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Chapter 35
BRIDGET
Past
The following evening, I wake up in the middle of the night to find Darren isn’t in bed. He probably went to use the bathroom, but several minutes go by without his return. I glance towards the bathroom and find the door open. The lights are off. I don’t hear anything. Sitting up, I look around. Still hearing nothing but silence, I decide to get out of bed and go searching for him.
We had fallen asleep after making love. He hadn’t seemed himself. His mind was somewhere else. At one point, he was thrusting so roughly, I had to use my safe word. Maybe the trauma of getting shot has finally set in.
I find him in the main room, sitting on the sofa and staring into the fireplace, which isn’t lit. He doesn’t seem to notice me until I’m standing next to him. I would ask him if he’s okay, but I don’t think he is, and he doesn’t seem to want to talk. So I just sit down, curl next to him, and rest my head on his shoulder. He releases a long breath and seems a little less tense. After sitting in silence for several minutes, he puts his arm around me.
“Sorry about the rough sex,” he says. “I just…blanked.”
“It’s okay,” I reply.
He heaves another sigh. We sit quietly for several more minutes.
“You should go back to bed,” he says. “Don’t you have an early shift at the library tomorrow?”
“Are you going back to bed?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
I curl tighter beside him and rub my arms. He reaches for the remote and turns on the fireplace.
“After work tomorrow, I have an appointment with a therapist at the student health center,” I tell him. “Have you given any thought to seeing a therapist?”
“I don’t need a fucking therapist.”
I press my lips together. In my seminar on racial disparities in health, one of the subjects was the stigma various cultures and ethnicities have specific to mental health. The Asian American community is the least likely to take advantage of mental health services.
“You survived a shooting,” I say. “As a gunshot victim, you—”
“I don’t need therapy.”
“Says the guy who got wasted the other night.”
“That had nothing to—I just felt like drinking, okay?”
“It’s just a coincidence that you went and got yourself hammered after your meeting with Sergeant Trawley?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want to meet with you about anyway?”
“Just wanted to review what happened, make sure I didn’t leave anything out.”
“Several days later? Wouldn’t your memory be worse now than before?”
He shrugs.
“Did he have anything new on who it was?” I inquire.
“Nope.”
“Is the shooting even a priority for him?”
