Short Stories-a mess of a collection

Survivor's Guilt

Pre-reading warning ⚠️—-mentions of PTSD read at your own risk

"Wake up!" the desperation rasping through his grip on her neck. "Eric! Wake up! You're ok! You're not there anymore. You are home. You're safe!"
He shot up off of her and went across the room, beginning to pace the short length of the space. Repeatedly mumbling incoherently to himself.
"Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. I did it again."
"Eric, I'm fine. Come sit down with me. It's ok. I'm okay. Look, calm down and come sit with me," she coaxed.
"I don't understand why you stay with me."
"Because I understand. I understand how hard it is to deal with PTSD"
"And how? Huh? How do you know? Because you were here. You weren't over there with all the fighting. And I don't understand how you are okay with the fact that almost just killed you while I was asleep."
"I do understand! I was there! I was! Before we started dating. I-I didn't want to—I just want to—I didn't think..."
"What are you trying to say? Just spit it out. You what?"
"I wanted to forget. I didn't want to talk about it."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"My platoon. The war. My deployment. I never wanted to even think about it again. And yet here we are. Because you didn't believe me when I said I understood."
"What are you getting at here?"
"My platoon was ambushed!" she snapped at him. "Ok? There I said it. Happy? Now do you get why I understand? Here how about I make it easier!?" She pauses to gather herself and stood on front of him making frantic hand movements along with the story. "My platoon was ambushed. In the middle of a stakeout. There was no reason to believe we were in any danger. And yet I had to watch my best friend die. Right in front of me. You know what happened out there?" She paused, taking a breath to steady her voice. "They killed all of them. Every. Single. One of them. My friends, Eric. My friends. They were all killed in front of me! I am the only one who survived. I wake up almost every night in a cold sweat, sobbing, panicking, thinking that I'm back there again." At this point she had gone from yelling at him to sobbing. "And and I don't wake you because I know you're tired and dealing with your own relapses. I just - I don't know what to do."
"It's survivor's guilt," he mumbled
"What?"
"What you're feeling, it's survivor's guilt." He was suddenly overcome with shame for yelling at her. "Come 'ere," he gestured her towards the bed from where she had stood in front of him, her body shaking with sobs. She slowly sat down next to him on their shared bed, trying to compose herself. It wasn't like her to breakdown or open up about her feelings. She's masked it for so long that she almost forgot that it's there. Almost.
"I'm sorry," He continued, "I didn't know. You know it's all right to wake me? I'll be fine."
"No. It's not. You need sleep and—"
"So do you"
"You're a doctor. You patients need you all rested up"
"And so are you. For gods sake I'm a dentist. I'll be fine. But you. You are a surgeon. And a damn good one at that. But you need to know that I am here for you. I am right here. And I don't plan on leaving you anytime soon, Allison . As long as you stay with me too."
"I-ok."