The first week he returned home, he began to notice a fuzzy feeling in his head. After that, the flash backs started. The women, the children, the fellow soldiers next to his mind, hell even the men he killed. They all continued to flash in his mind. But at night it got worse, he’d be laying next to his beautiful fiance and he felt as if he reached out she’d turn to him and be like the other’s blame him for what happened. Hell one night he woke up and she spoke to him, blamed him for everything, for being away their inability to start a family because he was so distant and when he blinked again she had been fast asleep. He was increasingly agitated, and the only solace he found was at the bottom of an empty glass. Each night he’d walk down the street to the bar and spend pretty much his entire pay check weekly in booze, trying to find some sort of escape. The only time the flashbacks stopped was when he blacked out, so now almost every night he was blacked out, the days were beginning to blend and his health was declining. But most of all he wasn’t talking to Dahlia despite laying in their bed each night. The hangover he felt that morning was worse than the other’s his typical headache was starting to become in almost migraine proportions. As he stumbled his way to the kitchen still in last night’s clothes he fumbled with the coffee maker until it gave him a cup of the blackest coffee possible and leaning against their counter for support his back was to her as he sipped the coffee hoping the caffeine would help the pounding in his head. @ravenousdiaster