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You don’t have to miss me for long. I’ll be there in half an hour.
I climb out of bed and feel my way around in the dark. A pair of pants are slung over a chair and a t-shirt hangs in the closet. I splash my face with cold water and run my fingers through my hair to disrupt the bed head. I’ve only gotten about five hours of sleep, but I feel wide awake.
I make a mental note to bring up therapy again. I asked a friend of mine whose wife is a trauma counselor if she could give me a list of recommendations. The email is sitting in my inbox with names, links to their websites, and personal notes about what they treat and how long they’ve been practicing. It’s more thorough than I ever expected and I can’t express enough gratitude for the help.
I know Kaitlyn is struggling right now. I know it’s hard for her to talk about what happened or even think about it. She busies herself with work or cooking or texting me. She tries to distract herself from the memories so they don’t hurt as much. But the nightmares catch her when she’s the most vulnerable. And while she can’t stop her dreams from taking dark and twisty turns, maybe she can get help to cope with them. I think I’m falling in love with this woman, but I can’t be her security blanket forever. One day she’s going to have to face her demons. I only hope that I’m there to hold her hand when she does.
10
KAITLYN
Frankie is asleep on my bed while I sit wrapped in a blanket on the couch. She seems to be getting used to my night terrors. Sometimes she tries to nestle her head under my hand as if giving her ear scratches will make me feel better. It doesn’t, but it’s nice to touch something that’s real. When I wake up from my dreams, it’s tough trying to figure out what’s real and what isn’t. Having her there helps.
But she usually takes up the entire bed while I’m in the shower. She doesn’t mind that my sweat stains the bed or that I’m making a lot of noise in the bathroom, she just wants to sleep.
A key clicks in the lock of my door and anxiety races through my veins. Even though I know it’s Mitchell, a small part of my brain asks, ‘But what if it’s them?’ It isn’t logical and it doesn’t make sense, but I can’t help those thoughts.
I’m instantly reassured when the door unlocks and Mitchell walks through. It isn’t the blonde from the robbery. It isn’t the brunette holding a gun. It’s my strong, broad-chested protector wearing a pair of sweats and a smile. “Hey,” I greet him shyly.
Mitchell shuts the door and locks it behind him. He makes sure that I can see him do it. The first time he came back, I didn’t see him lock the door and when someone was walking through the hall, I nearly had a panic attack. He’s been very intentional about locking it in front of me ever since. “Hey, gorgeous. I hope I didn’t keep you up. I know you’ve got work in a few hours.”
I’m going to call out. Mitchell doesn’t need to know that though. My boss is the only one who I’ve kind of told about what happened to me. In a vague, half-assed sort of way, I told him I’d been robbed over the weekend and that the robbers had guns. I didn’t tell him that one held the gun to my head or that the other decided to put rape on the table. Those details I kept to myself because I couldn’t stomach saying them aloud. My boss will understand if I need to take a day off.
“Is Frankie in bed?” Mitchell asks as he comes over to the couch to take a seat.
I instantly make myself comfortable by crawling into his lap. While he kicks his legs up onto the couch where I was once sitting, I sprawl out across him like a giant teddy bear. He holds me in his arms and I feel safe once more. “Yeah, she pretty much passed out the second I got up to shower. She loves having the whole bed to herself.”
Mitchell makes an ‘ah ha’ sort of sound before placing his chin on the top of my head. “And how are you doing?”
My jaw tightens and the rest of my body is sure to follow. I do my best to keep the tension back by shrugging my shoulders and asking if he has to work today. He’s told me a dozen times that his workdays are twelve hours shifts Thursday through Sunday. But I still ask because I want to hear from his lips that I’m not interrupting his sleep schedule or making his day any harder.
“No, my week starts again tomorrow,” he says reassuringly. “Do you want me to move Frankie so we can get some sleep? Doesn’t your alarm go off at 7:00?”
It should. But I’ve already turned it off. “I’m not going to work this morning.” I snuggle into him and pull the blanket tight around me. “It’s not a big deal. I have days off I need to take anyway.” I’d planned to use them around Christmas to visit my parents in California, but that place is expensive anyway.
Mitchell is quiet for a minute but his fingers strum against my stomach. When he gets like this, he always wants to bring up the robbery. I try to harden myself against it, but nothing ever prepares me for his gentle suggestions. “Well if you’re free today then, do you want to look at a list of therapists a friend sent over to me? We can call around and see if there’s something you might be interested in meeting with. I think talking about what happened with someone will help you start sleeping through the night.”
Time will help me sleep through the night. Melatonin will help me sleep through the night. Maybe even a little meditation will help me sleep through the night. But reliving the experience that’s haunting my dreams? That sounds counterproductive to sleep. “I was thinking maybe we could go to breakfast or something, maybe a movie this afternoon. Or we could stay here too if you prefer.” I don’t want to push myself on him.
“Kaitlyn,” his grip on me tightens like a reminder that he’s saying these next few words with love, “I really think you need to consider talking to someone about this. It was a traumatic event that—”
I shut him up with a kiss. It wasn’t what I intentionally wanted to do when I turned my head to look up at him, but then I looked at the swell of his bottom lip. I saw his dappled beard sprouting gray hairs here and there, a sign of his age. I saw his brown eyes staring down at me with deep concern and consideration.
It just happened. One second I was listening to him speak and thinking about telling him to knock it off, and the next I was pushing myself forward and embracing his lips with my own.
His mustache tickles my upper lip and it makes me smile into the kiss. The warmth of his lips on mine knocks the chill off my fear. He tastes like spearmint toothpaste. And for the few seconds that our lips are touching, I forget everything that happened.
Mitchell’s arms around me grip me harder, cocooning me in his strength. I feel the press of his member against the blanket between us. For ten seconds, I experience pure joy. All the troubles of the past few days melt away and I am blissfully enraptured by the only man who’s seen me at my worst and loves me anyway.
But then he pulls away. He breaks the kiss and though his forehead is still pressed against mine and his breathing is labored, he closes his eyes and swallows past the lump that’s formed in his throat. “Kaitlyn,” the way Mitchell says my name this time is deeply carnal and less gentle than before. “I really,reallylike you, but I don’t think it’s the best time for us to do stuff like that. You’re in a fragile state and—”
Fuck being in a fragile state. For a blissful ten seconds, I’d been in heaven. I felt stronger and braver and I don’t want to give that up.
I cut him off again with another kiss. This one lasts longer and goes deeper. I drag my tongue across his thick bottom lip. He moans just slightly before opening his mouth and letting me enter. Heaven is at hand once more.
Mitchell lets it happen. He even kisses me back, his tongue swirling around mine like a tornado.
I don’t need therapy, I just need Mitchell. I need his mouth on mine and his hands holding me tight. I can overcome this without professional help.
