"Jo? Are you back with me?"
Jo blinked several times, Tim's cozy office clearing in front of his eyes. He blinked again and found Tim's gentle gaze fixed on him. He dropped his head.
"Yes, sir. 'M sorry." he rasped, his breathing still too quick to accommodate full sentences.
"Why are you apologizing, Jo?"
Tim's lips were turned up into a small smile.
Jo took a deep breath in, counting to four, holding, blowing out for four, and holding in the method he'd been practicing in each session. After a few cycles, he shrugged, knowing Tim would wait patiently for his answer, even if it took all of their remaining ten minutes.
"For freaking out. Didn't mean to."
Tim shook his head.
"You didn't 'freak out', Jo. You just went back for a bit. That's not your fault."
He paused, allowing Jo time to calm himself.
"You know, you've made so much progress in coming out of the flashbacks."
Another pause.
"You're doing great, Jo. Really great."
Jo coughed as his lungs regained control. He allowed himself to sit in Tim's approval, trying his best to accept it, though habit made him want to deny it, or at least shake his head. In truth, the flashbacks weren't as intense as they used to be. When he 'went back' as Tim so eloquently put it, there was a small part of his mind that whispered to him, telling him it wasn't real, that he was safe. A small, quiet voice that went to battle with loud, angry voice that had once reigned supreme.
After months of talking, and failing, and falling, and picking himself back up again, Jo was beginning to see a light at the end of a tunnel he thought he'd never leave.
"What's on your mind?"
Tim's question pulled him back into the room and he met the therapist's kind eyes. For a moment, he felt overwhelmed with gratitude. Tim had been nothing but patient and gracious these past months. He cleared his throat and swallowed past the small lump forming there.
"Just..."
He paused, searching for the right words.
"Thank you."
Tim's expression was pleasantly confused.
"For everything. For putting up with me. I know...I know I'm not an easy patient."
Tim tsked quietly, but Jo pushed forward.
"I...I still have nightmares, and I...go back...a lot. But I don't stay there. And I haven't...I don't..."
He sputtered to a stop, but Tim waited. Taking a deep breath, he began again.
"I come in here every week feeling...I don't know. Heavy. Like I'm a thousand pounds. And when I leave, I feel lighter. Like, the weight is still there, but it's not crushing me anymore. I can carry it."
Shaking his head, he sighed.
"That probably doesn't make any sense."
Tim smiled.
"It makes perfect sense, Jo. That's a really good way of putting it. But you're the one who's done that. I just ask the questions. You have to be willing to answer them, to do the work. And you, my friend, have worked your ass off, if I may say so," he said, with a shrug. "And I don't 'put up with you'", he added, drawing air quotes. "It's always a pleasure to see you."
Neither said anything for a moment.
"Don't get me wrong," Tim said after a beat. "You are a challenge. I mean, I've met trees that talk more than you do."
He chuckled and Jo found himself smiling involuntarily.
"But you've come so far. And I'm so proud of you."
Jo blinked back the stupid tears that threatened to flood his eyes. He wondered briefly what sort of person he would have become if Tim had been his father, and then squeezed his eyes shut against such a thought.
"It's okay to cry, Jo. There's nothing wrong with it," Tim offered quietly, but Jo had already pushed the emotion away.
He nodded, eyes finding his knee caps, and waited for Tim to signal the end of their session.
"Okay, young man. What's one thing you're going to do for yourself today?"
Of all Tim's questions, this was the one that Jo always found the hardest.
"Uh, I'm...going to...eat dinner...?"
Tim ran his hand over his face and chuckled.
"What am I going to do with you..." he sighed. "Okay, have a good week, Jo. I'll see you next time."
_______
"And you all have everything you need to go straight to Rachel's?"
All heads nodded simultaneously.
"Okay. Well, she'll be here in a few minutes so I need you guys to tidy everything up and thank Mr. Frank for watching you."
A cyclone of activity commenced, and Jo took the opportunity to speak to Frank alone.
"Thanks again," he said quietly. "Everyone behave?"
"They always do," Frank nodded. "So y'all are going to Rachel's, huh?"
"Just the boys. I have to work."
"Not 'till later. What's stopping you from going for a bit?"
Jo narrowed his eyes at Frank, but didn't answer. Frank held up his hands.
"Whatever. It's not like I'm ever right about anything. Go make your bad decisions."
Jo rolled his eyes as he slipped a jacket on one of the boys.
"Damn, boy. That therapy must be working. Ain't many people who roll their eyes at me and get away with it," Frank muttered, sauntering toward the door where Rachel's petite form could be seen past the screen.
"Hey there, gorgeous."
Jo heard Rachel's laugh ring out at Frank's words. He'd have rolled his eyes again if the very sound of her voice didn't cause his chest to constrict and his pulse to pick up speed. He coughed and steeled himself to face her.
"Isn't it a school night?" Frank was asking.
"Yeah, I'm joining Mikey's class tomorrow to talk to them about health care and nursing. I was volunteered."
Jo could hear the smile in her voice.
"I'm sure they'll love you. How could they not?"
Okay, Frank, you can stop flirting, Jo thought, wondering if the man was trying to spur him to action through jealousy.
It was almost working.
Shouldering two backpacks, he turned to her, breath catching in his lungs as it always did. He coughed to mask it.
"Hey," she smiled at him shyly, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Hey," he murmured, shuffling the boys out the door. "Thanks again, Frank."
"Anytime, kid."
Jo had reached Rachel's car and was buckling Johnny unto his car seat when he noticed Rachel hadn't followed him. She was on Frank's porch, head bent forward as Frank whispered something in her ear.
"Jo, Jaime tripped me on purpose!"
"Did not!"
By the time Jo had cleared up their squabble, Rachel had joined him and helped secure the rest of the children into the car.
"I'd offer you a ride, but..." Rachel surveyed her upgraded, seven passenger Land Rover.
"Nah, it's a nice day. I don't mind the walk."
She nodded.
"You doing okay?"
"Yeah."
She didn't look convinced.
"Thanks again for agreeing to go to Mikey's class. I know it's probably the last thing you want to do on your day off."
"Oh, I've been looking forward to it."
They stood awkwardly in Frank's driveway for a moment. There were so many things Jo wanted to say. He wanted to ask what Frank had told her. He wanted to explain himself, to spill his guts, to tell her exactly how much his soul ached each time she drove away, how it ached even more when she was there. How he wanted to send her away forever. Or get down on his knees and beg her to be his again.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said instead.
The walk home was painful. It wasn't the persistent cough or even the blood he spat out every few miles (though he knew he needed to get that checked out). It wasn't the old aches from broken bones that never healed properly or the soreness of his muscles from work.
This pain came from deep inside. From the emotions that Tim had been teasing to the surface. From the wounds that he'd been reopening. From the suggestion that he might have some small shred of worth buried deep under the years of abuse.
From the traitorous whispers that maybe, just maybe, he and Rachel could actually work.
He was so caught up in the battle between the voices in his head that he barely noticed the sun go down and a chill sharpen the air. As he climbed the steps to his apartment, he remembered his promise to Tim to eat dinner. The thought of food made him sick to his stomach, but he knew he should eat. He flicked on the light to the kitchen and noticed a backpack slid under the table. Shaking his head, he bent to retrieve it.
"Mikey," he whispered, shaking his head. That boy would forget his legs if they weren't screwed on.
As he straightened up, something blunt came down across the back of his head.
White light shot across his vision as he crumpled to the floor, but the blow hadn't been enough to render him unconscious. He grunted, trying to bring himself to his knees when he saw a booted foot making its way toward his rib cage. He heard the crack of his rib before the pain registered. No sooner had he been kicked than he was pulled to his knees and a muscled arm snaked it's way around his neck.
As his vision faded to black, the angry voice inside his head materialized into a face. A face that struck more fear in him than its voice ever could.
The face smirked at him.
"Miss me, boy?"