A Taylor Christmas

Chapter 7 - Cure

6 days to Christmas

**Jordan's POV**

The pain in my head is almost unbearable.

It feels like somebody is constantly taking a sledgehammer to my brain. I haven't even opened my eyes yet. The mere thought to do so is torture.

Is this the concussion I sustained when we were ambushed?

Or the unhealthy amount of alcohol I consumed last night?

Last night.

An involuntary groan escapes my chapped lips as that thought attacks my pained brain cells.

Last night is a blur, at best.

Anything that happened after a couple of hours at the bar that Sam dragged us to, I only remember in fragments.

Did I do something stupid?

Racking my brain to come up with an answer is not a good idea. It feels like someone is shooting small, very pointy darts into my grey matter. I groan again, clearly having no control over the sounds that I make, let alone over the rest of my body.

Am I even at home?

Home.

This time, the stab in my heart overpowers the constant hammering in my head.

You returned home last night, is the message my aching mind is trying to convey.

A strange feeling of comfort suddenly envelops me. My heartbeat that has become rather erratic at the thought of home is slowing down considerably and warmth spreads throughout my battered and bruised body.

Only half-conscious, my hands start to feel around and a small jolt surges up my fingertips when I realize that I am actually lying on a soft, almost bouncy surface. The sensation is familiar yet unexpected as my fingers ball the soft material up in my hands.

Sheets. And a comfortable mattress. Not the artificial, woven material of standard military cots. No sand rubbing against sun-burnt skin.

I am lying in my bed, at home.

As this thought hits me, my eyes fly open only for me to shut them again in an instant.

The lights are too bright, my meanwhile much more conscious mind signals. It hurts, even now, behind closed eyelids. I literally see red. My eyelids from the inside appear to be the color of blood-soaked soil and sunburns and raw meat.

You're insane.

Shut up, mind.

You've got a concussion. That's what the doc told me when we returned to base after the ambush.

The ambush that killed three of my fellow soldiers.

Three of my friends are no longer. It could have been avoided.

If only...

Suddenly, the pain from my head moves into the background again, in direct comparison to the onslaught of pain that takes hold of my already bruised heart.

Don't think about it.

Don't think about it.

Don't think about it.

That's been my go-to-mantra for the past few days. It's what kept me and my other friends alive, despite the shit storm we were right in the middle of. It's what kept me from losing my mind after we miraculously got out. It's what kept me from throwing punches when the CO told us that we will be sent home until further notice.