Page 24 of Until You

Deep breaths.

Focus my mind elsewhere.

I work through the process the therapist devised for me. The one we’ve practiced. The one that I thought was total bullshit because I refused to believe my mind was as fucked up as my body—but it’s even worse.

And that’s the fucking bullshit in all this.

The blood has been washed away. The darkened scars have begun to fade. But my goddamn head isn’t right.

Post-traumatic stress disorder is the official diagnosis from the department therapist. The same damn therapist who has refused to allow me back on the force because I’m not fit to serve yet. Because my body is healed, but apparently my head is not.

“Fuck.” The nausea hits me just like it always does. Forcing me to stop my pacing. To brace my hands on the windowsill and practice my breathing.

Two breaths in.

One long, slow exhale out.

I practice my breathing. Two breaths in. One long, slow exhale out.

Where’s the crying coming from?

Where’s the baby?

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Fuck!

Justin. No.

Stop.

Practice your breathing, Madden.

His laugh. That’s what is the soundtrack to my nightmares most nights. The fucker’s laugh as he waited in that room for us to die.

Two breaths in.

Stop thinking about it, Crew.

One long, slow exhale out.

Focus on something else.

Another deep breath as I scrub a hand over my face and then through my hair.

I look out the window over the driveway.

What do I focus on?

The oak tree at the bend.

How about one Tennyson West?

Talk about a welcome . . . distraction? Surprise? Maybe a little bit of both.

I’ve hooked up with women since Brittney left. I’m a guy. Sex is a necessity. A way to ease the adrenaline rush after a crazy night at work. But it’s only happened a couple of times, and only when the girls went on sleepovers to friends or my sister’s house.

For thirteen years, I came home to the same woman. Made memories with her. Did for better and for worse with her. And slept in the same bed with her. And although I do not miss Brittney, I do miss that connection. I miss the shared jokes, the easy company, the familiarity, and the having someone to talk to about your day.