by Susan Soares
“I’d been ignoring it for a while, but I knew I was fucked up. I can’t deal with closed spaces. I haven’t slept in my bedroom since I got back. Hell, I don’t sleep.” He dropped my hands and pulled back a bit. “I can sometimes get two hours or so a night, but not much more than that. I just lie there awake, constantly feeling like I’m on patrol or something. And if I do somehow manage to fall asleep, I have these awful nightmares. Horrible nightmares that haunt me. Blood and body parts. Guns and fire.” His brow furrowed. “Sometimes, I just get these massive panic attacks, and I don’t even know what sets them off. But I feel like I’m dying. Literally.” His hands flung to his chest. “My chest feels constricted. I can’t breathe. My heart beats so hard I feel it in my head.” He moved his hands to his scalp. “Everything just feels closed and panicky.”
My brain processed the information at a mile a minute. I remembered the time he couldn’t handle being in my room, especially after I had shut the door. I had no idea, and for that I felt like an idiot.
“My worst moment so far was with you.” He gazed at me, a look of sadness and loss in his eyes. “The day at Fort McKenny. That damn car backfiring clicked this massive trigger in my brain, and I was brought back to the battle lines. I couldn’t see straight. I couldn’t see anything. All I could do was feel like I was back on the front lines, and I had to protect you as part of my troop.” His eyes glassed over for a moment before he blinked away the memory.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. I felt horrible and responsible for bringing him somewhere that I thought he’d love, only to have it set him off on a horrible panic attack.
He shook his head. “Mallory, you have nothing to apologize for. That day you came to my house, I wanted to tell you what was going on. I really did. But the fact that I let you get hurt just fucked me up so bad. And you have to believe me when I planned on seeing you the day after. It wasn’t bullshit when I told you to come see me.” He touched my arms and looked deep into my eyes. “I really was going to be there, but that night I lost it.” His voice deflated. “That night I was on the couch trying to sleep, but all I could think about was you and your ankle and how I needed to tell you what was up with me, and then it hit.” He looked off into the distance. “I shot up off the couch and started pacing. I thought I could shake it off, but I honestly felt like I was dying. Everything inside me seemed to break. My bones, my organs, my brain, everything.” He paused and looked at me. “I literally thought I was going to die that night.” He couldn’t hold my gaze.
His pain was so evident that I could feel it. The air between us was warm and heavy. With all that I had, I wanted to pull him to me and tell him everything was going to be all right.
“So,” he continued. “My mom took me to the ER that night because I thought I was having a heart attack. The next morning, I knew I had to go stay with my uncle because all the shit I’d seen him go through was happening to me. He took me to talk to some people that had helped him, and I’ve finally accepted the fact that I have PTSD and that I can’t ignore it anymore.” He let out a long breath, and it seemed like a weight had been lifted off of him. “I spent a week and a half with him before coming home. Once I got back, I made arrangements with a local group that does therapy specifically for veterans that have PTSD. I know it won’t be overnight, but I know I’ll get better.” He looked at me with solace in his eyes. “And I hope that maybe you won’t think I’m a huge freak, and that you’ll maybe be able to forgive me, and maybe we can start again because Mallory, my world isn’t the same without you.” Clearly exhausted, he dropped his head.
The hot prick of tears poked at the back of my eyes. I’d known there was something going on with him. I just had no idea that it could be post-traumatic stress disorder. But now it all made perfect sense. If anything, I saw him as stronger now. Stronger for telling me and for facing his demons. From two different paths, we had arrived in exactly the same spot.
“I don’t think you’re a freak.” I sniffled and wiped away a stray tear. “I have confessions of my own to make.” For the first time in forever, I could say I didn’t feel anxious. As I talked about my disorder and the culmination of my recent breakdown, I actually felt a bit free. There wasn’t any shame anymore. Devin and I were both broken in a sense, but together we were on our way to being healed, and I wanted to share my journey back to recovery with him. As we kissed under that tree, I felt a new wave of passion and curiosity wash over me. His mouth upon mine felt different but the same. We were coming together from a new, pure place of healing and empowerment, and I wanted to sink into him and feel that way forever.
***
“What type of announcement do you think they’re going to make this time?” I asked as Fiona turned into our parent’s driveway.
She shrugged. “As long as my mom made my favorite ratatouille, I don’t care,” she quipped as she unbuckled her seat belt.
Janet greeted us warmly, hugging us both in the foyer before she walked with her arm linked with Fiona’s to the dining room.
My dad wrapped me in a big bear hug before pulling out my chair for me to sit down. There was an obscenely perky vibe going on here, and while it didn’t make me anxious, it did make me curious.
While Fiona scooped a mound of ratatouille onto her plate, I portioned my plate out with four equal sections of salad, ratatouille, a wheat roll, and half a chicken breast. As I ate a bite of salad, enjoying the fresh taste of a cherry tomato as it popped inside my mouth, I glanced over at my dad. He was staring across the table at Janet who was staring right back at him. Something was up for sure.
“Jack, I don’t think I can wait till dessert,” she said beaming at him.
My dad wiped sauce off his mouth. “Me neither,” he said before standing up. “Girls, we have an announcement.” Fiona and I shot each other a glare. “Janet and I have reconciled.”
What? I looked from one to the other. “Meaning what, exactly?”
My dad walked to me and kissed my forehead. “It’s been a rough summer, there’s no doubt about that. But sometimes out of tragedy comes beauty.” Never had I heard my dad talk like that. He moved over to Janet, who stood to meet him, and then he laid a big ole kiss smack on her lips. For a minute, I thought she might slap him, but instead she reciprocated and placed her arms around his neck to kiss him deeper.
“Oh, gross!” Fiona whined.
Flustered, they parted mouths. “Sorry kids, but you’ll have to get used to it.”
Shyly, I questioned, “Does this mean you guys are back together again?”
My dad’s eyes sparkled like fresh snow in the sunlight. “We’re trying. And yes, it seems to be working.” He kissed Janet again before returning to his seat.
“You’re trying to be a couple again?” Fiona asked, an air of excitement in her voice.
“No, we are a couple again,” Janet said, a toothy grin illuminating her face. “And we are trying to get pregnant again.”
I jumped up and tossed my napkin on my seat. Fiona’s eyes went wide as she prepared for me to make a scene. When I walked over to my dad and kissed him on his forehead, I saw her breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m so happy for you both,” I said as I hugged him around his neck. And I truly was.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Late fall air blew through my hair as I loaded my books into my backpack. I’d just come out of my last class of the day, biochemistry of nutrients. I sat down on a nearby bench while I waited for Fiona. Knowing it would be at least ten more minutes until she was out of class, I decided to write a quick journal entry. I pulled the small, purple journal out from the front pocket of my backpack, along with my double-ended pen—one end the actual pen, and the other a glue stick—and opened up to a blank page. I’d already paper-clipped some positive words I’d cut out of the stack of magazines Fiona got every week. After scanning through the clippings, I chose the words: learn, grow, happiness, empower, and strong to paste onto my page. Repeating each word to myself several times, I let the power
of the words sink into me the way that my art therapy instructor had taught me to. I made small, delicate patterns around the words with my pen as I let the words course through me. It was always a revelation as to how calm I felt after journaling. It’d become a big part of my therapy, and I was really getting into the mixed media projects we were doing.
Fiona walked towards me, her backpack weighing her down. “How was it today?” I asked as I zipped my journal back up in my backpack.
She plopped herself down beside me. “Remember when I was excited about choosing marketing as my degree?”
“Sure.”
“Yeah, that was before I started this Principles of Financial Accounting class. Gag!” She pulled a pre-packaged oatmeal cream cookie out of her purse.
“Do you want me to tell you the nutritional breakdown of that cream filling?”
She scanned the cookie. “Is there any nutritional information on the cream filling?”
“No.”
“Good,” she said before taking a mammoth sized bite. “Come on,” she stood and grabbed her backpack. “You don’t mind if we swing by my mom’s for a few, do you?”
“Nope,” I said. Janet was pregnant again, but her doctors wanted her to take things very easy, even in the early stages of her pregnancy. So she was working a lot of half-days and spending the rest of her time lying on the couch. She was losing her mind from boredom, so Fiona would stop over as often as she could. Judging from the pile of card and board games in Fiona’s back seat, I was preparing for an afternoon long visit.
After three hands of gin rummy and one super long board game—which Fiona won even though I’m pretty sure she cheated—we were back in the car on our way home. I’d left my purse in the car while we were inside. As we started driving, I fished my phone out to check for messages. I had two missed calls and two voicemails.
Voicemail one:
“Hey honey. Fiona texted me that you two girls were going over to keep Janet company this afternoon. I appreciate that. I hope your classes are going well. See you Friday night at dinner.”
My dad had been so supportive when I told him I’d settled on a college. He was even excited for me when I told him I wanted to get my degree in nutritional science. It was so interesting to learn about food. It made it so much easier not to be afraid of it any longer. My therapist thought it was an amazing idea. The girls in my therapy group were sort of split on the idea. Some thought it was awesome, and others thought it was terrifying.
Voicemail two:
“So today it was cold enough for me to grab my fleece zip up, and when I put it on, I smelled your perfume. Remember when you borrowed it last weekend when we went to the movies? Well, the smell is driving me wild, but I’d rather smell it all over you. Hope school was good. I’ll be over tonight after my group. Miss you.”
I deleted my dad’s message but kept Devin’s so I could hear him say he missed me again. Because I had yoga therapy at three, and Devin had his PTSD group at four, I asked Fiona if we could stop at the grocery store to pick up some things to make dinner. Devin had mentioned before his favorite meal of all time was spaghetti and meatballs with mozzarella balls and garlic bread. Not by chance, it happened to be one of my favorites as well. I was going to finish the meal off with a lightened-up version of tiramisu. Maybe I’d buy some whipped cream for after dessert.
***
“Oh my God, this is dessert is amazing,” Devin said as he licked the back of his spoon. “You could serve this in a restaurant.” He took another big spoonful..
“I don’t know about that, but it was really fun to make. I used almond milk instead of heavy cream. I was worried it wouldn’t make it as rich, but somehow with the egg substitute it worked, which was great since that lowered the calories and the cholesterol.” I stopped talking when I noticed Devin smiling at me. “Sorry, I look at food so differently now. Between therapy and school, it’s pretty cool.” My face blushed.
Devin put down his fork and gave me a sugary kiss. “I think it’s awesome.” He kissed me again. “You’re awesome.” I moved towards his mouth and kissed his lips clean, all the while thinking of the can of whipped cream in the fridge.
After eating every last bite of his tiramisu, Devin said, “So you’re going to share some of yours, right?” he asked while moving his spoon towards my bowl.
I pulled my bowl back. “I don’t think so,” I teased before offering him a spoonful. After I’d eaten my small bowlful, I felt satisfied. Completely satisfied, and it was perfect.
We were curled up on the couch when Fiona came out of her room. We’d invited her to have dinner with us but she’d been busy—taking forever—getting ready to go out for the night. “All right kids, feel free to get naked soon after I leave.” She grabbed her small purse off the kitchen counter. “I plan on being out all night,” she said with a wink.
“Is this with the musician again?” I asked.
She crinkled her nose. “Nah, I’m pretty sure he’s into somebody else. No worries though, this guy’s way hotter. Save me some of that tiramisu.” She blew me a kiss and was off.
As the credits of the movie rolled in the background, Devin’s hand moved up and down my back. Our shirts lay on the floor near us. Devin’s fingers gently unhooked my bra, and my bare breasts rubbed against the smooth skin of his chest as I tongued his mouth deeply. He pulled his mouth from mine and locked eyes with me. “I want to do something,” he said, his voice breathless.
My heart pounded in my chest as heat throbbed between my thighs. “Okay,” I said, my trust in him complete.
He moved our bodies upward, and then he picked me up and carried me into my bedroom. With gentle arms, he laid me down on my bed. His hands were soft as they traced the outlines of my face. His eyes were so sincere that I wanted to cry. He left me for a moment to shut the door, not all the way but most of the way. Then he returned to me and lay by my side. While my fingers interlaced with his, our mouths found each other. Love steamed from every pore of our bodies as our skin melted together. For a moment in time, we were completely one, and a small tear fell from my eye as I became overcome with emotion. I lay post-bliss in Devin’s arms listening to the steady, quiet sound of his breath.
“Do you need anything?” Devin asked as his hands stroked my hair.
“I’m good,” I said before feeling a broad smile cross my face. The kind of smile that made my cheeks hurt because it had been so long since I’d smiled like that. “You know what? I’m more than good. I’m peaceful.”
And I finally was. Peaceful.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank all the indie authors out there. You inspire me and I’m proud to be part of a community of such creative, driven, amazing people. #indieauthorsrock
Pete Tarsi, for always being my sounding board, my editor supreme, and my writing buddy all these years later. Thank you for giving me push back all the times I’m negative and never want to write another word. Thank you.
Debbie Dellacanonica, for being the most supportive big sister ever! PB&J forever.
Sarah Johnson, for being a big ol’ grammar nerd, and for always being willing to do read-throughs for me even when my books “aren’t your thing”. Oxford commas are cool!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Soares lives in a small town on the East Coast where she balances writing fiction with raising her daughters. When she’s not writing, she can be found reading, experimenting with photography, and planning her next Disney World trip. Susan recently received her master’s degree in Creative Writing and English from Southern New Hampshire University, and she will be pursuing teaching soon. Other Young Adult books by her are My Zombie Ex-Boyfriends, Heart on a String, My Rebellion Checklist, and Holding My Breath. All are available at major online retailers.
You can follow her on
Twitter: @susansoares1
YouTube: shewritesbooks
Facebook: Author Susan Soares
ALSO AVAILABLE BY SUSAN SOARES
HEART ON A STRING
What happens when running from your past, you crash straight into your future?
Running is the only way Marissa knows how to escape. With each beat of her sneakers on the pavement, Marissa runs from the pain of the death of her mother. Runs from the abandonment of her older brother. Runs from the look of pity in people’s eyes. Marissa is always running.
By chance, Marissa is sidetracked by Brandon, who has suffered the loss of a younger brother. But unlike Marissa, he chooses to face his grief head-on. As their relationship deepens, Marissa realizes the value of letting someone in and not letting her grief destroy her. But when her denial-filled past catches up with her, Marissa is forced to tell Brandon her darkest secrets or lose him forever. Can she realize the value of letting someone in before it’s too late? Could Brandon be the one to stop her in her tracks?
What’s the only thing scarier than running from your life?
Facing it.
MY REBELLION CHECKLIST
Victoria Matherson’s summer to-do list looked something like this:
1. Get organized for college
2. Complete summer job at Dad’s office
3. Spend a romantic summer with Adam
During the first week of her summer vacation, Victoria’s super controlled life suddenly swerves out of control. Her boyfriend breaks up with her unexpectedly, she gets in a near-fatal car wreck, and her parents announce the end of their twenty-year marriage.
