Every single time I place a call, that’s the greeting I receive—without fail.
“Maybe because you never call,” she reasons. “Not even when there’s an emergency, so surely, you can understand my concern.”
I contemplate that for a few seconds before answering, “Guess that’s true.”
“So what’s going on, Icer?”
“I need help,” I admit. “I’m at a loss here, Van. I have no idea what I’m doing and her therapist isn’t helping.”
I hear her sharply inhale. I’m not sure if it’s due to shock from what I’ve said or the fact that I specifically called her for help. Either could be the likely source for her heavy breathing. “Letti? I thought we found her the best of the best. Doesn’t she specialize in childhood trauma and sexual assault?”
“She does,” I confirm. “And she’s good, I’m not saying she’s not. But it’s not helping Letti. She’s lagging in her recovery.” I repeat what I overheard her saying to herself so Van sees the seriousness of this situation. “It fucks with my head every time I hear her try to lift herself up, Van.”
“I don’t think she’s lagging, Icer. And it’s good that she’s working on herself by reminding herself, even if you don’t care for the way she does it, that it’s okay to be perfectly imperfect. We all are and that’s the way it should be. None of us are infallible or picture-perfect. I think the problem is that in her formative years, she was belittled and abused in ways none of us can wrap our heads around. Time, patience, and understanding are going to be her best friends during this time of recovery. It won’t happen on her timeline or yours, no matter how quickly you two may want for it to. I know this isn’t the answer you were wanting to hear, but it’s all I’ve got.”
“It’s not what I wanted to hear, Van. I agree with you there but it is informative and insightful. Is there nothing I can do to help her see how stunningly beautiful she is?”
“Stunningly beautiful,” she whispers, repeating my words. “Icer, you have such a radiant soul. Even if it’s contradictory to the way you present yourself. I wish you’d periodically let others see this side of you. It would definitely have jaws dropping and that’s a sight I’d love to be around to witness. You’re good for her, just keep doing what you are and eventually, she’ll see herself the way you do.”
“How’s Elodie doing today? She had a rough morning, bad dreams kept her up most of the night,” I relay.
“She told me, but she also said that they’re not as bad as they used to be, so there’s that I suppose. At least there’s a little bitof light at the end of the tunnel. I’m not a violent person and I don’t believe in any sort of abuse no matter what form it’s issued, especially when it’s against kids because they’re all precious and should be protected, but I’d like to shove a bar of soap into their mouths and make them bite down on it and eat a suds sandwich. And I’m struggling with that thought because it’s wrong on all platforms. It makes me sick to my stomach that I even had that thought.”
I grunt but don’t say what’s running through my mind. Like her, I’m a protector of kids but that doesn’t mean their parents couldn’t use a lesson or two in manners. “I can understand and even relate to your thoughts, Van. Even if that makes me an asshole. But it’s not the kids at fault here even if they hurt my princess, it’s their parents’ influence and teachings that are steering them down the wrong path. Those are the motherfuckers that are going to answer for their kids’ sins against our girl. That’s a goddamn guarantee.”
“I think these are the most words you’ve ever strung together when having a conversation with me, Icer. I think I’ve gotten to know you more over the last five minutes than I have in all the months we’ve known each other. I always knew you were a good man, but now, I admire you for the strength and devotion you have toward those you call family.” I grunt again which has her laughing. “Still not a conversationalist, huh?”
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I don’t like to talk to hear the sound of my voice. When there’s something important to say, I say it, but otherwise, I’m not a fan of talking because there’s nothing better to do.”
“Listen, I have something you could try, but if you do, you need to tread carefully because it might backfire on you, Icer.”
“I’m all ears, Van. At this point, I’m willing to try anything. She’s worth the effort, even if it’s not something either of us are comfortable with.”
“Here’s my idea–” I listen, and even though it comes with a few risks, I think it’s something worth trying.
“Hey,” Letti says, greeting me as I step back into the house and find her in the kitchen, unbagging our food and putting it on paper plates. Neither one of us are fans of doing the dishes so we still use throwaway utensils and plates whenever we order out, which seems to be more often than not because we both also hate cooking. We’re capable in the kitchen but simply don’t care to stand over a stove.
I plant my hip on the counter, swipe my thumb over my bottom lip, and watch her to see how she’s doing behind that mask she wears nine-tenths of the time. Unlike others, I can see straight through it and I’m not liking what I’m seeing. Not one fucking bit.
She glances up at me as she dishes out the food and her face drops. “I’m okay, Viking. I promise, it’s just been a rough day so far.”
“Why?” I ask, leaning my upper body toward her so I’m in her face and she can’t ignore me. “What happened to put that look on your face, Letti?”
When she glances up at me, I see mist shining in her eyes. She’s holding back tears because she doesn’t want to seem weak. Again, I don’t like it. “I had a nightmare. A memory surfaced lastnight. One that I’d almost forgotten since I shoved it to the back of my mind.”
“Wanna share it with me, baby? I’m a good listener. I may not be any good at comforting you or giving you solid advice, but I’ll help you carry the weight of the burden so you can get it off your chest and release it.”
“I don’t, not really, but I will because I know it’s for the best. If I don’t, it may plague me for the remainder of the day,” she concedes.
I grab the loaded down plates in my hands that already has the dinnerware stuffed into the food, along with the ripped squares of napkins from the roll she placed underneath the plates to act as a placemat and nod my head toward the living room. If she’s going to lay it out on the table and expose her demons, we may as well be somewhere comfortable. She gives me a quivering smile before grabbing two bottles of water out of the fridge and following me.
Once we set up the trays and I put our food down on them, I pull her into my arms where she buries her face in my chest. She sniffles and uses my shirt as a handkerchief, but I’m not squeamish unlike my brothers. I remember that I’m washable and so are my clothes so I don’t let it gross me out like they would—the pussies.
“Do you want to talk about your dream or the event that took place to cause it?” I inquire.
“They coincide so I guess it doesn’t matter which one I begin with,” she admits. “My dream was an exact replica of that day’s events.”
“Take your time, beautiful. You don’t have to rush it out, absorb it if you need to before you tell me about it,” I suggest.
