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I woke up, groaning, and slowly opened my eyes. The bedside clock revealed that I had overslept by two hours already. As I sat up on the bed, I couldn't help but notice the scratches on my arm. None of them were grave, but a couple of them drew thin lines of blood.
You see, here is the thing about monsters, I learned. You think you slew them and be done with, but some of them are still lurking inside your head. And these are the worse ones you have to fight every day.
And fighting with the monsters in your head is a lot tougher than the ones we had killed. I woke up with the scars from the nights to prove that the battle was far from over.
Last night was one of those nights.
Almost a year into my marriage, and I was still slaying the demons of my wife. She woke up screaming and thrashing against me, and I held down her down with all my might.
By the time Mia stopped crying, her body was trembling from the shock of the nightmares. No matter how firmly I rooted her to me, she still writhed and clawed at my arms.
The last time it happened, it was one month and thirteen days ago.
A nagging sound of running water percolated into my mind and snapped me out of my reverie as I made my way into the bathroom. And just like I had feared, Mia was sitting naked, crossed feet, on the floor of the shower cubicle while the water poured over her.
"Mia!" In a few long strides, I reached and turned down the shower, quickly wrapping a towel around her. "Are you trying to die on me?" I growled, both in fear and anger, as I pressed her body against me.
Her skin has gone completely pale and terribly cold under the stream of water as she shivered against me. It reminded me of all those times when I had first brought her home. I would bathe her, feed her, and tuck her frail body into the comforter every night until she found the strength to do it herself.
Given the opportunity, I would probably do it every fucking day of our life if she'd let me, but not at the cost of the voidness in her eyes.
"I am sorry," she faintly whispered when I had carried her into the bedroom and turned up the heat.
With a sigh and heavy heart, I cupped her chin and laid a soft kiss over her lips. "I don't need your sorry, kitten. I need to—I want to—see you happy."
I heard her let out an exhale. "I met a rape victim two days ago," she told me slowly. "She was narrating her experience, and somehow—" her voice began to crack, "it matched mine. I think it triggered the nightmare."
I immediately pulled her into me, tightly and almost crushingly because I knew my wife wouldn't complain. "Mia, I have never stopped you for anything," I told her solemnly. "But if this whole helping-out-other-victims drags you down to hell, I don't care if I am an asshole husband, I will not let out of this house."
