Damon gave a barely audible grunt. He didn’t want to talk about how he was doing. Because he wasn’t doing well at all.
Knowing heneededto talk only made it that much harder.
He hated starting over with a new therapist. It took him forever to feel comfortable with the one at the rehab center in Maryland. And now, he was supposed to open up all over again to Jake’s wife, which technically made her his cousin. That thought should make him more comfortable, but it didn’t.
“Is it okay if I ask some questions?” Emily picked up a stress ball and played with it, acting as though she didn’t care whether he answered or not.
Damon shrugged.
“How are you sleeping?”
He rolled his eyes, letting his gaze lock on the corner where the ceiling met the wall. She’d received the records from his doctor at Walter Reed, so she knew that nights were the worst for him.
“Not great,” he finally mumbled.
“Are you still having nightmares every night?”
“Not every night but most.”
“Are they always the same? Or do they vary?”
He scowled at her. Why was she making him rehash all of this?
“Catch.” She tossed the stress ball to him.
He caught it and automatically squeezed. It wasn’t a regular foam stress ball, instead it felt like a squishy balloon filled with some sort of jelly substance. He rolled the ball around in his hand and squeezed again.
Emily picked up another ball and poked at it, making small indents that quickly disappeared. She waited a full minute before trying again. “Are the nightmares always the same?”
“Not always.” He kept his eyes on the ball as he squeezed one side, making the other bulge. “But in most of them...I’m reliving the explosion.”
“Trying to save your friends?”
He jerked his head in a nod as he pressed his thumb into the ball.
“Are you ever successful?”
He shook his head this time.
“What happens after you wake up?”
How did he describe the terror he experienced, followed by the utter despondency and desolation that consumed him when he realized that he’d failed. Again.
He kept his gaze on the toy in his hand as he answered. “It takes me forever to orient myself.”
“Are you able to fall back to sleep easily?”
“Not usually.”
“With the explosion and your abrupt return home, do you feel like you left things unfinished?”
Yes, but I can’t explain what.
He gave a half nod and lifted one shoulder.
“If...” Emily looked at her computer for the first time. “If Corporal Ford and Staff Sergeant King were here, what would you say to them?”
Damon’s jaw repeatedly clenched as he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to answer, because “I’m sorry” felt so inadequate.
