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Summary
It was difficult moving back to London by myself with a fucked shoulder and a psychosomatic limp. The PTSD was just the cherry on top. How I managed to keep my gun, I don't know. I was going to use it on that day, that day that I met him. And it wasn't even a matter of maybes. My mind was set because how could it get better? I had absolutely nothing to live for. Even my dad and sister didn't want anything to do with me. I didn't want anything to do with them. It's not as if I had anyone else to be with.
But then I was taken into that bloody hospital and met that bloody man and I just knew, I knew what would happen next.
