Page 60 of Everlasting Vows

“Th-that’s six years ago!” he stutters, losing his composure. I know it’s bad when Harry’s mask slips.

I lean forward, dropping my elbows to my knees and my eyes to the rug. I link my fingers, squeezing them almost painfully. “I know,” I grit. “I honestly don’t know how I’ve let it go on for this long. I miss her.”

“I’m sure you do.” I feel his stare burn into the side of my face and turn my head to look at him. “You want to talk about how this sleeping arrangement came to be?”

Not really. I just want the issue solved so I can wrap my body around Abbi’s in a peaceful sleep. Then, I remember Harry’s rule about sharing all of my thoughts while I’m with him, and I repeat the words from my head out loud.

Harry nods sagely. “I completely understand, but for you to be able to sleep in the same bed as your wife, we need to get to the root of the problem. So, start at the beginning and tell me why you don’t share a bed anymore.”

He listens carefully as I share my story, sipping his coffee now and then. When I finish, he sits quietly for a moment, the silence crawling over my skin like thousands of tiny ants. Prickles of uncertainty make their way down my spine as I wait for him to share his usual words of wisdom. It takes sheer determination on my part to sit beneath his thoughtful gaze as he observes me quietly.

“I can see how that would be distressing, and I want to start out by saying you are not alone in your experience with night terrors. I obviously can’t go into detail, but many men who come to see me experience them.” He leans forward, holding my gaze. “Do you understand that I’m telling you this is a common experience among returned servicemen and women?”

I nod. I figured as much, but it doesn’t make it easier to accept.

“Okay, so I assume you were reasonably satisfied with this arrangement. Apart from wanting to save your marriage, what has brought you to the point today to make you seek help regarding this particular arrangement?” Harry asks. There’s no judgement in his tone, just a question to help me dig into my reasons for acting today, and it makes it easier to share my purpose for seeking him out.

I sit up and rest my hands on the padded arms of my chair. “After what happened last night, the need to feel connected to each other was strong. Abbi assumed I’d return to our bed, but I-I couldn’t do it. Fear for her safety held me back, and I left her to sleep alone. Again.” I wonder if Harry can hear the self-disgust in my voice?

“To keep her safe?”

I sigh loudly. “Obviously.”

“I see.” He hums at the back of his throat. “You don’t think enough time has passed since returning? You think you’re still a risk?”

“I know I’m still a risk. I don’t have night terrors as often as I used to, but each morning I wake twisted in my bedding. I know I’m not sleeping soundly. And after the events of yesterday, I didn’t trust myself not to have a night terror.”

“And did you?”

I narrow my eyes at Harry with confusion. “Did I what?”

“Have a night terror last night?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but my bedding was a shitshow this morning.” I shrug.

He sips his coffee slowly; I’m sure to give him time to gather his thoughts. “So you assumed you would inadvertently hurt your wife, but it didn’t happen, so you wasted an opportunity to share a bed with her? To reconnect at a time when life felt truly fragile.” He presses on. “How did Abbi feel about you sleeping elsewhere again last night?”

I swallow past the agony of the memory of last night that rises. The pain and disappointment in her tear-filled eyes when she realized I still couldn’t sleep in the same bed as her. “She was … upset.”

“I can imagine.” He pauses. “How did that sound and look?”

“I think she assumed I’d sleep in our bed. Once she realized I wouldn’t be joining her, I watched devastation sweep over her, but all she showed me was compassion and love as I explained my reasons. That I needed to keep her safe. That I never wanted to hurt her again.”

“You realize you hurt her, anyway?”

I nod, drawing a deep breath. “I know. It fucking killed me to refuse her. I wanted, more than anything, to slide into that bed with her. Wrap myself around her, lie with her in my arms all night, and wake to her sleeping on my chest this morning. But I don’t fucking trust myself to keep her safe while I sleep. I’m gutted. My entire psyche is built around keeping people safe. And worse, I feel if I can’t get on top of this, the gains we’ve made in our relationship will be lost for good.”

He nods slowly, and I can see him thinking deeply about my predicament. “Why do you think you were strangling someone in your sleep?”

I breathe deeply and tilt my head from side to side, stretching out the tense muscles in my neck. “I was so fucking furious after the IED attack. I wanted to kill the motherfuckers who’d orchestrated it. I often imagined hunting them down and killing them with my bare hands. Of course, I couldn’t do any of that because I was in the hospital and then shipped home. I never got the opportunity to …”—I shake my head and lean forward again, burying my head in my hands—“I never got to punish the men who killed Wyatt and injured Shane. Not to mention murdering one of their own children. Who the fuck does something so heinous?” I thump my chest and rub the heel of my hand over the space. “I have all this anger that I’ve tried to push down … tried to ignore … tried to forget inside of me. But it’s like a toxic wasteland that grows and spreads like a disease inside of me. The bigger it becomes, the angrier I grow that I can’t seem to control it. It’s why I don’t share stuff with Abbi; I don’t want to expose her to the darkness inside of me.” I take a breath. “I don’t want her to be exposed to the darkness inside me. It’s one of the reasons why I focus so much on building my business. It gives me somewhere to expend my energy and focus.”

Harry leans forward in his chair as I work to catch my breath. “Our need to present a composed front to the people around us can often be our biggest downfall. Pushing down your dark thoughts only gives them more of a hold over you.” He leans back into his chair and rests his ankle on his opposite knee. “I’m going to quote Martin Luther King Jr. here. ‘Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.’.” He offers me a warm smile. “So you see, pushing your darkness down further into the darkness is the opposite of what you need to do. You need to bring it into the light. And growing angry with yourself isn’t helping either. You need to give yourself compassion and grace.” He sips his coffee. “I can only assume your self-talk is rather hateful.” He waves his finger around his head, raising his eyebrows at me as if waiting for an answer.

“I’m certainly not cheering myself on, if that’s what you’re asking.” I huff. “I don’t know how to bring it into the light without having to relive that day over and over.” I shake my head, hoping to dislodge the image this discussion brings forth.

Harry smiles at me indulgently. “If you don’t think you’re already living that day on repeat, you’re delusional, Nix.” He pauses as his direct hit punches my solar plexus. This guy doesn’t mince his words. “The more you talk about the event and how it made you feel, the more you bring it into the light and minimize its hold over you. The more control you actually have. The less it will invade your sleeping moments.” He sighs. “Your mind has to deal with the trauma somehow, and because you refuse to do it in your waking hours, it hijacks your sleep.”

I guess that kind of makes sense, but I don’t want to keep rehashing the same shit over and over. It feels pointless. Defeat makes my shoulders curl with a heavy burden I’m sick and tired of carrying.