I’m dead inside.
Not everyone shares their stories, but most do. No one pressures me to speak. I don’t offer, even when Mark asks if anyone else wants to share and Trent squeezes my knee. I make not a sound. I stare straight forward, anesthetized.
I hear murmurs of “goodbye” and I stand. With robotic movements, I climb the stairs and walk out to the street.
“Hey,” Trent calls out from behind. I don’t answer. I don’t stop. I just start walking down the street toward my apartment.
“Hey! Wait up!” Trent jumps in front of me, forcing me to stop. “Look at me, Kacey!”
I follow his order and look up at him. “You’re scaring me, Kace. Please talk to me.”
“I’m scaring you?” The protective numbing coat I pulled over my body for the session falls away as rage suddenly fires through. “Why would you do that to me, Trent? Why? Why do I have to sit and listen to ten people recant their horror stories? How does that help?”
Trent’s hands push through his hair. “Calm down, Kace. I just thought—”
“What? What did you think? You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve gone through and you … what, think you can swoop in, give me an orgasm, and follow it up with a survivor’s group full of fucking cyborgs who talk about their supposed loved ones like everything’s alright?” I’m screaming on the side of the street now and I don’t care.
Trent’s hands move to touch my arms as he shushes me, glancing around. “You think that wasn’t hard for them, Kacey? Can’t you see the torture in their faces as they relive their stories?”
I’m not listening to him anymore. I throw his hands away with a shove and take a step back. “You think you can fix me? What am I to you, some pet project?”
He flinches as if I slapped him across the face and I grit my teeth. He has no right to be hurt. He made me sit through that. He hurt me. “Stay away from me.” I spin around and stalk down the sidewalk.
I don’t look back.
Trent doesn’t chase.
Chapter Twelve
Storm’s hands fidget with a bead bracelet as seven o’clock rolls around. It’s bizarre that she’s so nervous considering she can swing over a stage topless in front of a room full of strangers. I don’t remind her of that though. I just help her pick out a classy yellow dress that flatters her skin tone and accentuates her curves but not too much. I help her clasp her necklace and pin her hair back on one side. Mainly, I try my damndest to smile when all I want to do is curl up into a ball and hide under my covers, alone.
“Ten tiny breaths,” I murmur.
She frowns into her mirror. “What?”
“Take ten tiny breaths. Seize them. Feel them. Love them.” My mother’s voice rings in my ear as I repeat her words and fight off a choke. That stupid session today has left me bothered, my defenses wavering, my ability to bury the pain challenged.
Storm’s frown dips further.
I shrug. “I dunno. That’s what my mom always used to say. If you figure it out, let me know, okay?”
She nods slowly and then I watch as she breathes in and out slowly, and I imagine she’s counting in her head. That makes me smile. Like I’m passing on a little bit of my mother to Storm.
We hear the knock on the new front door and, a moment later, Mia’s little hands fumbling with the lock. All is quiet, and then Mia approaches, her bare feet slapping hard against the floor as she runs down the hall, yelling, “Mommy! The police officer is here to take you away!”
I snort and shove Storm toward the door. “Stop fussing. You look great.”
Officer Dan is in the living room, putting his hands into his jean pockets and pulling them out, and then putting one in, and taking it out. I can’t help but smile just a bit as I watch him. He’s as uneasy as Storm. Though when he sees her, his face brightens.
“Hi, Nora.”
Nora? His blond hair is styled in that messy, spiky way. He’s wearing a fitted black golf shirt that shows off a solid body. I catch a faint whiff of men’s cologne. Not too much. Just enough. All in all, Officer Dan cleans up really well.
She smiles back politely. “Hi, Officer Dan.”
He clears his throat. “Just Dan is fine.”
“Okay, Just Dan,” she repeats and then the room fills with awkward silence.
“Officer Dan brought you flowers, Mommy! Tigers!” Mia runs to the kitchen where Livie is arranging a beautiful bouquet of deep red Tiger Lilies in a milk jug. Mia reaches up to grab one and knocks the jug over. Water and flowers splash everywhere. “Shit!” She exclaims.
“Mia!” Storm and Livie scold at the same time through gasps.
Mia’s eyes turn big and round as she looks between the two, realizing what she’s done. “I get one. Right, Kacey?”
My hand flies to my mouth to contain my laughter as Livie’s eyes shoot daggers at me.
“They’re beautiful, Dan.” Storm rushes over and scrambles to pick them all up. I take this as my chance to wave down his attention. “She’s really nervous,” I mouth without making a sound.
Surprise flashes in his eyes. He knows what she does for a living. He’s likely made the same wrong assumption as me—that Storm is made of steel. That’s not the case though. Far from it.
He nods and gives me a wink. Clearing his throat, he says, “I’ve made reservations for seven-thirty.” Stepping forward, he offers Storm his arm. “We should head out now, Nora. The place is down by the water. It’ll take a while to get there with traffic.”
She looks up at him and smiles, all fuss over flowers vanishing.
Good. Take the lead. Smart, Dan. Two points.
“Have fun. We won’t wait up!” I catch a flash of Storm’s crimson cheeks before the door is shut and locked, bringing back my dour mood.
***
I end up working that night without Storm. I need the distraction. When last call sounds and Trent doesn’t show up or text, my disappointment is paralyzing. Why would he come, though, I remind myself. I screamed like a lunatic at him on the sidewalk and told him to stay away.
Trent doesn’t come visit me at Penny’s the next night. Or the night after that. Three days later, I think I might lose my mind. Whatever rage coursed through me the day of the grief session is overshadowed by a new void. A Trent void. It throbs like a deep ache through every fiber of my being. I crave his presence, his body, his voice, his laugh, his touch, his everything.
I need him.
I need Trent.
***
On Thursday at noon, I sit at our kitchenette in my short shorts and tank, shoveling Cheerios into my mouth and staring at my phone as if willing a text to come through. Finally, I suck back a mouths’ worth of air and force my thumbs to work out a message.
Me: Any interest in a matinee?
I sit at my table and gawk at the stupid thing, wondering if he’s already deleted my text, or if he’s even bothered to read it. I consider pressing my ear up against the wall between our apartments to see if I can catch any “crazy bitch” comments out of him. But that doesn’t sound like something Trent would say, even if it were true. Which is it.
A whole five minutes later, after sinking every last one of my Cheerios into my milk, my phone beeps. I drop everything and grab it.
Trent: What do you have in mind?
Flutters stir in my chest. Damn flutters! I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I have no idea what’s playing. I decide to be lighthearted.
Me: Depends. You okay with nudity?
This time, Trent’s response comes right away.
Trent: Define nudity.
Okay, good. He’s playing along.