Page 53 of Pages of My Heart

Thomas

Aguttural scream, thick with fury and fear, shatters the quiet of the night. Thomas bolts upright, body taut and ready to attack. When he realizes the horrific sound is coming from Charlie, he reacts on instinct, reaching out to wake him from his nightmare.

“Charlie, Charlie,” he says, shaking him. “Wake up, it’s—”

The shocking blow to his cheekbone almost causes him to black out, the room tilting dizzyingly before it slowly sets itself right again.

“Fuckin’ get back! Get back! I’ll gut you, ya fuckin’ Nazi scum!”

Thomas receives another blow, this time to his jaw.

The pain is blinding, and he understands now that Charlie has punched him.

Scrambling off the bed out of necessity, Thomas’s eyes finally adjust to the dark and he can see Charlie’s silhouette, thrashing erratically, throwing wild punches with his right arm while his left swings limply at his side.

Charlie’s eyes are open wide, filled with terror and focused on something only he can see.

It’s nothing short of horrifying, and Thomas is clueless as to what he should do.

His head throbs with pain and he feels disoriented, but he’s concerned Charlie might further damage his shoulder if he continues to fight this invisible enemy.

“Charlie, it’s me!” he yells. “Charlie! Darling, you need to wake up. You’re safe here.”

Charlie suddenly falls still, his eyes focused behind Thomas as though he can see straight through him. A snarl appears on Charlie’s face, mouth twisting with disgust. “Fuckin’ filth.”

Thomas inches forward, about to reach out when Charlie suddenly lies back down and closes his eyes, as though nothing has happened.

Thomas isn’t sure if it’s over, so he remains still, his hand hovering uncertainly in mid-air.

Several long minutes pass, and when he’s finally convinced that Charlie is asleep, he becomes aware of his own body shaking violently.

An overwhelming fear rises in his chest, threatening to engulf him as he grapples to understand what he just witnessed.

It was as if Charlie were awake, seeing and actually experiencing things Thomas could not.

Whether a memory or a horrible nightmare, the terror and madness in Charlie’s eyes was very real.

It was like nothing Thomas has ever seen before, and it rocks him to his core.

He sits unmoving on his side of the bed, watching Charlie sleep for a full hour before he feels calm enough to lie down again.

Another thirty minutes pass before he dares to move in closer, gingerly taking Charlie back into his arms. Around dawn, with the first light of day leaking in around the edges of the curtains, he finally succumbs to sleep.

Day 1: Thomas

“Tommy, sweetheart? Tommy?”

Thomas’s eyelids are heavy, and he feels achy and stiff. Exhausted even. And his face . . . he winces. Something is wrong with his face.

“Thomas?”

Charlie’s voice sounds wrong.

“Tommy! Oh my—what the fuck happened to your face? Jesus, Tommy, wake up. Wake up!”

“Charlie?” Thomas blinks, trying to open his eyes.

Charlie’s concerned face slowly comes into focus.

Charlie is touching his cheek so softly.

And then he remembers. “It’s . . . it’s okay.

I’ll be f–fine,” he says, trying to sound reassuring.

“Let’s not let it ruin our first morning together. Come here. Kiss me.”

“Hell no! Tell me what happened to your face!” Charlie’s breath quickens, then he explodes with panic, scrambling frantically out of bed, backing away until he slams hard into the wardrobe and crumples to the floor. “Did I? It wasn't . . . Did I do . . .?”

Charlie’s eyes dart wildly around the room as he pulls his limbs in tight, as if trying to shrink down to nothing. Thomas gets out of bed and moves tentatively forward, then lowers to his knees in front of him.

“It’s okay. You had a nightmare. A terrible one. And you accidentally hit me in your sleep. I’m all right. Please, darling . . . please come here.” Thomas opens his arms, exhaling with relief as Charlie folds into them.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.” Charlie clings on tight with his good arm. “I told you my head is all wrong. I hurt you . . . I can’t believe I hurt you . . .”

“Charlie, I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt,” he lies, rubbing circles on Charlie’s back in an attempt to soothe him. “Let’s put on our robes and I’ll make you a big breakfast. We need to get some meat back on your bones. Then we can work on your exercises.”

Breakfast is a rather subdued affair, and afterwards Thomas finally gets a look at his face in the bathroom mirror when he slips away for a minute to brush his teeth.

It’s swollen and badly bruised, mottled purple and blue down one entire side, from cheek to jawline.

He wants to ask Charlie if he’s had terrible nightmares like that before, but it seems Charlie has no memory of it even happening.

“Tommy, I can’t fuckin’ do this!”

The frustration in Charlie’s voice has Thomas moving swiftly back to their bedroom. He finds Charlie sitting on the bed with his trousers on, but undone, and his shirt sleeve bunched halfway up his left arm.

“I can’t even fuckin’ dress myself. You’re probably gonna have to help me take a piss and a shit, too.”

He helps Charlie into his shirt and then starts on the buttons.

“It won’t always be like this. We’ll work on the exercises until your arm gets better.

In the meantime, I don’t mind helping. Did you mind helping me when I had my episodes?

” Charlie doesn’t respond, so he continues.

“No, you didn’t. You carried me to the bathtub and you washed me, you fed me, you took me to the bathroom.

Hell, you even cleaned the bedsheets when I didn’t make it to the bathroom. Okay, stand up.”

Charlie stands and Thomas tucks his shirt in and fastens Charlie’s pants. He doesn’t comment on how loosely they hang on his hips, just moves across the room to retrieve a belt.

“And what if I never get the use of my arm back? What then? You gonna be my fuckin’ nurse until I die? Does that sound like the kinda life you wanna live? Lookin’ after an invalid?”

He stands silently in front of Charlie, watching anger, hurt, frustration, and humiliation cycle across his face.

Thomas understands, perhaps better than anyone, what it feels like to be a burden, to not be whole, to not be a fully functioning man.

He’s pained that Charlie thinks this of himself, but it also makes him question what Charlie really thinks of him when he’s at his lowest. He quickly pushes the thought away.

“Darling, I want you to get the use of your arm back, and I will do everything I can to help you. But if you don’t, then yes, I will be your nurse every day until the day I die. I don’t care, as long as I get to live my life with you.” Thomas begins threading Charlie’s belt through the loops.

“You say that now, but in a year or two . . .? And what am I going to do for a job, huh? I won’t be able to work at Jimmy’s.

I’m useless. And what do ya think people are gonna say about you?

About you looking after a man? Am I gonna be like some woman sittin’ at home with nothing to do?

What sort of goddamn man is that? I’ll tell you what sort, a fuckin’ worthless one. ”

Thomas’s patience is waning. He’s on the verge of both yelling and crying.

All he cares about is having Charlie home.

And alive. All he wants is to have this time together—sharing meals, making love, talking, listening to their favorite radio shows.

They’ve already lost more than a year! Taking a deep breath to collect himself, he tries again.

“One day at a time. You’re home now. Just talk to me and let me help you, like I know you’d help me. Please don’t push me away.”

Charlie shakes his head, mouth pulling down at the corners. “You’ll never understand.”

It’s the final straw, and Thomas raises his voice. “Well make me understand! I’m your fucking husband, for God’s sake!”

Charlie glares sullenly at him before muttering, “Going for a smoke.”

He pushes past Thomas and out of the bedroom, the back door opening and slamming closed a moment later. Thomas slumps down on their bed. He should go and help Charlie light his cigarette, but his tears win out instead.

Day 2: Charlie

Charlie lies awake, the rise and fall of Thomas’s chest against his back steady and rhythmic, almost lulling him into a false sense of calm.

He spent the last year wanting nothing more than to be warm and safe in Thomas’s arms, and now that he is, he can’t even truly enjoy it.

Every time he looks at Thomas’s sweet face, all he sees is pity.

Except now he sees the horrible bruises he put there with his own fist, too.

The nightmares are not new. Most times, he doesn’t remember them, but other soldiers in his platoon told him about them, and he’s seen it with other soldiers, too.

But when the insomnia strikes, it’s almost worse.

Whether it stems from his fear of sleep or fear of the nightmares, or if it’s just another product of his brokenness, he doesn’t know.

It’s hard to lie still for so many hours—his shoulder aches, and his skin is too hot, and his mind is tired even as his heart races—but he tries.

He doesn’t want Thomas finding out he can’t sleep on top of everything else Charlie has already burdened him with.

If his brain does finally switch off, hopefully it will not be a repeat of the previous night.

While he can’t recall his nightmares, he knows when they’ve happened because when he wakes up his body feels like it’s been to battle, his limbs stiff and sore, his muscles tight and twitchy.