Kaleb picks up his mug and takes a swig of his coffee. “May I ask why the show doesn’t bother you?”
I chew on my bottom lip and ponder the reasons behind how I feel. “I think it’s because I know it isn’t real and can’t hurt me,” I answer after a moment. “I actually kind of like crime procedurals. The perpetrator is always caught in the end.”
“So you were triggered last night because it was a real fire,” Kaleb clarifies.
“Exactly,” I confirm, sipping more of my coffee. The sweet caffeine is slowly making its way to my brain, and I feel more like myself. “It’s the full sensory input that I think affects me the most. For example, seeing a baseball game on TV might make me uncomfortable, but is unlikely to trigger me. Now, seeing a baseball bat in person, or--” I shudder, “actually seeing and hearing the baseball bat hit something, has a far greater chance of triggering me in some way.”
Carefully, he asks, “Do you think you’ll feel differently if what you see on television more closely resembles something you’ve experienced in real life?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I might feel really uncomfortable, or I might critique the inaccuracies of their special effects. They get a lot of stuff wrong.” I fidget, realizing I’m getting close to sharing the severity of my abuse, even if indirectly. “There might be some trial and error with this. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry... and thank you,” he replies with a soft smile.
“For what?” I question, scrunching up my nose.
“For talking to us about this, and for trusting us with all that’s going on with you,” he answers.
I feel guilty about not elaborating on the scope of what’s happened to me. Right now, all I want to do is forget, and delving into it all is too hard. It’s not like I don’t have enough on my plate.
Recalling what I was going to ask before all this started, I inquire, “Do you know where Felix is?”
A shadow of melancholy skirts across Kaleb’s dark brown eyes. “He’s outside. He goes to where-- to the burn spot when he needs to think.”
I inwardly cringe, worried that what the others went through doesn’t come close to the trauma Felix is experiencing from witnessing my abuse up close and in real time. Added to his own traumatic history with fire--Crap. I have to make sure Felix is okay and not scarred for life-- or afterlife.
I finish my coffee and hop down from the counter. “I’m going to go check on him.”
“Would you like company?” Kaleb asks.
I shake my head while making my way over to the front door. “No, I think he might need a one-on-one at the moment.”
“Because of what he saw?” he questions with a searching gaze.
I sigh and nod. “It’s a lot and difficult to talk about. I promise to tell you more when I feel able, but it’s going to take time. It’s not that I don’t trust you--”
“It’s alright, Callie,” he reassures. “I want to know, because I want to be able to help you and because it’s a part of you, but I can wait--wecan wait.”
Kaleb eyeballs Connor who’s looking at me speculatively. I wonder how much he’s figured out on his own. Can he tell how bad it was?
Kaleb continues, “I want you to tell us because you’re ready, not because you feel pressured.”
Tears burn my eyes, and I have to blink them away. Without thought, I quickly stride over and hug Kaleb-- the first one I’ve ever initiated in as long as I can remember.
He’s rightly surprised, stunned into inaction for a fraction of a second, before setting his mug down and carefully wrapping his arms around me. His shirt is soft against my cheek. I breathe in his scent of sandalwood and old books while listening to the steady thump of his heart.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his chest, the top of my head reaching below his chin.
He gives me a tight squeeze before releasing me. “You’re welcome, not that thanks are necessary.”
I shrug. “A lot of people would push, so thank you for waiting until I’m ready.”
I hesitate for a few heartbeats, then turn and hug Connor. This hug is a little different than hugging Kaleb, mostly because Connor’s so tall. It’s more head against upper abs than head against chest -- and his shirt is still unbuttoned. He returns the hug, his large hands resting on the middle of my back.
I tilt my head up to look at him, and he looks down at me. After last night and the past week, I feel Connor can read a lot in my eyes, so I don’t have to say how much he’s grown to mean to me and how grateful I am that he’s become part of my life.
Instead, I say, “You’re unbelievably tall. Remind me to grab a step ladder next time I hug you.”
He grins and pats the top of my head, which I take as he got my other message. I sniff then pull away, heading back toward the front door.
