“Think it’s a bad idea.”
She remembers how easily he touched her the other night, like being close after the nightmare had given him a boost to cross that line. “Are you sure? Because I think we can do it, and if we can’t, that’s okay too, but trying might be a good thing.”
He chews on his bottom lip, stroking the dog’s head where it rests in his lap. “Dunno how to explain, so it makes sense. You might take it wrong.”
That doesn’t sound good. Her stomach does a little flip as she prepares for the worst possible answer. “Try me.”
“I can touch you, still feels a little…off, like my gut is gonna flip, but it’s better. Not the same the other way around. I wanna throw up just thinking about it?”
He wasn’t wrong. It’s tempting to take that a certain way. She doesn’t want to know that he’s disgusted by her touch. She tries to remember what she read in that damn book, wishing she had it with her now instead of relying on memory.
“It’s called flooding, what happened the night before. An overload of the thing you fear until you can’t stay in that mental space anymore. That’s probably why it’s easier for you to touch me now. I didn’t even think about suggesting it because it can backfire. It doesn’t fix everything, though. Isn’t supposed to.”
“Do you think I gotta flood it the other way, then?”
“No. Maybe? I don’t know. Might be a better idea to keep going slow. See where that gets us first. Please remember that I’m still winging it here.”
He ponders this a moment, his desire to move forward clear despite the initial refusal. “If I ask you to stop, then you will?”
“Of course.”
“What if I can’t ask? If I can’t say it? You must think I’m a fucking disaster. I wish I could make you understand why I can’t…do you remember who I was before all this?”
“I remember.”
Wade was brash and funny and always ready with a quip. So damn bold that she used to wish she had an ounce of his confidence back when they were teenagers. Wondered how he managed to harness it after all he’d been through.
“I don’t. Not really. I dunno how to be him again.”
“You don’t have to be him. We’re all different now.” She points to the hair tie on his wrist as he trails off. “Use this if you need me to stop.”
He nods, touching the band with his thumb. “Okay.”
* * *
He’s facing her on the closed toilet seat and the severity of his reaction to the impending haircut shocks her.
She wants to be able to separate herself from what he’s going through, but she’s too close to be objective. Having seen him in a far worse state before hasn’t prepared her for how difficult it is to watch him now when all he has to fear is her touch.
Kara hasn’t even begun yet and he’s already shaking. One leg bounces up and down in a nervous tic, and his knuckles have gone white as he grips his knees. Bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep dart around the room as if someone else might be hiding here, and he complains of a funny taste in the back of his throat.
“Close your eyes,” she tells him. “You can always tell me to stop, and I will. Or use the hair tie if you can’t say it.”
His eyes close and open again a few times before he forces them shut.
“We’ll go slow. Just remember that you’re always safe with me.”
He nods as his inhales grow sharp. She suspects the anticipation isn’t helping. So, instead of prolonging it, she takes a chunk of hair gently between her fingers.
Quick reflexes have already gotten the better of him, and she’s not naive enough to think that’s completely gone. When he flinches, she does too, mentally cursing herself for it. She needs to treat this like it’s no big deal or risk making it worse.
She gets to work matter-of-factly, snipping off long hair with scissors found in the kitchen drawer.
“Think I’m gonna throw up,” he warns.
She grabs the trash can to put in front of him, but after a few dry heaves, he shoves it away.
“Never mind. I’m good. It’s fine.”
