Nightclub Surprise

by Michelle Love

  “I’m going to take your sweet ass right here, baby. That’s what I’m doing. And then maybe I’ll take you in the swimming pool while we skinny dip. After that…”

  She sighed, stopping me. “So, today is all about getting your fill of me, is that it?”

  “Baby, I will never get my fill of you. But today is about getting as much of you as I can get. Because tomorrow I’ll leave to go get better.” Putting my mouth back on hers, I found her pushing my shoulders once more. “Now what?”

  “What about the staff, August?” She looked worried. “I don’t want to get caught.”

  Little did she know that I’d called Denise and told her to give the entire staff the day off. I wanted to be completely alone with Tawny for the entire day. But I didn’t let her in on that—a little fear of getting caught added some spice to things. “Don’t worry about that.” I kissed her again.

  The kiss was so hard and so full of passion that she melted underneath me, letting me have my way. She knew I wasn’t going to quit until I got what I wanted, and so she didn’t fight me on most things—not when she wanted those things as badly as I did. I loved that about her.

  I loved everything about her, and I’d do anything to make myself the man she deserved.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Tawny

  After one hell of a great day, where August gave me all of his attention just as he promised, we had to come up for air when Calum came home from school. Max, the driver, had picked Calum up for us and brought him home.

  We managed to keep our hands mostly off one another until Calum went to sleep, then we went at it like animals again until the wee hours of the morning, when August carried me to my own bed, locking the door behind him.

  I cried then. Cried for all he had gone through. For all he’d seen. For all he’d had to do. The man was my hero. He always would be.

  After a shower, I put on some nightclothes and went to sleep. I’d brought the baby monitor with me to my bedroom and was shocked when I woke up the next morning alone in my bed.

  No Calum.

  Progress was being made there, and I prayed our little family would just keep on progressing.

  Later, after getting myself and Calum dressed, I found August in the breakfast nook. Steam swirled over his coffee cup, and he jerked his head over at the carafe. “Grab a cup and join me.” He looked at Calum. “There’s juice in the other one for you, buddy.”

  I poured us something to drink then we took seats at the small round table with August. He put his cell down, looking at our son. I knew leaving him for fourteen entire days wasn’t sitting well with him.

  Placing my hand on top of August’s, I said, “I’ll explain things to him, don’t worry.”

  “’Splain, what?” Calum asked before he gulped down some apple juice.

  “I want to tell him,” August said before he directed his attention to his son. “Calum, I’ve gotta go away for a little while.”

  “Why?” Calum asked with furrowed brows.

  “You remember me telling you about why I had that weird screaming episode that day in the car, right?” August moved his hand through Calum’s dark hair.

  “Yes, sir,” Calum said, then took another drink.

  “Well, I think it’s time I finally fixed that problem. Your momma found this place that we think can help me. But I’ve gotta go and stay there for two weeks. Do you think you can be a big help to me and keep your momma company while I’m gone?”

  Calum looked a little worried. “You’re comin’ back, right?” His lower lip began to tremble. “’Cause I’m gonna miss you.”

  “I’m gonna miss you too, buddy. But I need my little man to step up and keep his momma happy while I’m gone.” August got up and went to pick Calum up.

  Calum rested his head on his father’s broad shoulder as he cried. “I’ll try, Dad.”

  “Daddy has to get some help to get better.” August patted him on the back, and I had to bite my lip to hold back the tears that welled in my eyes.

  August looked at me. “Leila will be here soon to pick him up and take him for the day. I didn’t think it would be a good idea to send him to school today. And I’d like you to come with me to the facility. I kind of need you with me, to hold my hand.”

  Nodding, I picked up a napkin to dry my tears before they fell. “’Kay.”

  We sat there in silence as we all picked at the breakfast Tara had made for us. Not one of us was hungry anymore.

  After Leila came and picked up Calum, Max drove us to the facility, which I prayed would be able to help the man I loved. “So, here we are,” he said as he got out and took my hand, helping me out, too.

  Being a nurse, I was used to medical facilities. This one was something else, though. Everything was state of the art. The building was large, but it didn’t have that morose hospital feel to it. Positive energy flowed invisibly through the air.

  Gripping August’s arm, I whispered, “I like the atmosphere here, babe.”

  “It does seem upbeat, doesn’t it?” he asked, as we went to the reception desk. “August Harlow. I spoke with someone earlier about seeking treatment.”

  “Of course,” the young woman said with a smile. She pointed to a frosted glass door. “Dr. Sheldon is waiting for you right through those doors. He’ll go over the treatment plan, and once you agree with it, you’ll sign papers, and we’ll get you started on your road to success, Mr. Harlow.”

  With a nod, we headed the way she’d pointed and found soft music playing when we came into the doctor’s office. The man we met there had a soft voice and the kind of demeanor that put one at ease right away.

  I had to admit; he seemed so genuine. Much more so than any other doctor I’d ever dealt with. Confidence filled me as he told us how they went about doing things. “While we have had much success with our treatments here, it’s important that you understand that therapy is something you will have to be in for the rest of your life, August. You should get used to that fact.”

  August didn’t seem to be pleased by that and asked, “Isn’t your mission to cure me?”

  “There is no cure for what ails you. Can you imagine being the victim of a shooting, or a child who’s been horribly abused?” the doctor asked him.

  August shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “Well, would you expect them ever to be cured of their memories?” The way the doctor smiled made my heart sore. He was the real deal—like an angel sent here to help others.

  August could only shake his head. “No, I guess you can’t cure memories. So, how the hell can you help me?”

  “While we can’t wipe your memory bank clean, we can help you handle those memories a lot better. People who’ve had an overload of terrible things happen to them have it much harder than your average person. Hence, why so many military personnel in particular end up with PTSD.” The doctor took out a bottle of pills. “This is what MDMA looks like.”

  “You should know that I don’t like taking pills, Doc.” August shrugged again. “I don’t like the effects they have on me, and I don’t want to depend on them either.”

  “Let me explain this drug to you first, and let’s see if I can help you understand what this can do to help you. And let me tell you this, too—this is not a drug you will take forever, the way you’ll have to have therapy forever.” The doctor opened the bottle, spilling all the pills out on the desk in front of him.

  “That’s a lot of pills,” August mumbled.

  “This is your personal one-month supply,” the doctor let him know. “And with our help and observations, you’ll learn when to take one and when you don’t need to take one.”

  “Okay, wait. I’ve got to ask this,” August interjected, “this is ecstasy, right? So, I’ll get aroused, won’t I? How am I supposed to handle that sexual frustration when you’ll have me locked up in here?”

  With a knowing smile, the doctor answered him, “No one says you can’t masturbate, August. You’ll have a room to yoursel
f here—lots of privacy. Now, let me explain this medication to you. These pills are made up of three neurotransmitters. Serotonin makes up most of it. Now, you can purchase serotonin in any drugstore over the counter. It’s most often used as an aid to those who have trouble falling asleep. People with mild anxiety take serotonin as well. Does any of that worry you so far, August?”

  “I suppose if it can be sold like that then it hasn’t got any bad side effects,” August said. “And it might be like taking the vitamin supplements I take every day. Right?”

  With a nod, the doctor went on. “So, you’re on board with the serotonin. The other two ingredients, dopamine and norepinephrine, have similar effects. They’re the components that will increase alertness—they’ll increase your energy level, too. And with all that positive blood flow, well, your arousal is also increased. And lastly, the relaxing effects of the serotonin act as a base that help level everything out.”

  “Okay, is this feel-good drug addictive?” August pointed out. “I do not want to leave this place addicted to anything.”

  “Tell me, do you think you have an addictive personality? Do you need alcohol or tobacco or anything like that?” the doctor asked.

  Pulling up our clasped hands, August kissed mine. “She’s the only thing I’ve ever been addicted to. Yet, I’m finding the strength to stay away from her for fourteen days, aren’t I?”

  A blush heated my cheeks, and I ducked my head as the doctor went on, “Well, I’m glad to hear that, August. While you’re taking this medication, you will be strictly observed. It’s not our intention to get anyone addicted to anything. We’re not a pharmaceutical company, nor do we have any connections to any of them. We’re in the business of helping people. And we do so by lightening their mood before we have deep therapy sessions. Our sessions sometimes last twelve hours, mostly eight though. This pill will help you think about things you’ve shoved into the deepest recesses of your mind and deal with those memories while in a calm, cool state of consciousness.”

  “So, what you’re saying is you guys will pull out all the shit I’ve seen, done, and dealt with, and teach me how to interpret it in a new way? A positive way? Because let me tell you, there are things I’ve seen and done that no amount of spin will turn into a positive thing,” August argued.

  The doctor smiled at that, and I started to feel a bit confused, thinking August might not do as well here as we’d hoped. “Maybe this isn’t the best place for him,” I said, as I squeezed August’s hand.

  The doctor leaned forward, steepling his fingers then resting his chin on them. “I feel exactly the opposite, Tawny. You see, your fiancé is the perfect candidate for this. His concerns are valid, and he has conviction in his heart. It is clear he is ready to work hard to deal with this issue. My bets are on August, and I rarely lose my bets.”

  August looked at me, and then took a deep breath. “I’m going to stay, Tawny. I’m going to give this my all. And I’m doing it for you, Calum, and those future kids we’re going to have. But I’m also doing it for me.”

  “Better words have never been spoken, August,” the doctor complimented him.

  When it came time to leave August there, I did so with hope in my heart and a smile on my face, even though tears filled my eyes. I was going to miss him so much, but this was something he had to do.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  August

  “I have a little test I need you to take, August,” a female therapist named Tasha told me as she placed a laptop computer on the desk in my room.

  I’d been admitted to the PTSD treatment facility and taken to what would be my room for the next two weeks. It had only been a couple of hours, and already I missed Tawny and Calum like crazy. But I wanted to do this for us. I had to do it.

  “Okay, I just check the yes or no boxes?” I asked as I looked at the list of questions. The first question asked whether I had ever been exposed to a traumatic event.

  “Yes,” Tasha said as she nodded. “And be truthful with this. Therapy works best if you’re honest and vulnerable, especially when you’re used to being a tough guy. No one is strong all the time, and it’s important for you to let those weaknesses show.” She headed for the door. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

  Alone, I looked around the room. A small full-sized bed was in one corner and a desk sat right across from it—that’s where I sat. The walls were a pale blue, the door pristinely white, and the floor was done in bamboo wood flooring—giving the room a serene, calming feel. The few pictures that hung on the walls were of flowers, butterflies, and one was of a flock of birds. A small bathroom was attached to the room, giving me all the privacy I could ask for.

  Turning my attention back to the test, I checked yes for the first question. The next question asked if I’d ever experienced the threat of injury or death, to which I again checked the yes box.

  Although I tried not to think about that, I guess it was part of the process of fixing my fucked-up mind. The next question asked if I’d felt fear, helplessness, or horror. That one had me going back and trying to count the number of times I’d felt those emotions.

  Shaking my head, I had to stop that line of thought. There were too many to count. Another yes box had to be checked.

  Do you regularly experience intrusive thoughts about the traumatic event?

  I had to ask myself what regularly meant. But then the thought of these nightmares I’d been unaware of came to mind, and I had to check yes again.

  The next question asked if I felt at times like I was reliving the event, and another yes was at hand. Recurring nightmares, stress over the memory, avoiding thoughts about the event, avoiding people that reminded me of the event, all of those had to be checked with a yes as well.

  I was on a roll. A bad one. And I wondered if all these yes answers would only earn me more time in the place.

  Then I got to check a no when asked if there were things I wasn’t able to recall about the event. No, I recalled everything well—too well, actually.

  Had I lost interest in anything I had once enjoyed doing? I was able to check another no on that one.

  Whew, for a minute there I thought I was a goner!

  More no boxes followed as it asked if I had difficulty trusting people, or showing emotions. Did I fear I’d never have a normal future? I was able to check the no boxes about having trouble falling asleep. I thought I’d been sleeping like a baby, but I’d been wrong about that. But I knew I never had trouble falling asleep.

  Angry outbursts got a no, too, and so did difficulty concentrating. But then the question about having guilt over those who died while I survived had to get a yes.

  Oh, well, they can’t all be no.

  I was there for a reason, after all. I had a mix of yes and no answers as I continued through the questionnaire. Did I startle easily; did I feel as if I had to be on guard all the time, ready to spring into action?

  I could spring into action whenever I needed to, like I did with the wildfire situation and Calum—but I didn’t go around tense and ready to spring.

  I checked the yes box for the question about whether I’d been experiencing this for longer than a month. The last question made me pause, though.

  Do your symptoms interfere with normal routines, such as work, school, or social engagements?

  Did they?

  I had to think about that one. I could go out without any trouble. Ah, but there had been the incident on the freeway, and then a couple of others in the past—one in a nightclub, one in a restaurant. Another yes had to be checked, and then I hit the Submit button.

  The score said twelve, and I thought that was pretty good. But when I looked at the bottom portion, I read that anything over ten was considered to be evidence of symptoms of PTSD.

  Well, that wasn’t anything I didn’t know already. I would indeed be spending the next fourteen days here with the good doctors and therapists. I supposed things could’ve been worse. I could’ve lost Tawny and Calum, which thankf
ully hadn’t happened yet—and wouldn’t, whether I had to stay here fourteen day or fourteen months to fix this.

  With the test submitted, Tasha came back into the room. “August, the results showed us what areas you need to work on. Just a few more questions, so we can get you all set up.” She tapped a pen on the top of her clipboard then put it to the paper. “Do you feel more at ease speaking with a male or female?”

  “Hmm, I think I’d like it to be a male.” I liked talking to Tawny, but mostly it felt easier talking to men about my weaknesses.

  “Okay,” she said, as she took note of that. “And do you like being in a group or alone when you discuss private matters?”

  “Alone,” came my quick answer. I wasn’t one to talk freely in a group—never was, never would be.

  “Okay, then just one more thing,” she said, as she looked at me. “Are you a daytime person or a nighttime kind of guy?”

  “I get up early each morning, so put me down as daytime.” I got up out of the chair, eager to get things started. “So, when can we get started?”

  “Soon. I’ll input this data into my computer and have a schedule for you in about an hour. Lunch is being served, so why don’t you head to the cafeteria and introduce yourself to the others?” She left the room, and I stood there, wondering if I really wanted to go meet anyone.

  The idea of hobnobbing wasn’t sitting well with me. But the growl of my stomach told me to go eat, so out I went to find my way to the cafeteria.

  About fifteen people were seated at various tables. Just like high school, they seemed to have their cliques. When I spotted a USMC tat on one guy’s arm, I headed to that table after picking up a tray of food and a bottle of water. “Hi, I’m August Harlow, formerly known as Major Harlow, First of the First.”

  The bulky man shook my extended hand. “Tom Moore, formerly Second Lieutenant Moore, Combat Logistics Regiment Three.” He gestured to the man to his right. “This is Frank Wilson, non-military, son of a Mafia drug lord.”

  I shook that man’s hand, too. “Nice to meet you, Frank.”

  “You too, August.” Frank went back to eating his turkey on rye, which was the main dish for lunch.