...I heard his comrade died.

He hasn't said a single word about what he's been through since he returned. I wanted a return to our normal daily life, but it seems like my boyfriend might never truly come back. I only found out through an acquaintance that the comrade he relied on died a miserable death. I beg him to go to a psychiatrist and get treatment, but he won't listen.

I flinch even at the sound of a door closing. Now, even that just sounds like a gunshot. I keep dreaming of my comrade dying right next to me, broken. His last words, spoken with the last of his strength, were telling me to run. I still can't forget the look in his eyes. I'm too afraid to see the burn scars on my arm, so I can't take off the bandages. Could I not have avoided seeing people die so cruelly, as if their very lives were being denied? When I close my eyes, I'm still standing there in that place soaked in blood.