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“First call 0445, summers, company moral run with the commander? Ghost you’ve got to be joking…”
“What do you want me to do Johnny? Prices order, no sick call.”
The man scoffs from his spot on the bed.
“No sick call, FTR then?”
“Disciplinary action by 0900.”
From his chair at the desk Ghost pays little to no attention to Soaps rambling. The sergeant will show up, he’s just playing games.
Yeah games.
“Fucking 0445 first formation. I’m going to bed then. It’s gonna be 63 fucking degrees in summers, fuck this.”
“You’ll warm up sergeant.”
But morning comes, a four am alarm and two cups of coffee later and Soap feels it starting. The feeling is back. It doesn’t always show up. It leaves a calling card, he knows it’ll be back every time he finally gets out of it. But time waits for no one and he isn’t disobedient.
Soap hardly disobeys orders and he’s no DLO. Not now anyways. Five miles is nothing, light work some would say, but for Soap something is just wrong. The pit in his chest had reopened. The thoughts are coming back and he genuinely wishes someone would break his leg. He wishes there was a sharp wall he could slam his skull into a few times.
The way Soap is feeling isn’t new. Every minute of that god awful company run he has nothing on his mind but getting hurt. Hoping he’ll twist an ankle, fall and crack his head on the pavement, maybe trip and cause a pile up. Anything to get out of this run. It’s quite literally the last thing he wants to be doing. But he doesn’t act on these thoughts.
The run is over by seven, they left out of the company at six, it’s a pretty average run time, given the slower runners amongst them, their run time could be much worse.
Still.
Something is wrong again.
But it’ll pass. It always does. The hard part is waiting it out. He’s not going to talk to a fucking shrink and get locked up just because he really didn’t want to go on the run. Or pt. Or go to chow. Or get out of bed. Or wake up. But whatever.
That’s normal for all soldiers, especially enlisted, especially special forces. They all have rough patches and everyone gets through them just fine. But something feels different this time.
Every day it feels like it’s his heart bursting. It’s not a physical pain, it isn’t actually there, it’s all in his head but it makes him wish he was dead. He feels no reprieve from it, not when he’s with Ghost, or hanging out with Gaz, or getting drinks with the team. And it’s starting to get to comfortable where it’s dig into him.
Of course he can’t ask for help, that’s stupid, that’s weak.
And he doesn’t want anyone’s help, even worse he’d hate the person who tries to force him to get help. Probably kill himself before he lets them commit him. Maybe it is getting bad.
The choking feeling that companies these feelings often lingers, it sits in the back of his throat waiting for the right moment to embarrass him. To make his chest feel tight and his head hurt and his eyes water for no reason at all. Hidden just between his lungs this thing seeps into everything.
Every conversation, every interaction, every waking moment he’s plagued by it. No matter how good of a day it was, how much fun he had, how normal and easy going the work out or training session was, it’s still there.
It’s still there and it’s starting to actually get to him.
He finds himself, in the most random moneys, to overwhelmed. And he finds himself in the stall furthest down the doors, doing his best to cry as silently as possible, teeth clenched and hands curled into fists in his hair, the illusion is hard to keep up. But he finds it only gets this and once a month or so. Still crying his eyes out in the bathroom because someone stepped on his hand by accident is not exactly his idea of a good reason.
He’s slumped in Ghosts bed one day, not even scrolling on his phone, just curled up in the blankets and staring at the ceiling when it happens.
“What’s wrong with you Soap?”
“What?”
“What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing.”
Ghost leans back in his chair, turning to soap with an eyebrow raised.
“I know you’re lying.”
Soap feels cornered, that feeling creeping outward again and the urge to slit his throat to get out of this conversation takes place at the front of his mind.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Talk to me Johnny.”
“I’m not doing this.”
He moves form his spot on the end to put on his shoes. This is not happening. Even as Ghost keeps talking to him, asking questions and trying to help Soap just can’t do this.
It’s not him, he’s fine.
Ghosts hand around his is rather grounding. It brings him back a bit, out of his head. And it’s the worst thing that could happen to him because he’s not nearly close enough to the bathroom to hide in a stall or the privacy of his own room. Ghost doesn’t say anything, just hold his hand.
Soap doesn’t try to run away, he knows that would only make Ghost call Price and that’s a mandatory shrink visit if he’s ever heard one.
“I don’t know why this is happening Ghost.”
“Why what’s happening?”
Soap turns towards him, eyes burning and shame welling up in his chest.
“Why I just want to die. Every time there’s something to do I just don’t want to, and it’s not like oh I just don’t want to because it’s inconvenient, it genuinely hurts Ghost. My heart hurts, my fucking rib cage feels like it’s going to explode and I don’t know why. I don’t understand it.”
He has to pause for a minute, mastering the art of silent crying was probably the only good thing that came out of this.
“It just happens sometimes but it never lasts this long, it’s literally maybe only a few hours, a day to tow at most but I swear for some reason I’ve been dealing with this for weeks now. I’m so tired of it Ghost and I don’t know what to do. I’m not going to a shrink it’s not in my head.”
“When was the last time you took any sort of leave?”
“I don’t know I skipped block leave last Christmas, didn’t feel like dealing with everyone then.”
“Let’s take leave.”
“Ghost-“
“Come on, there’s no assignments coming up, worst you’ll miss is a few range days, we can shoot out in the country. Please don’t cry Johnny, if this doesn’t work we’ll figure it out.”
“This is so fucking stupid.”
“It’s not stupid, you’re just dealing with something. We’ll get over it. In any way you need.”
Soap can’t quite look Ghost in the eyes, taking the two steps needed to lean on him in a hug. He could sleep like this is needed.
He supposes things could be much worse, but then again things could be so much better.
And maybe they will be.