I’m going to go withnoon that one too.
“It could be making you carsick.”
I don’t think I have time to be two things at once. My stomach is already a mess and I’m sure it has nothing to do with having my eyes closed. I try to focus on slowing down my breaths so that I can calm my heart. I haven’t passed out yet, but there’s still time, and we still have to get inside this place.
“A rage room is one of those spots where you go and just break shit,” Maverick explains, even though I haven’t been able to ask. “You can smash shit, throw shit, slam it on the ground, orhurl it at the wall. There are so many things in there to break. I’ll make sure I pay for the whole package.”
I didn’t even know places like that existed. Surprisingly, I’m able to focus on picturing a room like that for a moment, with a bunch of glass vases, plates, cups, things like old microwaves and electronics that have died. It seems wasteful, but maybe the stuff is donated or saved from the landfill already. Maybe some of it gets recycled.
Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god!
There was an actual mental picture. Something beyond just the blackness, the panic, the sky falling in on me, the wide openness compressing down, and out there, a shadow pressed up against an unlit walkway that I’ll never forgive myself for walking through.
“Are you… w-wa-watching… the… road?” It takes a good long time to get the words out. My tongue is so thick that they stammer out, slurred and dry, creaking and groaning like my bones that my skin is barely holding together. It could split open and pour everything out. it could happen. At any moment.
But they’re there. The words. They’re real. As real as the thought.
Maverick’s hand shifts across the car and grazes my knee. He waits a second, using his fingertips, to make sure that I’m alright with his touch, before his whole palm curls around my kneecap. His fingers splay up onto my thigh. The warmth of him is like an antidote.
This isn’t just a small improvement. It’s massive. Monumental. Earth shattering.
Breath.
Speech.
Consciousness.
Touch.
“You should pick a code word and use it if you truly need help at any point. Or maybe if you just want me to intervene. Of course I’ll help you and protect you, but I realize that this is something you need to do for yourself.”
My hands are tied, as per my own insistence, but I shift them a little, so that my fingers can rest on top of Maverick’s hand. Just the feel of his skin grounds me. It keeps me tethered to this seat, in this car. It’s a reminder that I’m not going to blow away, and as long as Maverick is right here beside me, nothing is going to happen to me.
“You can crush my hand if you want to.”
I grunt.
The truck slows to a stop, and I can practically sense him turning. If I tilted my head, I’d be able to see a sliver of it from underneath the blindfold.
“Is that acareful what you wish for?”
I wish that my tongue would loosen up just for a few words. That would be great. Fuck.
“You are, you know. What I wish for.” The truck moves forward, accelerating, the old engine making that screaming noise when Maverick gives it gas even though he doesn’t floor it. “Even long before I knew what I was wishing. You’ve been my hope, your letters were my lifeline. You were my anchor and my wings. You’re so damn brave, Loreena.” He keeps filling the silence for us. His hand ismyanchor, resting heavily onmy knee. “I shouldn’t have said half that shit last night, but somehow, you walked upstairs and started the day with fresh determination. I wanted to be exactly what you need.”
I don’t know if this is me taking the first few steps, not just to get better, but to live with this instead of letting it live with me, but I hope so. I’ve already done more this morning than I would have thought possible. I’m able to think. To listen. My breath is still all wrong, but we can’t win ‘em all, now can we?
“I was a moody asshole and I’m sorry. I thought more about what you said, and I don’t think you were wrong. I think a person can want to move forward and still be okay with who they are in the moment.” The truck is far from silent, with the death metal music blasting away, so I guess it’s just a while before Maverick says anything. “I’m not just relearning the world. I’m figuring myself out too. I’m starting to figure out that there are good people out there. I’m so lucky to have Scythe here to keep my ass in line, but it’s you that keeps me going,” he pauses for a moment, and I feel the warmth of his hand on my knee. “It’s always you that I think about first thing. When I fall asleep and wake up, and in all those sleepless moments where I can’t do either. You make the world feel right, even when it’s not. You always have. That’s the gift you’ve given me. I stored all that up inside and now it’s real. You’re real. I hope this is the day we get to move past the past, but even if there are a thousand setbacks, I’m always going to be here. I might need a walk now and then, to get my damn head on straight, but I’m not goinganywhere.”
I don’t know when my eyes filled up with tears. I was listening to Maverick, and too focused to pay attention to my own body. The moisture leaks out and soaks into the blindfold. It’s not really the kind of fabric that absorbs anything well, so soon they’re spilling down my cheeks.
I don’t reach up to brush them away with my bound hands. I just keep them on Maverick’s on my knee and wait.
A few minutes later, he pulls the truck over and kills the engine. He makes a sound in his throat that is half feral and half a wet choke.
“Loreena…” He brushes the tears from my cheek with the pad of his thumb, careful not to remove the blindfold.
I hear his clothing rustle as he shifts, leaning over the console. Rather than a leather vest like Scythe wears, Maverick favors a hoodie or a duck canvas coat. He chose the latter today, the black so worn that it’s faded to gray in some spots. The collar is fraying at the edges and has holes in it and so do the cuffs. I think it might have been Scythe’s jacket. It’s obviously been well lived in and well loved.
