Ashlyn
Jane told me to stay home this week to make sure I don't get anyone sick. They've called in another therapist to cover my shift, but I need to stop by quick to make sure my client files are updated with the treatment plans so she can follow them. I duck into my office and handle it quickly. I haven't spoke to Mateo since the night I left his apartment. He usually isn't here this early in the morning and I want to make sure I'm out before we run into each other.
I'm almost clear when the door at the end of the hall opens and the trauma group that meets there on Tuesdays begins to spill out. There are men and women of all ages in there given that it is an open group that allows members to drop in and out as needed. I stay close to the wall so the wheelchairs can get by and I'm sure to keep my eyes low so I'm aware of crutches and prosthetics. Eventually most of the amputees who are putting work into getting stronger will walk as smoothly as Rhett does on his. The first six months after the accident he was very depressed. He hated that all of his movements were stilted and that people felt they needed to give him miles of space to get by. To him it was insulting and embarrassing. I will always remember that and work hard to not make any one feel like I'm uneasy around them.
"Sunshine," his deep voice came from the end of the hallway and I look up to find him standing between my quick exit and me. I'm not prepared to see him, and my heart starts to flip flop while my stomach clenches and then feels weighted down in my gut. I feel drawn to him, my arms wanting to reach out and pull myself against his chest. I've missed him more than I want to admit. I'm not quite sure how that can be since we've only known each other for a short while. I wonder if maybe our history of trauma has made us kindred spirits.
I don't say anything, a lump in my throat making it too hard. Everyone is moving along, leaving the hallway empty except for the two of us. It dawns on me that he is leaving the group room. My heart squeezes in my chest and I feel a small ray of relief that he's reaching out and getting more help. I know first hand how hard it is to put yourself out there like that. I'm still in contact with a few of the people from my trauma group, and I live with the guy who invited me to my first session.
He takes a few tentative steps towards me, but my feet are planted and I can't get them to move. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asks sweetly. I nod my head and see the relief in his eyes. I motion for him to follow me to my office. We walk in silence and step inside. I close the door behind us and wait for him to speak. "I messed up," he admits. His eyes look tired, red and rimmed with dark circles. I almost reach out to touch his face. His beard is getting longer and it makes him look wild some how and that makes my insides warm.
He takes a step closer to me, "I don't like talking about that day." He looks away quickly and I can see the way his body tenses and his heartbeat thumps quicker where I can watch it just above his collar. His hand moves up to rub the back of his neck and I can see him struggling to say the words. "My head is full of all these details," she takes a deep breath and clears his throat. I can hear the emotion in his words and voice. "I can remember the smell—first the livestock. We were all talking shit about how the heat made the air thick with the stench of animal shit." His face twists in disgust. "I remember having a headache. It was hot and we were low on water so the sun was just pulling it from us and our uniforms were trapping in the heat."
I watch the man before me struggle with what he lived through that day and my heart aches for him. I want to make it better, but know that I can't. He looks into my eyes with a sad smile, "I, um, I heard the first shot clearly. There was so much other noise. I heard the shot but it was too late." He runs his hand up over his head and pulls at it like causing pain will center him.
"It's OK. We don't have to do this all today." I step closer so that I have to look up at him. His eyes seemed lost, so much pain behind them as he looked down at me. He nods his head and let his hand fall.
"I just need you to understand it wasn't about you," he reaches for my hand I let him take it. He flattens it between his own and brings it up to his mouth for a kiss. He's tormented by what happened and I realize that it was less about his scars and more about the memories I'd triggered when he felt my skin against his damaged thigh.
"I get it," I say pulling my hand from his. He looks stung again, but I shake my head. I turn around and lift up the back of my shirt. I feel vulnerable, but I need to show him I understand about the scars you wear on the outside and how they are nothing compared to the ones you feel on the inside. I close my eyes when I know he is looking for the first time at my scar. I move my shoulders so my shirt will slip down again, but the warmth of his fingers on my back stops me. He traces it gently, his fingers moving over the raised skin like it was still delicate. "I have one like it on the back of my leg, too." I turn around and face him again.
"I had no idea."
"I know," I say, forgiving him. "It's been a long time. Mine are old, but yours are still new. Take all the time you need to fix the inside." I rest my palm flat against his heart. "You can't do much about the mark it leaves on your skin, but you can change how deep you let the roots on the inside grow."
"What about us?" I want to tell him that we'll be fine. I want to reassure him that we will both be able to put those experiences behind us, but there is never going to be a day that we won't carry what we lost.
"I'm still here," I smile up at him but I feel my lip quiver slightly with the knowledge of what I have to do. It's best for the both of us if he works out his issues without trying to balance me too. I learned that the hard way. "Fix this first," I say so soft it's almost a whisper as I softly rub his chest. "Right now the pieces of your heart are scattered everywhere. I won't take any of them until you're sure there's enough left for yourself." I swallowed down the tears I felt stinging my throat. I might not know everything about him, but I know what it's like to have one minute completely shatter your life and everything you thought you knew about yourself. It tears from you your innocence in thinking you're invincible and that stories about losing friends could only ever be just stories.
Mateo touches the side of my face, letting his thumb rub softly across my cheek. He watches me carefully and then nods his head once in agreement. "I'll get better and then I'm coming for you." He smiles, but it was the saddest expression I've seen on his face since we met. He leans in slowly, giving me a chance to stop him, but I can't find the strength. When I tip my chin up he finishes closing the distance and brushes his lips across mine. My lips part as his coax them open and I feel their heat dance down my spine and along every cell. He might call me sunshine, but it's just a reflection of the warmth he gives me. His kiss is tender and when he pulls away I start to miss him already.