Purple Heart | Demi Lovato

6

Wilmer

I had never lost control like that before. I had never lashed out like that. The image of Demi's shocked and terrified expression would haunt me for the rest of my life. The sound of her body hitting the floor would play through my head until the day I died. I didn't want to leave, but her broken plea didn't give me an option not to.

I was a weak man.

Only weak, cowardly men hit women. Only men who were out of control, and needed psychiatric help hit women.

I stayed in the driveway for a long time, sitting in my truck for the next three hours until I decided it had been a safe amount of time to wait.

I walked in the darkened house, not making a sound or turning a single light on. I felt like a stranger, like I was not welcome.

I found Demi asleep on the couch, curled into herself under a blanket. She had washed her makeup off, so there was nothing to hide her bruising cheek.

I dropped to my knees in front of her sleeping form, and reached out, slowly trailing my fingertips over the satin smooth skin of her cheek that was gradually turning purple. The pattern was in an almost exact fit of my hand. I bowed my head, leaning forward until my forehead touched the couch, a dry, silent sob making my shoulders shake.

I raised my head and inhaled slowly through my nose, staring at Demi's face.

I was wearing her down to the bone.

Anyone could see the exhaustion on her face. It takes more than a few days to bring this kind of tiredness. It takes months. It takes months and months of sleepless nights and worrying to bring a woman to this kind of exhaustion.

Like staying with your husband through two deployments and having him come back to you with three bullet holes in his body.

I slowly moved so I was sitting next to her on the couch, and Demi shifted in her sleep at the movement. She leaned towards me, sliding down until her head touched my shoulder. A small groan sounded, and she pushed herself towards me, snuggling into my body. I sighed, and then wrapped my arms around her, effectively waking her up as I held her against me.

"What?" She murmured, opening her eyes and squinting up at me.

"Demi." I breathed out, shaking my head as my eyes landed on her cheek again. "I am so sorry."

She jerked suddenly, trying to get out of my hold. "Don't touch me."

"I'm sorry." I dropped my hands instantly. "I'm so sorry."

"Please." She whimpered, scrambling back on the couch. "Please don't come near me."

The blanket had fallen, and I saw the bruises on her arm from hitting the floor, since she was wearing a tank top.

"Demi-"

"No." She shook her head. "No you don't get to say anything until you talk to someone else. You don't get to tell me you're sorry until you show me that you are."

My heart broke as I raised my hand to run it through my hair but she flinched, a strangled sound coming through her mouth.

"Baby-"

"No." She shook her head, and I saw her lower lip begin to tremble. "I'm not your baby. I'm not anything to you until you get help. I swear to God Wilmer, if you don't... You'll lose me."

"I'm sorry."

"Show me then."

I looked down and let out a deep breath. "Okay. I will. I'll go to therapy. Anything you want or need me to do I'll do."

"It's not just to appease me." She breathed. "I need you to take it seriously. You're not acting like yourself. You're not acting like my Wilmer."

"I will."

I would. If this was what she wanted me to do, I'd do it.

"Do you love me?"

I blinked a few times. "What?"

A few tears rolled down her cheeks and she shook her head. "Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

She sighed heavily and looked down at her hands. "You haven't said it to me since that night in D.C."

I felt another crack go through my heart and I shook my head. "I l-"

"I don't want you to just say it because I want you to." She murmured. "I want you to show me, and then say it."

"Okay." I whispered, and closed my eyes, hanging my head. "I'm sorry."

"Goodnight."

She stood up, gathering the blanket around herself, and walked past me.

"Goodnight." I said, not lifting my head. 

~*~

"So... Why have you come here today?"

I pressed my fingertips together as I stared at the therapist in front of me. "I wake up and try to strangle my wife."

"Because you're having reoccurring nightmares about your time spent in Afghanistan."

"Not nightmares."

She cocked her head, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"

"You can wake up from nightmares." I stated, leaning back in the chair. "I wake up... and they're still all right there."

"What is?"

I shrugged. "The people I killed, the things I did. All of it stares me in the face and constantly reminds me of what happened."

"What happened?"

I stiffened. "I don't want to talk about it."

"This is what you came here to do." She smiled gently. "What happened over there Wilmer? This is a safe space, and you are safe here to talk with me."

"I can't talk about that yet. I can't do it."

"Okay." She looked down at the folder in her hands. "Why don't you tell me about Demi? Does she know you're coming here?"

"Yes." I swallowed hard. "It was an ultimatum. Come here, or she'd leave me."

"And why is that? What made her come to that decision?"

"I..." My voice sounded strangled. "I got angry... She was too close. I was just so angry, everything went black and I felt someone grab my arm and I just swung." I shook my head. "I slapped her across the face and threw her to the ground. A week before, she tried to wake me up when I was having a... flashback, and I almost strangled her. Before that I put her in a chokehold. It's out of hand."

"What happens in your flashbacks when she wakes you up? What do you see the moment before you open your eyes?"

I swallowed hard and leaned forward, putting my head in my hands.

"I see the child soldier that I killed."

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-Rachel