A sharp pain hits my chest. Like an arrow through my heart.
Was this what happened to Samuel? To that bicyclist?
Did the paramedics rush them in to save them?
Were they even conscious when they arrived at the hospital?
The nausea churns in my empty stomach, the guilt from both incidents all-consuming.
The flashbacks alternate in my mind, overlapping and merging into one. My chest tightens as I struggle for air. I’d thought my PTSD symptoms were behind me.
I am trying to focus on the five senses exercise when I turn and notice Christopher, who is crouched down on the floor. His hands are on either side of his head and he’s hyperventilating.
“Chris? What’s wrong?”
I immediately shove my thoughts of Samuel and the bicyclist aside.
His breaths come fast and shallow, the color drained fromhis face. I grab his hands and instantly regret it. Pain shoots up my arm, but I refuse to let go.
“Follow my breath,” I say, bending down in front of him and locking my gaze onto his.
Our chests start to rise and fall in unison, one deep breath following another. Christopher’s dilated pupils start to shrink, the hazel irises appearing once more.
“I need to get out of here,” he says, jumping up and marching toward the exit.
I take a moment to reconcile that he’s left, but I know better than to call out his name and draw attention to myself. By the time I make it outside and to the car park, I’ve fallen fifty yards behind him.
Christopher is already getting in the car and starts the engine as I speed up to get in beside him.
By the time we pull out of the car park and stop at the third set of traffic lights, I’ve tried and failed several times to find a way to speak to Christopher. The sound of Jay Z and Linkin Park’sNumb/Encore, the only rap song I can tolerate thanks to its hybrid nature, offers a distraction from the silent tension.
Finally, I take a deep breath and turn to face Christopher.
“What happened back there?”
Christopher’s eyes are locked on the road ahead, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.
“That’s where I found out my dad was dead.” His tone is void of any emotion.
“Baby, I’m so sorry.” I reach across to rest my hand on his lap. He flinches as I set it down, and I see a wall go up.
Fuck.
I’ve been so lost in my own needs since I fell that I didn’t stop to think about Christopher, other than noticing the terror in his eyes and feeling gratitude to him for taking command and looking after me.
I’m so selfish. So absorbed in my own shit.
“It’s okay, we’re out of there now,” I say, removing my hand from his leg as we drive down the road. Christopher remains silent as the radio starts to play SWV’sRight Here. But I don’t feel we’re out of whatever this is. It feels like this is gonna be right here for a while.
“So, are you guys in a relationship?” the mousy blond guy asks, waving his finger between Christopher and I. We’re sitting on the couch, opposite of Daniel and Kelly on their bed.
“Daniel!” Kelly shouts, whacking him in the bicep.
For a petite woman, she seems to pack quite the punch. Daniel grabs his arm and cowers into the pillow before lifting himself back up again.
“Sorry about Daniel. He was born with his foot in his mouth.” Kelly shakes her head and rolls her eyes. Daniel goes to lift his foot up, before reconsidering when Kelly cuts him a look.
“It’s a good question, Daniel. What are we?” I ask, turning to Christopher.
