Page 75 of Beautiful Beast

That’s when bad things happen.

Things that I need to shield Belle from because she’s so precious to me.

“Seeing all those kids get shot in the head…” Briggs continues even though I just want him to shut up. “Jesus, man, it was straight out of a fucking nightmare. And then we rushed in when we shouldn’t have, and the next thing I know my best buddy is being thrown from a blast with people trying to fucking shoot him. Something snapped in my head. And I’m still trying to mend it.”

We were trying to save them, and we were way too late.

We stormed the area and did what we were trained to do. But we were on their turf and they were prepared for us.

Waiting for us.

Amazingly, we’re not all dead.

I was in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of my surroundings and crippling pain before passing out again.

But the glimpses of the broken and battered little bodies, all in pieces, kept sneaking into my field of vision while Briggs was getting me out.

And I’ll never be able to forget.

Mental health isn’t something soldiers talk about much even though you can’t see and do the things we have without being affected.

We’re strong men, but we’re still men.

And as much as we try to be stoic machines so we can just keep fighting, just keep going, just stay alive, eventually, the tide overwhelms you when you least expect it.

I grip the countertop so hard that my hands ache, breathing deeply and forcing myself to remember that I’m in my kitchen in New York City and not in Syria.

The smell of blood, burning, and ammonium nitrate never leaves my nostrils.

Jesus.

“Are you… How are things with April?” I manage.

He hasn’t mentioned his live-in girlfriend, and I’m starting to think it’s by design.

“She moved out,” Briggs admits. “Said I came home too different and am not the same man who went to Syria. Not the same man she fell in love with.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s probably better that I’m alone right now anyway. And I’m not so sure I’ll go back out in the field. You might need to hire me, man.”

“Any time, my friend.”

We spend a few hours talking about everything except dead babies in foreign hell holes, but my dreams are undoubtedly going to be full of them. Some images can’t be scrubbed away no matter how hard you try.

Briggs is on his way out the door with a promise to check in again soon just as Belle and Buster are arriving. She had a team-building activity after work this evening, so it’s much later than we’d usually hang out.

But I still wanted to see her.

I’ve known Briggs since we were teenagers – he was one of the scholarship kids at my prep school – and he gives me a look that says a thousand words.

The loudest of which is, why the hell aren’t you locking her down?

I wish, man. I wish.

“It’s so nice to see you again,” Belle says. “Adam always mentions that he has real friends, but it’s so hard to believe it. How much is he paying you?”

“Not enough,” Briggs returns. “He’s hell to put up with, so I’m asking for a raise.”

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