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“Hey, Barrett…”
His chest and shoulders move more rhythmically, and when I try to gently pull the pillow down, I hear his hollow-sounding breaths, realize he’s right there on the edge of hyperventilating.
Fuck. What do I do?
I stretch out on the bed beside him, scoot in close, and wrap my arm around his upper back. He’s so much wider than I am, my arm can’t reach too far; I clutch his shoulder and hold on.
I curl my body close to his and rub his cool, damp skin. Chills spread underneath my hand. He gives no other clue he knows I’m here.
I remember something from my own dark time. When I dissociated once at Helga’s office…
I tap him on the arm—a steady tap, tap, tap—and with my right hand, the arm I’m lying on, I reach out and touch his chest. I tap both places.
“Barrett—it’s Gwenna.”
I scoot closer still, and stop my left hand’s tapping, wrapping my arm a little more tightly around him, trying to hold him to me. He’s still coiled in pain, still shaking.
“Barrett…baby.” I press my lips against his throat and run my hand up from his back into his hair. The curls are sweaty. Everywhere our skin touches, I feel his chills. I spread my fingers through his damp curls, stroking softly.
“Hey…you’re safe. I’ve got you.” To my own ears, I sound scared and stupid.
He drags in a deep breath, and his shoulders twitch. I shift positions just a little, so the pillow in front of his face is right under my neck. Then I wrap my hand around his head and pull him up against my chest.
“I’ve got you. I’m not letting go.” I hold him and I whisper and I stroke him and it hurts. To see someone so strong and capable— To see anyone in so much pain…
I feel the pillow pulled away and feel him bow his head. I want to look down at him, check on him. Instead I kiss his hair, offering him privacy. A second later, his face presses against my chest. His face is hot and wet, his breaths warm and still fast. My heart aches as I smooth his curls.
Jesus, if he does this every night…
Breath quivers through his chest and throat, ragged breaths like aftershocks.
When I finally glance down, I see his eyelids cracked, but can’t tell where he’s looking.
“You awake?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.” The words are raspy, almost whimpered.
I hold him tighter.
“Sorry,” he says roughly.
“No, sweetheart.”
He starts to shake a little harder.
I lift my arm from his back. “Just a second. Let me get…”
I pull the duvet up over his shoulders, leaning up so I can tuck it around his back and underneath his side. I pull it over him, and over me, and then behind my own back, where I tuck it so it’s tight around us both.
Then I wrap an arm around his waist. He bows his head a little, his hair tickling my throat and chin. I feel him swallow.
“You’re okay…”
I snuggle closer to him.
God, he’s warm. And still. I can feel him breathing, but that’s all. Then I feel him raise his arm. His hand touches my shoulder: just a brief caress.
Then he lifts the duvet off him, turns away from me, and gets down off the bed. I see his gorgeous body glisten in the dim light as he walks into the bathroom. He doesn’t shut the door, just cracks it, so I hear the faucet running, followed by a slurping sound that makes me think he’s drinking.
