trauma in many different ways.”
I put the mug down and closed my mind, envisioning what happened that day.
It was 2021, and we found ourselves on the front lines of a scorching war zone. The sun beat down relentlessly, intensifying the already oppressive heat. I could feel the weight of my plate carrier vest pressing against my uniform. We arrived at the back of a small town, its low-rising homes mostly reduced to rubble by previous bombings. Despite the destruction, we spotted a few children playing with some women, indicating that our target might still be present.
As the team leader of a special forces MARSOC unit, I had a clear objective: apprehend the assailant. It seemed like a straightforward mission. Nothing should have gone wrong. I had briefed my team of four men on the specific doors we would breach upon arrival. We had executed similar operations five times already during this deployment. The procedure was standard. Our target was known for terrorizing villages by committing atrocities such as rape, child abduction, and trafficking. He held a high position within a terrorist organization, which initially prompted our deployment. However, we all knew our true purpose was to protect the women and children of this community.
Previous intelligence informed us of the precise time our target would be home. We avoided using names, as it helped to maintain a necessary distance from the individuals behind these heinous crimes. We simply referred to him as "Target A" since he was the sole focus of today's operation.
The vehicles came to a stop, and we exited our transport. The driver remained with the vehicle, waiting for our return. Once we completed our mission, we would rendezvous with him farther down the street.
"Move to the left, Peters and Walsh," I directed, glancing over at my friend Stephen. I noticed that the house we were targeting stood on the town's outskirts. This worked to our advantage, as our presence would be less conspicuous in these deserted streets leading up to Target A's backyard.
"We'll take the east-facing door," Stephen suggested. His marksmanship skills surpassed even mine, making him the ideal choice for the riskier approach, while the other team members covered the rear of the house where no one was expected to be.
The yard appeared empty, devoid of any immediate threats. As we moved toward the door, the absence of onlookers and the tension of the situation dispelled any lingering Hollywood-inspired illusions. These moments unfolded swiftly and without unnecessary drama. In a single second, the chemistry of our brains could shift, altering the lives of entire families.
As we prepared to breach the door, Stephen positioned himself, hand poised to push it open, his weapon at the ready. I followed closely, fully focused on the task at hand. Suddenly, a deafening explosion erupted, shaking the surroundings with tremendous force.
A persistent ringing invaded my ears, accompanied by the all-too-familiar sounds of distant gunfire. I was thrown off balance, my limbs trembling. The ringing grew louder, tunneling my vision as I desperately searched for Stephen. How did this happen? Where were my men? I turned to my left and saw Stephen clutching his injured hand. Though disoriented, I mustered the strength to crawl toward him, reassured by the absence of any visible bleeding on my own body.
"We need to get up," I urged, trying to shake him out of his shock. His expression remained blank, devoid of emotion. "We need to check on the others," I repeated, and he nodded, both of us grasping at the scorching desert sand. I radioed for backup, requesting immediate assistance from the team in the car. They were to arrive within two minutes. The next one hundred and twenty seconds felt like an eternity.
Finally able to stand, I surveyed the aftermath—a shattered building, rocks and debris strewn everywhere. I tore off a piece of my uniform sleeve and used it to stanch the bleeding from Stephen's gnarly gash. It frustrated me to be the fortunate bastard who escaped unscathed. This was my mission, my responsibility. It should have been me injured.
As I rose to my feet, a sinking feeling settled in my gut, anticipating the grim scene awaiting us. Gripping my weapon tightly, I motioned for Stephen to follow. "I've got your back, Christian," he assured me, and I nodded in acknowledgment as we cautiously navigated through the dusty ruins. We maneuvered past fragments of furniture, barely recognizable in their destroyed state. Walking through what used to be a hallway, I reached the threshold where a door had once stood, and an immediate wave of nausea washed over me. The room beyond held the grim aftermath of a dozen lives, motionless and lacking any hope. Turning toward a corner, I couldn't hold back the urge to vomit, and I watched as Stephen, too, succumbed to the sickness rising within us.
"We need to check for survivors," I stated with a heavy heart, and Stephen simply nodded, his movements sluggish. Death was an ever-present companion in war, but the sight of so many lives extinguished in a single room was unfathomable. We hastened to examine each body, hoping against hope for signs of life, but deep down, we knew the truth. There was no one left to save.
"We have to go check on the others," I muttered as the sounds of our backup team filled the streets. Some men approached, offering their assistance, searching for any survivors they could find. We made our way to the rear of the compound, where a large trap had been set. Stephen cautiously approached, only to recoil in horror with tears streaming down his face. It confirmed my worst fears. My men were gone. I peered into the pit, and the same visceral reaction consumed me.
Bile rose in my throat, and the words escaped in a choked whisper. This was my fault. As their leader, I should have prepared them better, not simply assuming this mission would be like any other convoy. It was my responsibility to ensure their safety, and now I would have to bear the burden of informing their families that they wouldn't be returning home from deployment. It was my fault that an entire room of innocent women fell victim to unspeakable crimes, their lives brutally stolen away.
Please, let this nightmare end. I begged silently, pleading with forces beyond my control. Please, make it stop. The weight of those faces, the echoes of their screams, and the haunting memories of the entire deployment were etched into my soul, an indelible mark I would never forget.
"Christian." Stephen's voice trembled as he shook me gently, his hands gripping my shirt. "You're safe now."
I blinked, taking in my surroundings—the familiar trees, the wooden deck, and the crackling fire before me. Slowly, I took a series of deep breaths, allowing myself to settle back into my seat while Stephen sat beside me.
"I can't remember anything that happened after that day," I confessed, my voice tinged with a mix of confusion and frustration. Following the incident, they transported us to Germany, the nearest and largest hospital. That portion of my life remained a hazy blur, like a fragmented dream I couldn't piece together.
"You didn't speak for weeks. Everyone was worried about you." Stephen spoke in a hushed tone, his concern palpable. "I was worried about you, boss."
"It messed up my marriage," I admitted, the weight of regret heavy in my words. "I loved her, but it was more like a friendship when I left. Coming home, I was already too far gone to make it work."
"When I got out and started clubbing right away, I fell into a deep depression, too," Stephen revealed, his voice filled with vulnerability. "I felt lost without the military. But I got clean, and I was only a few years sober when you asked me to be your sponsor."
"I couldn't think of anyone better suited for the job," I said, offering Stephen a grateful smile, appreciating the bond we had forged through the years.
We sat there in silence, and I swear I could see the first rays of dawn painting the horizon. We must have been out here all night.
"I think I need to spend a few days out here to reset myself," I finally said, realizing the necessity of stepping back and finding my center.
"That sounds like a good idea. But when you go home, you have to be ready to face her, have those difficult conversations, and open yourself up," Stephen advised, his words carrying wisdom. I nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words, and Stephen assured me that he would connect us with our emergency therapist, who had helped us during our time up here.
“On a lighter note, I got married.”
“No way. I wish you would have said that earlier. It would have prevented me from rehashing the worst day of my life.” I half laughed.
“Same guy you’ve been with for a while?” Stephen nodded, and I got up and gave him a big congratulatory hug. “I think I’m going to use some of the schooling we got to enlist in college too.”
“Dude, that is amazing.” Stephen nodded.
“I gotta head back.” I nodded. “You’ll be okay?” Stephen looked concerned.
“I’ll be good. The therapist will come later, and we’ll work things out.”
“Need me to call anyone?” Part of the rules of this place was that no phones were allowed. Even if we wanted to use them, we pulled the cell tower nearby so we couldn’t.
“I got it covered, but thanks.” I gave him one last hug before he headed out, and I was stuck in the quiet forest alone.
“I’ll do this for us, Maeve.” I declared, gazing up at the stars for a final moment before the rising sun engulfed them, heralding a new day and a fresh opportunity to become a better version of myself.