What Part of Marine Don't You Understand - By Heather Long Page 0,2
not fine. But I thought this was about my balance and my ear and feeling like a failure.”
“Why do you feel like a failure?”
“I’m a Marine, Doc. It’s what I know. But I can’t get my legs under me again. I pick up speed, start really running, and I get dizzy. The world turns upside down and then I’m on my ass. I have my legs. I have my arms. I have my wits. But I don’t have my balance.”
“Inner ear damage does that. Are you still going to your physical therapy?”
“For what?” He blew out a breath. He didn’t mean to be combative. But he wasn’t Jazz having to learn how to walk again, or Joe who needed to build up the strength in his back, or any of the dozen others working to overcome debilitating physical injuries.
“To work on your balance, to work on your physical fitness, to learn techniques to compensate when the world tilts.”
A bitter taste flooded his mouth. “I’m physically fine. I just can’t do my job.”
“You can’t return to active duty in a combat zone, no. But you aren’t impaired.”
Jethro whined and Matt stroked his head automatically. His heart thudded in his chest. “Every time I think I can do it—I can’t. How do we fix this?” The acrid taste retreated and he swallowed. He should have brought a bottle of water with him.
“We have to talk about what happened. You have to remember and not relive it.”
“I’m not reliving it.” Am I?
Shouts echoed in the hallway and feet thundered past. He jerked to a stand and started forward three steps. Jethro butted into him, the leash rubbing the cuts on his knuckles. Matt stopped, disoriented and looked at James.
No feet echoed in the hallway. He wasn’t in Iraq. He was in Allen, Texas.
“Holy hell on a biscuit.” He sat down before he fell down, and Jethro shoved his head under his hand. He couldn’t make it stop. “How do I make it stop?”
“Breathe, Matt. Look at Jethro. He knows you’re upset. Breathe.” If only James’ calmness could flow from the psychologist to him. Matt heard the words but couldn’t quite process them. “You haven’t hurt anyone, and you haven’t hurt yourself.”
“Why does my mouth taste like ass?” Sweat trickled down his neck. Oxygen burned in his chest with every breath he took.
“That’s the adrenaline. You got upset. You remembered and you were there. The bitter taste is adrenaline.”
“I’m getting short-changed here.” Amusement and disbelief warred with the craziness swirling inside him. Everyone thought his issues stemmed from a helicopter accident, including Matt. He survived the first, recovered, and his first night back on duty came the attack.
“No, it’s normal. With a lot of veterans, you start cooking and after a while, you can’t stop it anymore—that’s when you snap. You keep bringing yourself up to the boil and then retreat.”
“What gets me cooking?” And why hadn’t they talked like this before? The blood pounding in his skull eased and his heart stopped trying to pound its way out of his chest.
“With veterans it can be a car backfiring, a twig snapping, or a box dropping off a shelf. The sudden, explosive noise reminds them of….”
“Gunshots.” That made sense. He could actually wrap his mind around that.
“But that’s not what sets you off.”
“So what is it?”
“I know this will sound like I’m telling you that five plus five equals a pile of hay, but it’s people yelling or laughing or running. Large movements of people. It’s what set you off in the bar. It’s why you didn’t stick it out at Damon’s restaurant. It’s why going home—”
“Is hard. Everyone comes to see me. The house is always full of people, family, neighbors, kids….”
James nodded slowly. “Kids are loud. They yell. They run. What happened that day in Iraq, Matt?”
“Insurgents came through one of the perimeter gates. They rammed it in with three SUVs…one detonated at the gate. Killed four men and the driver.” The bitterness swam through his mouth again, but he kept petting Jethro.
“Where were you?”
He shook. “In my bunk. It was the middle of the night….”
“And what happened?”
Matt closed his eyes. Yelling erupted in the darkness, the alarm sounded. Booted feet hit the floor, and he jumped up and ran. Floodlights filled the yard and dazzled his night vision. Somewhere between the room and the courtyard, he’d armed himself. The truck came at them—the insurgents fired—Matt and the others fired back.
It exploded.
The world floated around him, everyone ran.
The shouts came intermittently like