Wishes

She wished now that she'd never asked. She wished now, when he said he didn't want to talk about it, that she'd listened. But she thought she wanted to know. It was a part of his life and she wanted to share it, she wanted to share his burdens.

So eventually he told her. How hot it had been in Iraq. How dusty. How scary. How unpredictable. He told her how the anxiety and fear could turn into rage. Free-floating, unfocused rage. And how, when given something to focus that rage on...anything to focus that range on...it was hard, so very hard, not to let the rage out. He told her how he'd let that rage out. Once. One time.

She wished he hadn't told her. She wished he hadn't told her. She wished he hadn't told her.

Now all she could see was his hands.