Battle Scars

Prologue

"How does it feel to be coming home?"

The therapist's voice is gentle, too gentle like she's trying not to scare me off as if I'm some caged animal shes not trying to startle. I force a small smile, trying to look more confident than I feel. "It feels... good," I say, keeping my voice steady. "Like I can finally start over."

She studies me, pen hovering above her notepad, waiting for more. But I'm not giving her more. I'm not about to sit here and spill my guts to a stranger who thinks a few sessions of deep breathing and talking about my "feelings" will fix everything.

The truth? The truth is I didn't choose to come home. I didn't come back because I was ready. I came back because I had to. Because staying would have meant losing more of myself than I already had. I left pieces of me in places I'll never be able to return to, tied to memories I can't seem to outrun. But I've been building walls my whole life, and those walls are all that's holding me together right now.

"Change can be difficult," she presses. "It's okay to admit if you're feeling uncertain."

"Yeah." I look down at the carpet, focusing on the dull pattern. It's easier than looking her in the eyes. "But I'm ready for it."

Except, I'm not. Not even a little. Moving in with Nate after everything feels... complicated. He's my older brother, the one person who's always been there, the one who could read me without asking. And now, I'm supposed to protect him from all of this. From why I really cut my time in the military short. From the mess I'm carrying around in my head.

I can't let Nate know. He already has enough on his plate. I'm supposed to be the strong one, the one who has it all figured out. And I can't let my problems become his. Not now, not ever.

The therapist finally starts writing, her pen scratching softly against the notepad. "Are you prepared to face what comes next?" she asks, looking up with that curious tilt to her head.

I take a slow breath, tightening my grip on the arm of the chair. "I guess I'll find out," I mutter, my voice barely above a whisper.

But in my mind, I'm not sure of anything. Home isn't just a place; it's a reminder of everything I can't forget. And the longer I wear this mask, the harder it gets to take it off.

I smile at her again, even though it feels like the most forced thing in the world. I've gotten good at lying to people. But the biggest lie I've told is the one I keep repeating to myself: that I'm going to be fine.

Because deep down, I'm not sure if I ever will be.