His Purple Heart

22 - Beautiful Nightmare

Trystan's hands felt like shackled steel around my neck. I screamed and cried, my voice a fading echo inside my mind, trapped inside my throat. Strong fingers continued to apply pressure, closing off my wind pipe almost completely.

I wheezed for air, my eyes bulging out of my face as they teared up. I didn't have much time left. I knew it was a matter of seconds before I passed out. As it were, blacks spots were tip dancing on my pupils, Trystan's face coming in and going out of focus.

Blindly, I stretched out my hands before me and gripped his forearms. I tried to push him off of me, but he was so strong, so unmovable, almost as if Thor had forgotten his hammer on my throat.

In my final moments of despair, I glanced up at Trystan and I knew that the man looking down at me with those rage filled eyes wasn't my Trystan. This Trystan was in war zone a few thousand miles away, turmoil and battle scars written all over his face.

"I couldn't save her," he said.

"Trystan, it's me, Debra. You're having a bad dream," I choked out. "Please, wake up."

Nothing I said or did seemed to help. So in my final moments before lights out, I remembered a thing or two that my dad had taught me before he passed away.

"Kick 'em where it counts." That's what he told me a chirpy day in May while training in the garage with the garage door open. I was curious and would ask questions about why he was always working out and why was staying in shape so important to him? Those questions led to my first and last ever self defense lessons from my father, and I never forgot it.

Lifting my knee, I hit Trystan where it counted. And since he was a big man, I had to use all of my strength.

He grunted and a second later the shackles around my neck were gone. I drew air into my lungs in large gulps as I crawled away from him, my hands clenching the sheets as I went. Then came the coughing, horrible coughing that I had no control over.

The inside of my throat felt raw and bruised. I touched my neck, but had to flinch because my skin was extra sensitive.

Beside me, Trystan cupped his manhood and was moaning in pain. He lifted his head and our eyes collided. I saw fear and regret scribbled on his face, and his eyes held a deep sorrow, that of a wounded animal. He reached out to touch my leg but I eluded him by bringing my knees up under my chin and wrapping my arms around them protectively.

"Debra, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was having a bad dream..."

"I know. Just don't touch me."

His face fell and I could tell that my rejection was hurting him. His eyes were glazed over and still red from his sleep. I had never seen him like this. So out of control. It scared me.

"You're afraid of me," he said in that calm, but matter of fact voice that I've come to associate with Trystan.

I glared at him.

"I won't hurt you."

"But you did," I said accusingly. "You did."

"I know, baby, but not on purpose. You have to know this. I would never willingly raise my hands to you. Never." He came closer, but I pushed back against the headboard. "I protect what's mine. Cherish what's mine. Do you understand?" he asked.

I stared at him, but said nothing. My throat was too sore to speak. He sounded genuine and I wanted to believe him. I didn't like seeing him like this, but I couldn't bring myself to go to him yet, if at all. I was pretty shaken up. I'd never experienced anything so violent in my life.

He shifted on the bed and I reared back, moving to the far end of the bed. For the first time since we met, it dawned on me how powerful he was, and how easily he could snap my neck if he wanted to. He probably knew how to break every bone in my body. It was a terrifying thought.

"I'm just going to get you a glass of water," he said, displeasure in his voice.

I nodded and he got up, pulling on his boxers. He hopped his way to the bathroom on one leg and came back out a few moments later with his prosthetic leg on and a glass of water in his hand.

"I'm really sorry," he said, holding the glass to my mouth. I took it away from him and tried to smile, to tell him I was okay, but I couldn't.

I wanted to understand that it wasn't his fault. I knew it wasn't, that he had no control of his body while asleep, but I was having problems differentiating between what was and what wasn't. Because honestly, how well did I actually know this man?

He had serious issues, but who was I to judge him? I'd never walked a day in his shoes and never would. He'd seen some terrible things and had survived a traumatic roadside bomb. It only made sense that those events would haunt his dreams and wreck havoc on his mind during what should have been his most peaceful moment.

He had to be hurting too, I reminded myself. After all, he was the one who almost choked me to death with his bare hands mere minutes after making sweet, sweet love to me.

However, I refused to think about what he was feeling, otherwise I would run right into his arms and I was unsure how much good that would do. I definitely didn't want him thinking that his behavior was okay. It wasn't. I was terrified.

I took a sip of the water and I felt a lot better. I sat on the bed for a long time, staring at the windows, my index finger circling the rim of the glass. I was tired and wanted to just fall asleep, but I was afraid to close my eyes.

"You should get some sleep, Debra."

"What about you?"

He didn't look like he was going back to sleep any time soon. Somehow while I wasn't looking he had pulled on jeans and donned a white t-shirt.

He shrugged. "I won't be getting any more sleep tonight."

Even now, with his hair disheveled and wild, he was gorgeous. He stood in front of the bed with his hands in his pockets as he thoughtfully stared at my neck. "Will you at least let me take a look at your neck?"

I noticed the way he held himself, as if he was afraid to make any sudden movements. His lips were tight, stretching into a grim line. His shoulders stiff, but his eyes, his eyes were what disturbed me. The green of his eyes had somehow lost its spark. This was the look of a defeated man, and I had put that look on his face.

"I'm fine, really." I gently touched the area where his hands had roughly pushed me down into the mattress while cutting off my air supply and I saw him wince.

"Okay, just drink some more water. Please."

I did as he asked and then I put the glass on the nightstand next to me. I looked up at him again and unable to stand the pained look in his eyes, I stretched out under the covers and closed my eyes.

"Goodnight, Debra."

"Goodnight, Trystan."

I stayed awake for a long time. Even when I heard the door open and close and I knew that Trystan was no longer in the room with me, I just couldn't let my guard down. It was the weirdest feeling. I felt unsafe in the room by myself, but having Trystan in the room with me didn't feel safe either.

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