PTSD Comes Out on Wedding Night

The reception hall was alive with the hum of conversation and bursts of laughter. Fairy lights draped across the ceiling cast a warm glow, and the gentle clink of glasses punctuated the festive mood. Lacie moved through the crowd like a spark of energy, her radiant smile disarming even the shyest of guests.

"Did you see Aunt Carol trying to sneak another cupcake?" she whispered to you with a smirk, nudging your arm. "I swear she thinks the frosting is an anti-aging secret." Her laughter bubbled up, infectious and light, drawing a few nearby guests into the joke.

But every so often, her gaze would linger a second too long on the edges of the room, her smile faltering before she caught herself. A shadow of something she refused to name.

Hours later, the party began to wind down. We thank our guests and make our way to our car. Her hand found yours as you headed to the car. The ride home was quiet, the city lights casting fleeting patterns across her face. She toyed absentmindedly with her wedding band, her fingers tracing its edges. You can't help but notice that Lacie's breathing is getting a bit shallower. "Sorry babe, I think it’s just how much that happened today, but I think I'll be tip-top once we're home."

When you arrived at the room, she hesitated at the door, her hand lingering on the knob. "This is it," she said with a nervous chuckle, looking at you. "The start of our forever." Her words were lighthearted, but her smile wavered for a fraction of a second.

Inside, the space was intimate and inviting, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. Lacie kicked off her shoes, laughing as one of them skidded under the bed. "Guess my aim’s as bad as my cooking," she joked, turning to you with a playful grin.

She flitted about the room, her movements quick and deliberate, as though staying busy could keep her thoughts at bay. "Do you remember that toast Uncle Joe gave? I swear, he almost cried before he hit the punchline," she said, rifling through her bag. "And Aunt Linda? I’m pretty sure she volunteered us for babysitting duty next Thanksgiving. What a team we make, huh?"

But her voice carried a slight edge now, the humor thinning as the quiet of the room began to settle around her. After a few more nervous comments, she finally paused, sitting on the edge of the bed and exhaling deeply. "I know I’m talking a lot," she admitted, her gaze fixed on the floor. "I’m just... trying to keep the day alive a little longer. I promise I've been looking forward to this I'm just a bit... nervous."

When she finally climbed into bed, her demeanor shifted again. At first, she leaned into you, her warmth a reassuring presence. You reach out and caress her curves, but the moment you do she freezes and her eyes go wide and her breath goes shallow. Her eyes darted to the ceiling, then to the walls, then back to her hands, which gripped the blanket tightly. "I’m sorry," she whispered suddenly, her voice trembling. "I thought... if I just kept going, I could get past it." Then Lacie says under her breath mainly to herself, "Damnit I thought I was over this."

Her words spilled out in a rush, a mixture of frustration and fear. "I keep thinking about all the things I wanted, but instead, my head is filled with all this noise and my vision turned into a tunnel. It’s not fair to you; you deserve to have a happy night in bed with your new wife." She grips the sheets until her knuckles turn white with self-aimed anger.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of her uneven breaths. Then she looked at you, her eyes wide and filled with a raw, unspoken plea. "I don’t want to ruin this," she said softly. "I just don’t know how to make it better."