Smiling gently, Hunter asked, “Are you sleeping better?”
Gazing at the beautiful woman next to him, Grant took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “Some nights,” he answered.
Sophie felt Grant’s body tense as he prepared for further questions.
Hunter nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. So, the other nights…they’re not so great?”
Grant looked down.
His heart pounded and he tried to push away the hands groping for him, but he couldn’t escape their unyielding embrace. “No!” he heard a hoarse voice repetitively scream, but it wasn’t until he opened his eyes that he realized the voice was his own.
Though it was dark in the bedroom, he could feel his face buried in her luxurious hair, and her breasts pressing into his chest. She’d drawn him into her, evidently to soothe his distress.
“Shh,” she fussed.
He felt her fingers caress his shoulder blades, holding him tighter.
“It was just a dream,” she said.
He fought for control. His panting breaths and racing heartbeat took several minutes to slow down while she lightly stroked his back.
“You’re safe, Grant,” she murmured.
Once he trusted himself to speak, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
Because I’m totally fucked up. Because I’m crazy. Because I’ll never deserve someone as perfect as you. “Because I woke you up.”
“It’s okay, McSailor. I’m just glad you’re letting yourself close your eyes. I’m sure we’ll both be back asleep soon.”
“I’m guessing you’ve been experiencing more nightmares recently?”
Grant glared at Hunter. “How did you know that?”
“Sometimes when you discuss traumatic memories in counseling, it, uh, stirs the pot a bit. You might have more flashbacks or nightmares—”
“Wait a minute,” Grant interrupted. “You’re telling me therapy’s going to make me feel worse?”
Before Hunter could answer, Sophie squeezed Grant’s hand and said, “Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better.”
Grant sighed heavily, suddenly weary. He was so tired of things getting worse.
“The increase in nightmares is why we need to shore up your coping skills before we delve into the traumatic memories,” Hunter explained. “Let’s work on developing some tools to manage the memories first, okay?”
Grant bit his lip and slowly nodded.
In a calming voice, Hunter began, “Traumatic stress reactions can occur after any kind of life-threatening event, such as a car accident, sudden death, violence, assault. The symptoms of PTSD are reliving the event—like nightmares or flashbacks, avoidance of anything associated with the trauma, and a feeling of constantly being ‘on edge.’”
Grant didn’t appreciate being labeled with some psycho diagnosis—PTSD, OCD, ADHD, or whatever jumble of letters this crackpot was throwing at him. “Okay, I’ll admit I have nightmares, but I don’t avoid the trauma, and I’m not on edge.”
Hunter noticed Sophie trying to suppress a smirk. “Sophie, do you have something to add here?”
Glancing nervously at Grant before returning her gaze to Hunter, she said, “He’s totally on edge. I’ve seen many signs of increased activation—like his exaggerated startle response. And he has trouble falling asleep. Oh, and hypervigilance too.”
“Hyper-what?” Grant said skeptically.
Hunter jumped in. “Hypervigilance is a response to trauma where your mind and body remain on alert. It’s an increased state of watchfulness that’s an attempt to protect yourself. But persistently being on edge is exhausting, and eventually you shut down. You may feel completely numb from trying to be so alert.”
Grant nodded, wondering how the psychologist knew sometimes he’d been so numb he felt almost dead, especially in prison. Sophie had been the one to finally spark some emotion in him.
“Outbursts of anger are also a sign of PTSD,” Hunter said.
Grant grimaced. He wasn’t going to blame his out-of-control anger on some stupid diagnosis. He alone was responsible for hurting Sophie.
“Would you like to hear some techniques for managing these symptoms?” Hunter asked. “It’s up to you.”
Sophie was pretty impressed. The psychologist was handing Grant the reins, a smart strategy for working with an abuse survivor. Grant had likely experienced a complete loss of control when his father beat him, so allowing him to dictate the session would help him feel more in charge.
“Yes, sir.” Grant surprised himself by agreeing.
Hunter looked pleased. “I want to explain some grounding techniques, but first let’s talk a bit about your brain. When a trauma happens, it can stimulate a flood of adrenaline and other chemicals, activating the lower parts of your brain and keeping them disconnected from the higher levels. One lower brain structure is the amygdala, the center for emotions like fear. When children experience intense, frightening events, their basest survival instincts click in, and the higher levels of their brain may go ‘offline.’ They react purely on instinct and emotion, without logic and reason, and this reaction can help them survive. Are you following me so far, Grant?”
“I think so, sir.”
“The problem is that when these children become adults and their emotional memories are somehow triggered—say they experience a certain sight, sound, or smell that reminds them of the trauma—they react just like they did as children. They might freeze, with a pounding heart, shortness of breath, sweating. Their brains are living in the past and preventing them from realizing the threat’s no longer viable. Their higher-order brain functioning is thrown offline, and they can’t distinguish past from present. These grounding techniques help bring the pre-frontal cortex back ‘online’ to help these individuals figure out they don’t have to engage in fight or flight at the moment.”
“Wow, do you specialize in trauma?” Sophie cut in. “I’m learning a lot here.”
“Really?” Hunter responded. “I thought you’d have learned this stuff on your internship at the VA Hospital.”
“Well, yes, but that was a few years ago and—”
“You worked at a VA hospital?” Grant interrupted.
Sophie nodded. “My pre-doctoral internship was at the Hampton VA, in Virginia.”
Grant looked impressed. His eyes locked on hers as he said, “Thank you.”
“I should be the one thanking you,” she countered, “for serving our country. In that hospital I saw firsthand the sacrifices made by soldiers and sailors.” Sophie smiled warmly and gave Grant’s hand another squeeze, then she turned to Hunter. “Sorry, I got us off track.”
“Getting to know each other on a deeper level is one of our goals in here.” Hunter shrugged amicably. “Seems like you two have yet one more thing in common. Anyway, I was talking about grounding techniques. One thing that happens during a nightmare is your breathing becomes shallow and rapid. So, the first technique is to take deep, diaphragmatic breaths.”
Hunter showed Grant how to push his stomach out with each breath, and Sophie joined in too.
“Then you want to try to reorient yourself to the present,” Hunter said. “Look around you. Tell me what you see.”
It took Grant a second to realize Hunter had given him an instruction, and he jumped in his seat. “Oh, yes, sir. Um, I see…your desk, uh, your aquarium…”
“There’s Nemo and Nema,” Sophie prompted, and all three grinned.
“What do you hear?” asked Hunter.
After a beat, Grant responded, “The aquarium pump and the clock ticking.”
“Do you feel the surface of the sofa beneath you?” When Grant nodded, Hunter suggested, “Stomp your foot. Feel the floor under you.”
Feeling rather dorky, Grant complied and stomped his foot. The ground felt solid beneath the sole of his leather shoe.
“Another way to orient your brain to the present is to tell yourself out loud that you’re
right here, right now. It may sound weird, but Grant, I’d like you to say, ‘It’s September sixth.’”
Cynically raising one eyebrow, Grant dutifully replied, “It’s September sixth.”
“I am an adult.”
His voice was a little more confident as he mimicked Hunter. “I am an adult.”
“Good.” Hunter nodded. “When you experience a flashback or nightmare, I want you to try some of these grounding strategies. Perhaps you have a recurring nightmare and you wake up consumed by terror—that’s the time to take deep breaths and orient yourself to the present.”
Sophie chewed the inside of her cheek. “Recently, Grant keeps saying the same thing during every nightmare,” she offered.
“I do?” Grant looked shocked.
“Yes.” She glanced with uncertainty at Hunter, who gave her an encouraging nod. “He says, ‘Don’t make me do it. Please, don’t make me do it.’”
Hunter’s forehead creased. “Don’t make you do what?”
Pull the trigger. The words immediately popped into Grant’s mind, and his lips parted with surprise as his heart began thrumming in his chest.
Hunter stared at him intently. “Did you just remember something, Grant?”
His face was pale. “I—I don’t know.”
Had he pulled the trigger? Had he killed somebody? He’d been forced to shoot Carlo in self defense, of course, but this memory seemed different—from long ago.
Noticing Sophie was also staring at him, Grant blurted the next thing that came to mind: “My father wants to see me.”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “Did he call you?”
Grant shook his head. “No, Uncle Angelo visited me on the docks.”
Her eyes got bigger. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, he didn’t hurt me. But he did insist on inviting Ben to the compound.”
“I’ll have to talk to Ben about that,” Sophie responded in an unsteady voice.
“Don’t worry—I already warned him not to go near there. That’s the last thing he needs right now.”
Sophie appeared pensive. “Is that why you made Ben keep working on the cruise? To keep him out of trouble after school?”
“Yeah,” Grant nodded. “But the cruises stop running in a few weeks, so I don’t know what I’m going to do with him then. I guess I’ll be calling his mom for a consult.”
“You have to find another job too, right?”
Grant sighed, “Yeah.”
Hunter re-entered the conversation. “Do you know why your father wants to see you, Grant?”
“No, sir, but it’s probably a moot point. Since I’m on parole, I don’t think I’m allowed to go to Gurnee as a visitor. Hopefully I won’t be returning as an inmate,” he added scornfully.
“You might want to ask your PO if you’re allowed to visit,” Hunter said.
“Why would I want to do that, sir?”
“Because it might be a good idea to visit your father.”
Grant and Sophie gaped at the psychologist.
“What?” Sophie shrieked.
“You’re not ready now, of course,” Hunter said. “But, Grant, when you work through some of this trauma, it could be quite healing to confront your abuser.”
Grant tried to hide it, but he trembled at Hunter’s suggestion.
“You remember when you said you don’t avoid anything reminding you of the trauma?” Hunter asked, receiving a nod of recognition from Grant. “Your reluctance to visit your father is precisely that symptom. You’re avoiding seeing him because he triggers memories of the abuse. At some point you may need to face that fear to reduce its hold over you. Your father hurt you when you were a child, but now you’re an adult, and he can’t hurt you any more.”
Grant quietly considered his words, and Sophie asked, “Is this like exposure treatment?”
“Exactly,” Hunter answered. “Research shows that an effective treatment for PTSD is to expose oneself to the trauma—either by retelling the story or by facing significant triggers—and responding differently this time using new skills and perceptions about it.”
Hunter let that sink in before continuing. “For example, many abused children believe the abuse was their fault. This makes sense because children are egocentric, assuming the world revolves around them—if they’re hurt, they must have been the ones to cause it somehow, they must be to blame. But when they’re older and tell their stories, they learn they couldn’t have stopped the abuse, and they did the best they could to survive the situation. They learn it wasn’t their fault. When they subsequently flash back to the trauma, they react with less shame. They tolerate the memories better by using grounding strategies.”
Haunting coal-black eyes flashed through Grant’s mind, and he felt beads of sweat on his upper lip. “I still don’t want to see him,” he stated decisively.
“I can appreciate that,” Hunter responded. “I don’t want you to see your father either, unless you’re ready. We’ll go at your pace and only proceed if we both make the decision that it’s a good idea.”
Grant gulped. “I don’t think I could take it.”
Hunter looked at him kindly. “I know you’re strong enough to handle it.”
“I’m not strong.”
“Yes, you are.”
Grant quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, “How do you know?”
“I know you’re strong because you’re the only one left standing in your family. It’s taken incredible fortitude to survive the challenges you’ve faced. You’re the only Barberi left.”
Grant dropped his gaze, wringing his hands in his lap. The throbbing ache in his heart from his mother’s death eighteen years ago was only compounded by the loss of his brother. Was Dr. Hayes right? Was he strong? Or was it just pure luck that he wasn’t locked away in a cell or a coffin?
Sensing that Grant needed a little respite, Hunter turned to Sophie. “We haven’t had the chance to talk about you much today, Sophie. How are things in your world?”
It was difficult for her to turn her attention away from Grant, but she eventually responded. “Kirsten passed her dissertation defense.”
“That’s wonderful!” Hunter beamed. “Another soon-to-be psychologist cut loose on the world.”
Sophie smiled. “By the time Kirsten sits for her licensing exam, it will have taken her nine years to become a psychologist.”
“She was All But Dissertation for a while, huh?”
“Yeah,” Sophie replied.
“I was just reading that becoming a psychologist requires the longest training for the lowest salary of any profession,” Hunter said.
She chuckled. “Sounds about right.” Then she sadly added, “I still miss it, though.”
Hunter nodded, and Grant reached out to place a steady hand on her forearm. Evidently he’d rejoined the conversation.
“My friend Tanya said Kirsten really nailed the defense,” Sophie said, attempting to brighten the mood. “Her advisor David—the jerk—asked her an impossibly difficult question, but it didn’t throw her at all.”
Now Grant was very involved in the conversation.
“David?” he repeated.
Feeling his inquisitive stare upon her, Sophie blushed slightly.
“Yes, David Alton.”
“Ah, the professor you had a crush on in grad school,” Hunter supplied, earning a glare from Sophie.
“Actually, I found out some interesting information about David,” Sophie said. Her eyes narrowed. “Apparently I’m not the only hapless woman he’s misled. He did it to Tanya too.”
“He did?” Hunter asked.
“Yes. Just like me, Tanya was mortified when he told her she’d ‘misconstrued his intentions.’”
“So this guy gets his rocks off seducing pretty women, and when they finally express an interest in him, he cuts them loose, telling them they made it all up in their heads?” Grant shook his head.
“I think that’s what’s going on,” Sophie replied. “Wait
a minute,” she added, looking at her boyfriend suspiciously. “What makes you think Tanya’s pretty?”
Shrugging, Grant quickly said, “If David targeted you, it’s clear he only goes for gorgeous women.”
Sophie beamed while Hunter appreciatively shook his head. “Wow,” he said. “That’s impressive, Grant. You turned potential jealousy into a beautiful compliment in five seconds flat. I could learn a thing or two from you.”
Instead of cocky bravado, Grant’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “But I meant it,” he said shyly. “Sophie’s stunning.”
What he wouldn’t give to be called stunning by this Adonis… Hunter sighed and glanced at Sophie, who looked a bit uncomfortable.
“I was going to ask you how you wanted to handle this situation with David, but I see that our time’s up. Perhaps we can discuss that next session.”
Sophie and Grant rose from the sofa, and Hunter also got to his feet.
“Good work, both of you,” he said. His hazel eyes crinkled with warmth. “I’ll be giving a positive progress report to your PO. See you next week.”
The pair left the office feeling pretty good about themselves.
As they stood outside the office building, preparing to say their goodbyes, Grant couldn’t help but notice Sophie gazing at him intently, her twinkling brown eyes sweeping down the length of his body.
He tilted his head. “What are you up to?”
“Oh!” She grinned. “I was just imagining you in a Navy uniform, like the men at the VA hospital. Damn, I bet you looked hot.”
He gave her an embarrassed, lopsided grin. “You’ll just have to use your imagination, I guess. See you tonight, my little minx.”
“I’ll be home late tonight, remember?”
Grant looked befuddled—like he always did after therapy.
Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2] Page 11
