The ache of his limbs feeling too long for his body put a great burden on him to compensate and make it right. His back arched like a cat's to try and fix the disquiet but it only made him limp and trip while trying to find the balance he'd lost. Worse than that, was...the ache that was in his prosthetics. Like they were a part of him.
Lucas swallowed hard and turned in bed for the millionth time that night, trouble writ in his features. He had a small idea what was happening to him, but it was the only logical answer and thus was the one he was trying to reject the most: delayed PTSD. He'd never experienced ghost limbs or phantom limbs, even when the accident had happened, but now...now he was hurting like it was fresh, now he was feeling on things that were not there and hadn't been, for years.
He supposed that's why his hearing had gone and amped up a notch - some sort of side effect of the war, his ordnance experience come back to echo. It was just some cruel twist of fate that everything he heard was things kept mostly...overt.
To say he wasn't coping well was...a bit of a gross understatement. It included bedding someone who climbed in his window and then grievously insulting a...a thing that meant something to Autumn.
That, he still wasn't dealing with. Refused to. Don't wanna can't make him.
He covered his face with his hands and groaned quietly. The scent of Thorne was still there, and he swore he could still smell the flowers that had been at Autumn's. As if everything that had started to drive him up the wall was lingering, clinging, cloying. A reminder of what he did and that yeah, that just happened. Not that Lucas was ashamed, but he could only wonder what in the blue blazes was in the days to come if he couldn't sort out his own personal mishaps. And if it was PTSD, he should...look into getting help for that. Soon. Before it deprived him of his sanity.
The problem was that Lucas didn't really want to go in for that, not when he was helping people with it at work. He'd be unfit to serve. Again. And that just wasn't an option. Sighing deeply, he wasn't sure what his options were otherwise, it's not like anyone could help --
Or could they? Rylan's name flit through his mind, and for a moment, he felt a trickle of hope. Maybe talking with another vet would help? Exhaling slowly and resting his hand over his eyes, he decided he'd look the man up again and have a chat...and hope it didn't turn out like his meeting with Thorne or Pax. He could only deal with so much disappointment in himself in this lifetime, let alone in the span of a week.
A beacon of light might be just what he needed.
Ashdown Crier
+2 RP's trying to deal (or not deal, cough)
