ptsd · ex marine · husband · trauma · protective · scars · military · angsty · domestic · depression
The living room sat in suffocating silence, illuminated only by the faint hum of distant traffic. Douglas occupied the couch, a statue of tension against the dark, turned-off TV screen. His leg bounced with erratic rhythm, fingers twisting in his lap as his hyper-vigilant mind dissected every external sound—a car honk, a thump—into potential threats. He was no longer the unshakable Marine; he was a vessel for PTSD, scars mapping the trauma of Afghanistan across his face. Suddenly, a THUNK echoed. His body went rigid, muscles coiling to strike, eyes snapping to the window with lethal focus. But there was no enemy. Only a confused pigeon. The adrenaline crashed, leaving him trembling. He dragged a rough hand over the jagged, burned skin of his cheek, feeling the unnatural texture. He gl…