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I’d told him to open his eyes, but in truth, his eyes were already open. There was just nothing there, nothing in them.
My hands were free, so I risked reaching my left one up to cover the hand he had at my throat. My instinct was to try to tear his hand away, but I knew that would just cause him to react more strongly. So I rubbed my fingers over the back of his hand and repeated, "You're safe, sweetheart."
I had to repeat the words a few more times before I saw something inside of him switch again. The wildness in his eyes eased and his pupils became a more normal size. His breathing slowed and then his eyes were scanning my face.
"Brooks?" he asked in confusion.
I managed to nod, despite his hold on me. "It's me," I said. "You're okay. We’re both okay."
He practically leapt off of me. He scrambled backward on all fours until his back hit the side of his bed. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them and began shaking his head. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," he whispered.
I raised myself to a sitting position and had to cough several times to clear my throat. I had no doubt I'd have more bruises around my throat come morning. But I didn't care about that. I couldn't take my eyes off Xavier as he hugged himself and rocked back and forth. It took several beats before he seemed to remember I was there. His eyes met mine and I could see that they were now filled with horror and shame.
"Did I hurt you?" he asked in a barely there whisper.
"No," I lied. It wasn't a real lie, as far as I was concerned. Yes, he'd hurt me, but the pain had been minimal at best. I was more worried about him. Not once in the time I'd known him as a kid had he ever shown any kind of fear. In fact, it'd been rare for him to show any kind of emotion at all. Which was why it had always been so hard to accept that he’d attacked my father. If he hadn’t admitted to it, I never would have believed it, even after having seen him standing over my father’s motionless form that night outside the burning barn.
I could see that Xavier was trembling, so I carefully got to my feet and eased the blanket off the bed. Xavier's eyes tracked my every move. It made me wonder if he was still having trouble accepting that whatever he’d been going through had all been part of the dream rather than me trying to hurt him. I moved slowly as I dropped the blanket around his shoulders before crouching in front of him with the intention of closing the blanket so none of his damp skin would be exposed to the chilly air.
Surprisingly, Xavier didn't move as I tucked the blanket around him. I could feel his eyes on me, and when I looked down, I saw that he was staring at my throat. "Hey," I whispered and waited until he looked me in the eye. "It's nothing," I said. "I'm fine."
He didn't respond but when his eyes dropped back down to my neck, I said, "Stay here. I’m going to go close your balcony doors. It's too cold in here."
"No—" he practically shouted and then he grabbed my wrist as I stood. I couldn't help but flinch, and Xavier saw. He dropped my hand and tucked his back inside the blanket. "No," he repeated more softly this time. "Please, leave them open."
I thought about the balcony doors, then the bedroom door. Even the bathroom door had been open. I felt sick as I sat down in front of him. I stretched out my legs so that one was on either side of him. The move didn't seem to make him uncomfortable, which I was glad for.
"You don't like being closed in," I said. "That's why you leave all the doors open… so it won’t be like your…" I hesitated, and then realized how foolish that was. He and I both knew what I was getting at. This wasn't the time to beat around the bush. "Jail cell."
He didn't answer, but he didn't really need to.
I hadn't ever really given much thought to Xavier and his life in prison. When he’d been arrested for trying to kill my father and burning down our barn, I’d been so hurt and angry that I'd cast him from my mind as best I could. I hadn't had any interest in going to any of the hearings that’d been held after he’d pled guilty to the crime, and I'd avoided even the possibility of seeing any kind of news stories about him. Whenever my parents had discussed Xavier at dinner, I'd simply gathered my plate and left the room, depositing the uneaten food in the kitchen. My parents hadn’t even noticed.
