“No, but I am against drivers who almost fall asleep on me when I hug them. You look like you haven’t slept much this weekend, am I right?”
I smiled weakly, refusing to verbalize how right he was. He kissed me then on my forehead and I was gone—gone to a happy place where boys like Kai could fall for girls like me. Girls, who had made mistakes beyond repair, were certifiably insane, and were entirely too stubborn.
He drove me home, calling a buddy from the station to pick him up from Stacie’s after we arrived.
And that was the night he called me his girlfriend for the very first time.
NINETEEN
I sat up, soaked in cold sweat.
My sheet and blankets lay twisted on the floor. It had been nearly four weeks since my last flashback episode on the Jet Ski and I was beginning to grow quite accustomed to dreamless slumber. This one though had been bad, really bad.
It wasn’t full of the usual gruesome details that were looped on repeat. Instead, it unleashed a new kind of horror. Anna wasn’t the only victim that lay helpless in a field, but Kai, Stacie, and Jack were there as well. All had critical injuries. I couldn’t move fast enough.
None of them could be saved if my efforts were split.
Stacie had been the logical choice. Saving her would be saving two lives. When I got to her though, her eyes filled with terror and she screamed so loud I had to cover my ears against the sharp shrill pain. It was then my own fear began. My ears were wet with a thick, sticky substance. I felt my face and head in a panic. Nothing was dry.
I didn’t want to see them, the hands that were now covered in red—my hands—but it was too late.
My eyes focused.
Blood was everywhere—on everything.
I woke up screaming.
I was grateful for the fan that Stacie used in her room at night, also for the two closed doors in between us. It was only five in the morning, but I couldn’t risk going back to sleep. I walked downstairs through the dark house and flicked on a lamp by the fireplace.
It was then I remembered the books that Dr. Crane had given me two sessions ago. Guess this was as good a time as any to crack them open.
At my last appointment she’d mentioned them again, giving me a stern yet professional reprimand for my procrastination. She had also encouraged me to journal my feelings as they came to me.
Journal? Right.
Wonder what she’d think about the nightmare I just had.
Dr. Crane had continued to prod and ask questions about what my flashbacks entailed—their themes—but until this morning I was still unclear about their common denominator. This nightmare though, proved what she had suspected all along: fear.
It was my fear that recycled through each flashback, my fear of not being enough to save her—or in this case, anyone—myself included.
Kai told me more about his friends that had experienced PTSD—both from work-related incidents. We had walked together around the pond about a week ago as he recounted the details of each of their stories and their “paths to recovery” as he called it. Though I knew he was trying to be helpful and supportive, there was one glaringly obvious fact that I couldn’t seem to overlook. Neither of them had been the cause of a death. Sure they had both seen horrific tragedies, but at the end of the day, the blame was not theirs to own.
I kept that fact to myself.
As I read now in the quiet of the morning, I struggled to focus. I’d never had an issue studying in the past. Learning was one of the only true passions that had stayed with me when all else was lost. Page after page I tried to lose myself in the words and descriptions. I even tried to read it like I was helping a patient, but I wasn’t fooled by my own deception.
I was the patient.
The issue wasn’t that I didn’t believe in the diagnosis or even in the process of recovery. The diagrams and explanations of the brain were all medically sound and logical—nothing I could deny. But I also couldn’t deny what I knew I would never find in a book: the remedy for guilt.
I decided after skimming through the stages of recovery, that I would keep my expectations low. Regaining sanity and living life functionally, without further decline, was all I was after. If the walls in my mind had been built up, then I would have to tear them down, piece by piece. If isolation and withdrawal had cemented my stubborn will of self-reliance, then I’d slowly have to open up my circle of influence.
This, of course, was easier said than done.
I searched for an answer to rid my mind of the flashbacks and nightmares, but the only help offered was continued therapy and time. I wanted desperately for that to be enough, but my gut told me otherwise.
If my flashbacks were indeed tied to my guilt, my mind might never be my own again.
**********
A little after seven o’clock, I headed up the stairs. I passed Stacie’s room where I hoped she had slept well. We’d been on good terms for the last few weeks, moving past my impulsive blunder that had occurred on ultrasound day. I had apologized for storming out of the house, and for my anger toward Jack.
I also shared with her about my therapy appointments with Dr. Crane.
I made her promise she would keep that information confidential. She was happy to oblige, relieved I’d taken our honesty pack seriously—or at least as seriously as I could take it.
I sorted through my laundry in search of clean running shorts, planning to make a date with the washing machine later in the day. I was grateful for a day off, a feeling that surprised me. Kai unfortunately started his forty-eight hour shift today, so I’d likely not hear from him until this evening when he called.
Buzz. Buzz.
My phone vibrated on my nightstand.
It was a text from Kai.
Kai: Up for a run? Want some company? I can be ready in 10 minutes.
I smiled as I considered his proposal. I had never run with anyone before. Kai was hardly just anyone. Kai was a man who didn’t lack in strength or endurance. Proof of that claim was evident to anyone with eyes.
His body was solid and muscular. I had heard stories about the workouts at the station and they were nothing short of intense. I felt quite unsure about my ability to keep up with him, but ultimately my desire to see him was greater than my pride.
I replied.
Tori: Meet me at the bridge on Elm in 20.
My run to the bridge was fairly short. As I neared it, I could see him stretching. A rush of energy pumped through me. While one second he was stretching, the next he was doing some kind of strange combination of bobbing and weaving. I hoped it wasn’t a new dance move.
As I got close he smiled, matching my pace as I approached. Within seconds though, I was doubling my cadence just to stay in stride with his long legs.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he said, looking at me with the grin I’d come to know quite well over the last six weeks.
“Good morning. What was that little jig you did on the bridge back there?” I asked, trying not to laugh.
“Oh, ha! You saw that, huh? There was a bee next to my hand, I was just trying to get away from it,” he laughed.
“A bee, huh? Is that your weakness, Kai? Big, strong fireman is afraid of an itty bitty bee?”
He laughed again before answering, “Actually, I’m pretty allergic to them. I was cornered by a whole nest of them once when I was ten. I had over thirty stings that day. I have to carry an EpiPen now wherever I go. Kind of a bummer,” he said.
I punched his shoulder.
“Or...kinda great that you won’t die from a bee sting,” I said sarcastically.
“True, if you want to be all glass-half-full about it.”
“And if I was ever charged with a life perspective…that would be it.”
This time his laugh was more of a loud, air-sucking bark.
I smiled and shook my head.
**********
We ran past the park and the high school, turning left onto an old country road. I had been on
it just a few times before. The greenbelt that spanned for a good couple of miles made for nice running scenery. It was some of the only green land left that hadn’t yet been capitalized on by greedy builders or investors.
I worked hard to match Kai’s never-ending stride, but didn’t complain.
“So, we haven’t really talked about the camping trip since the fireman’s ball,” Kai said, breathing heavily.
“No, I guess we haven’t. When is it?” I asked, sweat dripping from my forehead.
Kai turned his head toward me, “Weekend after next. Do you want to come?”
“I’m not sure, Kai. I mean, it does sound fun to hang out with you in hill country, but I don’t know anyone else. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
Kai laughed. “What? Don’t be crazy. You know Briggs...and Mike.”
“Uh, I only know Mike because he drove me in an ambulance after my not-so-graceful fall. We’re not quite BFF’s yet,” I said.
Kai pushed me gently on my shoulder and laughed again—or tried to.
“There will be at least three other women there. I promise they'll all love you, Tori. I have an extra tent and everything else is taken care of already. All you need to do is just agree to come. Do you have your schedule yet?” he asked.
“No, but I put in my November calendar requests tomorrow,” I replied.
“Great, it’s settled then. You’re going,” he said, grinning wide.
I rolled my eyes at him, but couldn’t help but feel flattered.
“Fine, I’ll go.”
We kept running.
Kai’s talkative nature had grown quiet. The only sound I heard was our breathing. Somewhere in the last mile I had found new motivation to keep pushing myself forward. I’m sure Kai’s presence had something to do with that. The new pace he’d set had finally stuck; it was no longer a conscience battle.
I felt good.
It was right about then though, that I realized Kai’s stride was no longer matching mine. He was stopped and bent over, sweat pouring from his face onto the broken, faded concrete.
“I surrender! I surrender!” Kai said, holding up one arm. He was still bent in half and breathing hard.
I jogged back to him, trying to make sense of his declaration. His head lifted and his eyes met mine.
“You won, woman. You didn’t have to kill me though...I would’ve surrendered miles ago if only I’d known you were going for a long-distance medal,” he said panting.
“Oh. Sorry, Kai, why didn’t you say something?” I asked. It was then he gave me a look that I could clearly identify as male ego.
Kai looked at his watch and pressed several buttons in sequence. His eyebrows shot up as he read the tiny screen. He stared at me in surprise.
“What?” I asked.
“Is this normal for you? Your normal distance of running?” he asked, shock still registering on his face.
“Yeah I think so...I don’t really keep track of the distance,” I said, wondering what he was getting at.
“Tori...we’ve almost ran 6 miles....in one direction,” he said flatly.
“Okay...well, you don’t exactly look like a guy that’s out of shape, Kai,” I said, moving my hand to my hip.
He grinned and stood upright.
“Have you ever heard of guys that can bench press two-fifty, but can’t do an hour of cardio to save their life? Well, you just met one.”
He laughed heartily now. I laughed too, even though I knew he was exaggerating. I felt self-conscious under his gaze in the seconds that followed. I shifted my weight back and forth, trying to ease my anxiety.
“Thanks for the lesson in humility, Pele,” he said, looking around at the road we were on. “We’re probably a good three miles out still if we take this short cut through the field, would it pain you to walk with me a bit?” he asked, his eyes amused.
“No, of course not. I really am sorry...I should have paid more attention.”
We headed toward the dirt trail that ran diagonal to the street. While walking in step with one another –both sweaty and hot –Kai turned to look at me again.
“So, what do you measure them by?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“If you don’t go by distance, do you measure your runs by time or by land mark?”
I swallowed hard, thinking about how to respond. I didn’t want to lie, but the truth was unconventional at best. He waited for my answer, his eyes still glued to my face.
“I guess I go by how I feel,” I said quietly.
“I’d make it to mile marker one if I measured it by how I felt,” Kai said, laughing.
I was grateful for his humor; it seemed to break up these serious conversations so much better than my angry defensiveness did. Dr. Bradley had been the only one who knew why I ran. Consequently, she was also the one who had helped me understand it. Kai took my hand in his, giving me the courage to continue my revelation as we walked.
“I always hated running. I hated anything that made me hot and sweaty, actually,” I said.
“Could have fooled me,” he said, winking.
“Yeah, I’ve probably fooled a lot of people over the last year. I started running to deal—cope is what they call it in recovery lingo. I would run when I couldn’t handle it anymore: the stress, the pain, the...the memories,” I confessed.
Kai’s face changed again. This time I saw nothing but compassion. I hoped it wouldn’t turn to pity. I hated pity.
He nodded, freeing me to speak again.
“There were times in the beginning I could only make it a few blocks, but I’d push myself till I either threw up or was forced to sit down, afraid I was going to pass out on the sidewalk. Then, as I pushed through one level of pain, I’d push past the next and the next. One day I ran for close to two hours straight, all the while focusing on ridding myself of...the images.”
“Did it work?” he asked.
Kai’s question was soft, thoughtful, yet his grip on my hand grew tighter. His jaw was tense.
“That depends on how you define worked, I guess. If running kept me from other ways I could have chosen to cope, then yes. But as you see, this is only a temporary fix. Nothing will take it away forever,” I said, refusing to make eye contact with him.
Kai was quiet then and so was I.
I’d never said those words aloud—I wasn’t even sure I had actually thought them inside my head. Hearing Dr. Bradley’s theory of me was one thing, but it was entirely another to admit it to someone else in full transparency. He stopped walking, pulling me to a stop as well. I searched his eyes in question.
“That’s not true you know,” he said softy.
Confused by his seemingly cryptic words I asked, “What’s not?”
“Tori, I know you’re trying to figure out a lot of stuff right now and I admire you so much for your courage and willingness to be honest, but I think you’re missing what could be the biggest part of your recovery if you let it.”
Please don’t say it, Kai.
I stared at him, hoping that he would change the direction of this conversation, hoping that he would give me space in this one area.
“God. He is more than a temporary fix, Tori. He’s the only one that we can trust completely. I don’t know where you stand with Him right now, but I do know that you hold the truth inside you,” he said passionately.
I held his gaze for a few moments more, and then broke out of his grip. I walked ahead without him. This was one conversation I wasn’t ready to have—with Kai or anyone else.
“I’ll give you space to think on it, but I won’t pretend that faith isn’t the answer you need. Sure, there is tremendous value in therapy and support from your family and friends that love you,” Kai said, letting his last words hang in the air between us before continuing, “but I’d be kidding myself and you if I pretended that you could possibly find hope anywhere else, but in God.”
I kept walking, processing his words before throwing them out. I knew he bel
ieved them, but that wasn’t enough to make me believe them, too. Again I found myself wishing it were different—wishing I were different. He caught up to me and put his hand on my shoulder, stopping me gently.
“Tori, this is who I am. I won’t apologize for it. I am a man who makes plenty of mistakes, but I know what I believe and who I believe in. I hope you can understand that, because this is the one area I won’t make any concessions in,” he spoke firmly now, searching my eyes for understanding.
I nodded, letting my still posture melt under his gaze.
“I do understand that your faith is important to you, Kai. I would never ask you to change that, nor would I want you to.” I took a deep breath before continuing, “But don’t expect me to agree with you. My convictions aren’t the same as yours.”
He reached out and touched my face, grazing his thumb over my scar. No one before Kai had ever touched that tender, raised skin on my cheek. But that simple gesture brought more comfort than I wanted to acknowledge. Comfort was something I had all but forgotten.
“How do you sort the truth from the lies, Tori?” His eyes were both tender and soft when he asked.
I swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Kai’s smile was sad, but he didn’t move his hand away from my face. “Thank you.”
“For what?” I whispered.
“Your honesty.”
Kai pulled me in for a sweaty hug before we decided to pick up the pace.
We ran back to the bridge in comfortable silence.
TWENTY
Halloween: possibly the worst night to work in a medical facility.
Aside from the many acts of ridiculous stupidity, the word creepy didn’t even begin to describe what happens in hospitals during the course of this twenty-four-hour holiday. Nurse Holt had agreed to “limited decor and costumes” throughout the emergency floor per her memo, but there were those that pushed the limits. Take Nurse Bev Hatty for example: her platinum blond Marilyn Monroe wig, her ruby red lips, her spider-leg-long false eyelashes. That was just the start. Over the top of her black scrubs she wore a red sequined lace-up corset, which I was quite certain she would have worn solo if not for the “Nurses, only wear scrubs” rule.
All For Anna Page 15