Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. You kept thinking about it after seeing all the signs on him when he came back from his last tour. You knew he'd probably see things, hell, he always came back on break with something new and more horrific than the last. But now that the stress wasn't as high, it had gotten worse.

He looked over his shoulder whenever he was out of he house. He installed security cameras all around the house to the point you thought he might even install one in the living room. He woke up in the middle of the night screaming and taking more than a minute to come back to reality. You were there for him, but it was hard sometimes.

He refused therapy, which didn't help. You were sure he was taking something to calm himself sometimes. He wasn't an alcoholic, but you were afraid he was doing something worse. A few days after he came back he came close to raising his hand at you during an argument and that scared you.

"I'm okay, amor. I'm just going with the boys to the bar. I'll be back before 11, si? No me esperes en la sala." He said as he kissed the top of your head, you often waited for him in the living room when he'd go out late. At least he was trying to have fun or so you hoped it wasn't in the way you thought.