“You know, at the time,” I say, “a small part of me wondered ifthatwas why you were signing the paperwork.”
“What’s thethat?”
“The physical stuff. Our chemistry. It was so good and so easy…I think I worried that whenever the sex faded…”
It occurs to me that the sexdidfade. More than fade. Itevaporated this year. And all that was left was our problems. But…that’s not right. If all that was left was our problems, then we wouldn’t be sitting in this car together. Having this extremely productive conversation with each other.
“You know what? Never mind. Don’t even reply to that,” I tell him. “I’m not worried about that anymore. Maybe I never was. Speaking of sex, I’m really looking forward to getting back in the sack with you.”
He’s staring out the windshield, likely a little whiplashed from this conversation and who could blame him.
But a few minutes later, he’s still said nothing in reply and I begin to suspect he’s hit an internal roadblock over there.
“Vin? You all right?”
“I. Am. Thinking,” Vin says.
And if you could not laugh at that delivery, then you’re a better human than I am. “Thoughts. Are. Happening.”
He finally glances at me, treating me to a light flick. “You said you need more words from me! So this is the type of poetry you can expect.”
“Well, what are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking…I…want you…a lot…”
“Yes, great. Love where this is going.”
“I…am also…scared.”
I stop needling him immediately. “Wait, really? Of what? Sex?”
The car is on cruise control. He’s leaning back in the seat, one hand on the wheel, his legs spread as wide as they can and one knee jumping. “Look, Roz…when I…As much as it makes me want to fucking puke to say this…but…I’m different. Since the accident.”
Ah. I flash back to the last time we attempted anything like sex. Vin on top of me. Both of us pushing the other away,breathing hard, stinging tears, the defeat in the set of his shoulders.
“Okay,” I say, to show I’m listening.
“Dr. Colewood says…that the reaction I had…that night…in bed with you…Look, I’ve struggled with this PTSD stuff a lot. Which makes sense, you know? The accident was…terrible. But for a long time I struggled with PTSD…without…without realizing that’s what it was…”
“Okay.”
“Turns out I’ve been getting…what’s called a freeze reaction. There’s fight-or-flight but there’s also freeze. So…when something puts me…triggers me…like loud noises…or yelling…or sirens…or, you know, tension with you…or…” He looks so sad on this last one that it brings tears to my own eyes. “Or seeing your scar…it makes me freeze up and freak out…Like what happened the last time we tried to have sex. I freaked out and panicked and couldn’t…get control. And it…scares me…the idea of that…getting in the way of…” His eyes flick to mine. “Being with you. And…it makes me feel…really…small…the idea that I couldn’t take care of you in that way. All because I’m having this stupid fucking reaction.”
When someone is closed off from you, all you can think about is closing yourself off from them. You see their brick wall and imagine how much it would hurt to run into it. But the second you see that door crack open, even an inch…well, you have to open your own door to even check and see, right? And Vin’s done more than open it a crack. Vin’s just used a garage door opener. I could park a pickup truck in that wide-open vulnerability. I’ve just witnessed a true act of bravery. And now all I want is to protect him and reward him at all costs.
“Vin, when we dropped the orange juice and I was crying on the floor, was that fucking stupid?”
“No. Of course not.”
“And when I pushed you off me in bed and cried and panicked, was that fucking stupid?”
“I didn’t…I didn’t realize that happened. I was…”
“Freaking out yourself. Yes. But now that you know, was my reaction stupid?”
“No.”
“So don’t say that shit about yourself. None of this is stupid. It’s awful. It’s…” I search. “Wretched. Unfair. Bad luck. Onerous. Poisonous. Excruciating. Almost too heavy to bear. But it’s notstupidand neither are you. And I understand what you mean about being scared.”
