“The incident at the fraternity house?”
“Yeah…” I say, emotion thickens my throat.
“What feelings did you have that night?”
“Scared. Stupid. Worthless.”
It aches to say those words. Memories of that night swirl around me. Music so loud that it vibrated through me. The air thick with the stench of alcohol and too many bodies pressed together dancing, or around tables playing beer pong. Back pressed tight against the wall, its coolness anchoring me, I stood alone, straining for any familiar voice. For anyone to rescue me.
“What other times did you have those feelings after having to trust someone?”
“Chase. Miles.”
“And are those the same feelings you had with Garrett last night?”
“Sort of.” A furrow dips my brow. “But it’s not the same.”
“Your body may not know that.” She softens her posture, painting the impression of a tender gaze locked on me. “Trauma imprints itself, so that the body remembers and can keep itself safe. Even in situations that aren’t unsafe. Your body doesn’t know the difference.”
“But how do I teach it to know the difference?” I question.
“You can’t. We can’t control how our body reacts. We can only recognize it and deal with it by learning what presents real danger versus perceived… Who are the real threats and who are not.”
“And how do I do that?”
“Trust.” Her wry expression is audible. “And before you give me a quippy response, I’ll give you some homework to help. Step one is recognizing those feelings and the way your body reacts. Let’s start there.”
Later, as I sit at my desk finishing up the day, I mull over Dr. Nor’s assignment. Garrett. Miles. Chace. Everett. High school and college friends. Interactions with each play like a grainy motion picture in my head.
A muffled ping pulls my attention from my thoughts. With a heaved breath, I pull open my desk drawer and grab my mobile. I still keep it tucked away so it doesn’t distract me while working, but I now leave the sound on if I’m not in a meeting or with students. Opening the message app, my mouth ticks up at my phone’s robotic voice reading out a message from Garrett that he’s here.
“So, youcancheck your phone.” Garrett’s low bass steals into the room.
I tilt my head toward the entryway to my office space. “Did youjustsend that to test me?”
He says nothing.
“That’s so creepy, even for you, Stalker Darcy.”
“In truth”—he moves fully into the space—“I did it to mess with you. You looked all too serious for a woman about to go on a two-week vacation. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah… I’m fine.” With a shrug, I start to gather my things.
He stops me, his hand resting on my upper arm. “You sure?”
“Just ready for a break.” I force a smile. “Like you said, I’m a woman about to be on vacation for two weeks.”
“Okay.” His murmur sounds as unconvinced as I am.
“Let’s head out.” I sling my bag over my shoulder and grab my cane.
“Are you sure you’re okay? I know last night didn’t end like we thought.” He places his hand on my shoulder, stopping my steps.
“Yeah… It’s good, though. Just a long week.” I offer a weak smile. “Nothing that butt-warmers and your off-key singing of Christmas carols can’t fix. Remember, it’s my turn to pick the music.”
I’m fine, but I’m not. And I don’t want to talk about it. Wednesday night rattled me, and my session with Dr. Nor only brought more questions. I worry I’m wasting his time, and mine. It’s only been six weeks, but we’ve already invested so much energy into this. What if I can’t push past this?
“I have something for you,” Garrett says, opening his passenger door.
