Book 3: Saving Scars {BoyxBoy}

Chapter 14

The knock on the door startled Emmet from his restless sleep, jolting him awake so he sat straight up on the couch, heart racing in fear from the remnants of his previous nightmare. Calming considerably, he let out a heavy sigh, raising a hand and running his fingers through his hair, wincing from how sore he felt.

Ben had said before not to fall asleep in chairs or on the couch, but it wasn't like Emmet chose it. After having another panic attack the previous night, he kind of just passed out where he landed. The scars stretched across his back were incredibly sore and his muscles were stiff, but he ignored the burn as he stood up from the couch.

His eyes raked over the mess he'd made, and he set his hand on his forehead as he shook his head. Shattered glass was strewn across the floor, pieces stained in blood. Looking at his hands told him how that had happened. A few chairs were overturned, there were scuff marks along the wall, and the curtains blew in from a broken window.

Another knock shook him from his thoughts, and he muttered to himself as he made his way towards the door. Hopefully Anthony hadn't come to harass him. If he had it wouldn't' end as planned, as Anthony would just revert back to his secret mommy mode, lecturing Emmet and forcing him to sit down as he cleaned up the mess and mended his injuries. It had happened before, more than once.

After returning from overseas, Emmet had stayed with Anthony, so he wasn't alone while he was healing, and so Anthony could help him, but back then his PTSD and panic was much worse. Anthony was used to dealing with Emmet's break downs, but that didn't mean he liked seeing Emmet like that. No one wants to see their big brother huddled in a corner with a knife because they're convinced they're still in the war.

Emmet shook the thoughts away before unlocking the door and pulling it open, instantly freezing as the horrible feeling roiled in his chest, his stomach lurching from the demented memories. Standing there was a rather tall man, around Emmet's height, if not a bit shorter. His hair, which Emmet remembered once was a dark brown, was now lighter, flecked with grey.

The familiar military buzz cut it was in was standard procedure; but that bit of stubble around his jaw line was something you'd usually be penalized for. The once piercing brown eyes were now faded in both color and intensity, and the skin around his face was wrinkled from frowning and worry. His lips were pulled into a tight frown, but despite how haunted his gaze was, he held himself high like a true officer, wearing jeans, worn combat boots, and a Seabees T-shirt.

Emmet swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes from that familiar gaze. Out of habit, he stood straighter, his right hand rising in a salute he hadn't preformed in years. The man just chuckled, shaking his head.

"No need for that, soldier. You were discharged."

"I'm still a marine, Sir," Emmet said, not lowering his arm.

This time the man let out a soft laugh, nodding, "There we go," he returned the salute, "Are you busy? I'd like to talk to you."

Emmet lowered his arm, giving a nod and stepping to the side, allowing his old commanding officer entrance into his apartment. He noted the heavy limp he walked with, but said nothing as he shut the door behind him and watched him limp to a chair and sit down, hissing through his teeth and rubbing his knee.

His brown eyes moved around the room, a frown settling on his lips as he looked up at Emmet, who had grabbed a broom, "Nightmares?"

"I wasn't sleeping," Emmet replied simply as he began sweeping up the shattered glass, "Where'd you get your limp?"

The man scoffed, glaring at his leg, "Discharged from a chopper. Not planned, no parachute. There years ago," he looked up again, "How are you, Emmet?"