"Fuck!" I shouted, slamming my right fist down on the dash. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" I struck the dash repeatedly, feeling angry at myself and my life and this stupid fucked-up thing that I had tried to do myself. My swearing turned into incoherent screaming as I railed against everything that I had become, beating on the steering wheel with my palms. It made my ribs hurt, but I didn't even give a fuck. I deserved the pain.
Then the rage just deflated out of me as the screams turned into wrenching sobs that tore out from deep inside me. I let myself go and let it all out. I curled into myself, the sobs causing both physical and emotional pain, my body practically convulsing with my grief. I had wanted to die, wanted to end everything. I told Sydney that I did it because I was drunk, but I remembered making the decision clearly, remembered every moment as I had come down here to die. I was so focused, so calm. If I hadn't left that voice mail for Sydney, I'd be dead right now. The thought terrified me and filled me with regret.
"Jensen?" Sydney's voice whispered softly to my left. I felt the feather soft touch of her fingertips on my bare shoulder and looked over to see her leaning down through the open car door. She was wearing my T-shirt, her gray eyes filled with worry and that goddamn shame again. I grabbed her instinctively and pulled her into my lap, still sobbing uncontrollably, wrapping her up in my arms and holding her tight against me. She put her arms around my neck, and started crying with me without saying another word, both of us sobbing and clinging to each other.
Eventually, silence fell over us, but I still held her close, not wanting to let her go. I didn't ever want to let her go again. I suddenly felt a bone deep need to be inside her, to take comfort from her body and to give it to her with mine. I scooped her up in my arms and tried to climb out of the car, grunting with the pain. I wanted to carry her to my bed, but it hurt too much. I slumped back into the seat, growling in pain and frustration.
She climbed off my lap and gave me a hand getting up out of the car, then led me all the way back upstairs to our bed, her hand soft and warm in mine. She pulled the T-shirt she was wearing up and off, throwing it on the floor. She pushed my pants down so that I could step out of them. She took my hand again and pulled me with her onto the bed. I laid on my side as she pulled the blankets over us. She laid down facing me, her eyes bright with arousal. Her hands came up to cradle my face, and she pressed her lips to mine, kissing me until I forgot about everything but her.
"Need you," I whispered desperately, grabbing her hip and thrusting my cock against her. She rolled onto her back, and I followed her, my hips coming to rest between her spread thighs. I eased myself into her warm tight wetness, sighing with the rightness of how it felt to be inside her. I fucked her slowly and deeply, ignoring the small amount of pain it caused me and focusing on the pleasure. Her breathing changed in the darkness as she neared her release, and she gasped as she tumbled over into bliss. I kept my slow and steady pace, drawing it out for as long I could for her, before sending her up all over again. A moment later, I followed, growling and moaning my desire as I came with a violent shudder, feeling the walls inside her milking me, pulling all the pleasure out of me.
When we quieted, I rolled off of her, pulling her into my arms with her back against my chest. I snuggled my face into her hair and breathed her in, feeling a sense of post cathartic calm wash over me. I started drifting off to sleep immediately, feeling like I had let go of some of the turmoil inside me. The relief was a heady sensation. I wondered if this was what it felt like to heal. If it was, I wanted more.
**********
The doorbell rang, and dread coursed through me. I had been pacing around the living room for the last twenty minutes or so waiting for David to show up. I stopped in my tracks and stared at Andy with wide eyes.
"I'll get it," Andy announced from where he was sitting on my couch. He must have seen the panic in my eyes. He had shown up within moments of me getting home from dropping Sydney off at work this morning with his game console, insisting that today was the day I'd discover the joy of gaming. He put in a valiant effort, but over the course of several hours, we had discovered that I still sucked and couldn't care less, just like all the other times he had tried. He gave up on me in disgust, and we ended up watching TV.
It was almost half past noon, and Andy had stayed here the whole day so far. I had started to get suspicious that Andy was babysitting me since he hadn't showed any interest in leaving. Not that I minded the company, but really, I was twenty-eight years old for fuck's sake. I called him out on it, and when he back pedaled and played dumb with a panicked look on his face, I realized that he was afraid. He was afraid that I'd try to hurt myself again. I was on a suicide watch. I dropped the subject with that disturbing revelation. I'd let him stay as long as he wanted if it made him feel better.
I could hear they're voices coming up the stairway. Within moments, David and Andy were walking into my living room. "I'm going to head out," Andy announced as he gathered up his gaming stuff. He walked past me and gave me a gentle shove with one shoulder. "Later, dude," he said with a smile, then did the same to David. "See ya, Dave." I watched him leave, realizing my new babysitter had just taken over.
"Is he the only person who calls you Dave?" I asked David with a smirk.
"Yeah," he admitted with a grin. "For some reason, it doesn't bother me when he does it."
"Count yourself lucky. His nickname for me is idiot," I told him. He laughed at that then held up a paper bag.
"I brought lunch."
"Thanks," I said and motioned to the couch. We both sat down, and David opened the bag, handing me a burger and fries. He pulled his own out, and we ate in silence for a few minutes.
"How's your chest feeling?" he asked, pointing a fry at me.
"It's getting better," I answered between bites. "I've been moving around pretty well. It only bothers me with sudden movements or trying to lift things."
"Good." He nodded. "Maybe I didn't crack any of your ribs after all."
That was a good thing to hear. There were things that I'd like to do to Sydney sooner than later, and the pain was an annoyance I was really getting tired of dealing with. "That's good. This pain can go to hell," I grumbled. David snorted out a laugh, and we ate the rest of our lunch watching TV and chatting about trivial things. If his goal was to get me to relax and feel more comfortable, it was certainly working. By the time he actually decided to start talking about anything serious, I had practically forgotten why he was here.
"What do you know about PTSD?" he asked after putting his trash in the paper bag. I took the bag from him and put my wadded up wrappers in it too.
"It means post-traumatic stress disorder, right?" I asked. He nodded, waiting for me to continue; his face focused and calm. "It's when something traumatic happens to someone, and they don't deal with it."
"That's a simplistic way to put it, but accurate," he said. "Basically, the memories of a traumatic event get walled off from a person's other memories. Then something triggers it to intrude into a person's awareness as flashbacks or nightmares. Anything that resembles or symbolizes the trauma can cause anxiety attacks too."
"How do I get the triggers to stop doing that?" I was starting to feel anxious already, just from the subject matter. My stomach was starting to churn.
"By processing the memories and integrating them back into normal ones."
"How do you do that if you keep having panic attacks every time you talk about it?"
"I can help you learn how to get through your panic attacks better," he said. "And you can't just keep avoiding anything that triggers you either. I won't lie to you. It's going to take time and a lot of work."
"I don't understand why any of this happened. I wasn't crazy before, and I didn't think I was this weak," I said, starting to feel overwhelmed.
"PTSD doesn't mean you're crazy or weak," he said adamantly, his brows furrowing. "It's an understandable reaction to something completely abnormal happening to you. Sometimes a person's mind d
oes what it needs to protect itself. Walling the traumatic stuff off and avoiding it is a quick fix. Unfortunately, it won't stay walled off completely."
"I wish I could just erase all of it from my mind, like it never happened," I mumbled unhappily.
"Would you really want to start erasing parts of yourself every time something bad happened?" he asked pointedly.
"I don't know," I whispered. I didn't have an answer to that question.
"Everything that's happened to you, the good and the bad, makes you who you are," he explained quietly.
"That's easy for you to say," I said with growing irritation. "You haven't been through what I have."
"No, I haven't," he admitted with a sorrowful expression. "But I've been through my own share of crap, and even though I'd love to erase it, I can't. It's part of who I am now."
We lapsed into a pensive silence, both of us lost in our own heads for a while. I thought about who I used to be and who I was now. I felt like a different person, like I had died on that horrible night, and someone else had taken my place. Sometimes I looked in the mirror and felt like a stranger was staring back at me. I wondered if I'd ever feel whole again.
"Is there anything you wanted to talk about?" David asked suddenly. "Anything at all. I want you to feel safe talking to me, and I want you to know that whatever we talk about stays between us."
I took in a deep breath and sighed. I had to start somewhere, even if my first instinct was to clam up and keep it to myself. I had proven without a shadow of a doubt that wasn't working at all. It was time to suck it up and quit shoving everything down, trying to pretend that I was fine.
"I woke up last night and went down to sit in the Camaro," I said quietly.
"What happened?"
"I was fucking pissed," I confessed. "I completely lost my shit."
"What were you angry at?" he asked.
"Myself and my fucked-up life," I told him in a bitter tone, staring down at my hands sullenly. "I wanted to die that night after Sydney left me. I didn't care about anything but escaping the pain. I can't believe I tried to do that. What if it happens again? I don't want to die right now, but what if I can't help myself, and I try again?"
"You drank a lot that night, Jensen," David said. "Alcohol is a huge contributing factor in a lot of suicides. If you're feeling down about yourself and depressed, alcohol only makes it worse. Especially if you binge drink. It makes you impulsive and less aware of future consequences."
"Then I'm never fucking drinking again," I said vehemently.
"What did you do when you got angry?" David said, directing the conversation back to last night.
"I beat the shit out of the dash and the steering wheel, screaming like a psycho, then bawled my eyes out," I admitted reluctantly to David, afraid that he would judge me. "I've turned into a fucking pussy," I added with a shake of my head.
"Expressing those kinds of emotions doesn't make you a pussy," David reassured me. "You can't keep bottling all that up and expect to function normally."
"I know that now," I said with a sigh as I met his calm gaze again.
"Where was Sydney through all of this?" He cocked his head curiously as he rubbed a hand through his short beard.
"My screaming must have woken her up," I told him. "She came down and found me sobbing like a baby. I held her, and she cried with me."
"What happened after that?"
"She took me back up to bed after I calmed down," I told him, leaving out the sex. He didn't need to know about that.
"How did you feel afterword?"
"Better, actually," I answered. "I fell right back to sleep, feeling calm for once. I felt like a weight had been lifted off me."
"That's a good thing," he nodded with a small smile. "That's what healing feels like."
I nodded in silence at him, feeling better from this conversation, but wondering how things would go when we started talking about my loss, and everything involved with it. I knew it wouldn't be this relaxed or easy.
"Do you want to go to movie?" David suddenly asked. "It's my treat."
"Sure. I'm tired of being cooped up in here." I gave him a wan smile, relieved that we could stop talking about all this heavy stuff today. "But won't Andy be jealous?"
"I never told Andy that we were exclusive," David said facetiously, waggling his eyebrows at me.
"Your secret is safe with me," I said with an amused grin.
"I appreciate your discretion," he added with a nod as he rose from the couch. "Come on. I'm in the mood for mindless violence and some gratuitous explosions."
I followed him, grateful for David's help and for a distraction from all my problems, at least for a little while anyway.
Chapter Three
Sydney
"Saturday is my birthday," I announced from the passenger seat of Jensen's green Silverado, after he had picked me up from work. After all the stress and craziness over the last few weeks, I had almost forgotten my birthday was coming up.
"It is?" Jensen asked with a wide grin on his face when he glanced over at me.
"Yeah," I smiled back. "I'm hoping to have a hot date that night."
"It better be with me," he growled as he narrowed his eyes at me.
"You better plan something good then," I said as I returned his glare. "In case I get a better offer before Saturday."
"What if I offer you sexual favors?" he asked in a sexy rasp, his lips twisting wryly. "Would that bump me to the top of the list?"
"What kind of favors?" I asked curiously, my voice breathy.
"Unlimited access to my body," he offered. "Anything you want."
"I wouldn't mind being tied up again," I said nonchalantly as looked out the windshield at the road. I heard him take a deep shuddering breath, and I stole a glance in his direction. I smiled with satisfaction as I saw him squirm in his seat and readjust himself.
"Fuck, woman," he mumbled under his breath. "You're killing me."
"What did you do today?" I asked, having mercy on him and changing the subject. I was also curious how things with David had gone, but I didn't want to pry if he wasn't comfortable telling me about it.
"Andy came over to babysit me this morning," he said with a glance at me. "It was almost as if someone told him when I'd be home after dropping you off at work this morning."
"Um..." I felt a blush creeping up my face.
"You wouldn't know anything about that would you?" he asked me, his face unreadable.
"I...I'm sorry," I stammered out in a panic, afraid he'd be upset with me. "It was Andy's idea, and we're all worried about you. We just wanted to make sure that you were alright."
"Hey," he said in a placating tone. "It's okay. I was just messing with you. I'm not upset about it."
"You're not?" I asked uncertainly.
"Not at all," he assured me. "You guys do whatever you need to do if it makes you feel better about..." he trailed off for a moment before continuing, "...what I did."
I nodded in reply, and he didn't say anything else for a while. My mind wandered back to last night when I had awoken to the sounds of his enraged screaming from somewhere in the condo. It had scared me to death, and I had rushed downstairs to find him sobbing all alone in his Camaro; his entire body wracked with anguish. The sight pierced my heart, filling me with guilt and shame again. When he yanked me into his lap, clutching me desperately, I hadn't been able to stop myself from crying right along with him. I had taken him back to bed and offered him the comfort of my body. It had calmed him down enough that he went to sleep immediately, but I laid awake in that bed wrapped in his arms for what felt like hours, wallowing in my guilt until weariness finally sent me back to sleep.
Jensen abruptly grabbed my left hand. I tore myself out of my reverie, and glanced over to see a worried expression on his face. "Are you okay, baby?" he asked as he rubbed his thumb against the back of my hand. He was no dummy, and I had a terrible poker face. The longer we were together the more he saw right through me. I
decided to share something other than my messed up guilt-ridden head.
"Lauren is moving in with Adam," I announced with a frown.
"Oh," he said with no inflexion. "You're not happy for her?"
"I can't afford to live there by myself," I said wearily. "I'll have to move out."
"What about getting a roommate?" he suggested.
"I've never lived with anyone besides Lauren," I said with a shake of my head. "I don't know if I'm comfortable with that." There was a long pregnant pause before he spoke again.
"You...you could move in with me," he said in a quiet hopeful tone. I knew he would offer to let me move in with him, but I wasn't sure if it was a good idea. We had only been with each other for a few weeks. Our whole relationship had been moving at a breakneck speed since we met, and I was terrified of ruining what we had if we moved in together so soon. I realized I had been silent too long when he let out a deep sigh and released my hand.
"It's alright, just forget I said anything," he said quietly as he stared blankly ahead, his disappointment obvious as his entire demeanor changed. His body seemed to deflate in on itself, his shoulders drooping slightly. Shit, I'd hurt his feelings. I sat there trying to figure out how to convince him that my reticence wasn't anything against him, when he spoke again. "Why don't you want to live with me? You're there all the time anyway." His voice was fragile in a way that I had never heard from him before. He let out a ragged breath. "I'm...I'm trying to get better. I talked to David today. He said he could help me. I promise that I'll do everything he says." He sounded so desperate. It broke my heart. My God, he thought I didn't want to live with him because of his PTSD.
"Jensen," I said sincerely. "It has nothing to do with your PTSD. I don't want to mess up what we have." I met his eyes as he looked at me with a relieved expression.
Let Me Heal You: Beautifully Broken Book 3 Page 4