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He’s always so warm.
Encased in his arms, I know without a doubt that I’m safe. Those insistent memories keep trying to drag me back, but Max anchors me to the present, reminding me that I’m protected and free.
My tears are no longer silent, but jagged and heaving, full of heartbreak. They’re cathartic and necessary, and throughout it all Max remains stoic and silent, absorbing every moment of my breakdown. A better nurse doesn’t exist. I’m so tired of people trying to offer well-meaning thoughts and platitudes. Sometimes, the only response I’ve needed is just to have someone listen and hold me as I unravel.
Sniffing, I pull back to see him properly.My pyjamas are sweaty from my nightmare, and I’ve used my sleeve as a tissue.
I must look gross.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he says despondently. “Seeing you like this, enduring this over and over destroys me.”
“I know,” I tell him. “But this is you trying to help me. So thank you for caring. For being so determined, so . . . ambitious in digging deep and only getting the really shitty end of this.”
His hold tightens. “Of course, I care. I’d do anything for you. But I hate that this hurts so much.”
I use my clean sleeve to mop my wet eyes.
“I’ll find you something fresh to wear,” Max offers. “Be right back.”
Not wanting to be left alone, I follow him. When he sees me trailing after him, huddled into myself, shivering, he picks me up and carries me towards the stairs with my legs wrapped around his hips.
Outside the door, a crumpled blanket and pillow lie discarded on the floor.
“Were you outside my door?”
“I was worried about you.”
“Max,” I whisper, overcome. “I’m sorry this isn’t easy.”
He climbs the stairs, telling me, “I’m not important.”
In the master bedroom, he drops me gently onto the bed whilst he searches through my suitcase. We discussed running together for the first time this weekend, so he knows I’ve packed leggings and yoga things.
He returns, even with a pair of pants and a bra which somehow doesn’t surprise me.
“I’m going to shower first,” I say, and because I don’t want to be separated from him anymore, I ask him to come with me.
“Of course.”
This time I stay in the shower for a long time, relishing the steamy heat. Max stands behind me, his arms tight around my waist, his head leaning on my shoulder as I lather shampoo into my hair.
Once we’re dry, I dress in my clean clothes, feeling refreshed but emotionally empty. And yet that haunting voice calls to me, beckoning me on. And if I didn’t fully understand before, I do now; it wants me to continue, to fill in those gaps and holes that exist in my memory. Because if I can only remember a night or two, then there must be more, mustn’t there? There must be much more to uncover.
It’s 6 AM. I think I had four hours’ sleep.
Downstairs, we drink tea and nibble on toast or sliced pears, even though I’m not hungry. But I feel so low and diminished right now that I think food would do me good.
“I need to call my police liaison officer.” I called Paula earlier in the week, but it was a short call. I told her something was coming through and she was encouraging, telling me to write it down.
“Do you need to go there in person?”
“I can make notes and email them.”
“You can use my laptop.”
“Thanks.”
