Page 112 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

“I can’t live a normal life, Louisa,” I say, harder than I want to. It’s almost like old Brendan is bursting out of me like an eggshell.

“But…”

“No but. You know what happens to me during a flashback, don’t you?” I try with all my might to push back the Brendan who is so uncompromising. I don’t want him to ruin everything again. Nevertheless, he is right.

Lou still holds me, undeterred by my harshness—or at least she doesn’t show it. “But I’m not leaving you,” she says so lovingly that my insides tighten. “That means we can go somewhere together.”

“No,” I say unkindly. “I get blackouts when I’m around a lot of people. Did I tell you about the man I knocked unconscious during a flashback?”

“Yes. At the very beginning, after the thunderstorm.”

“He didn’t press charges only because I paid him more for his suffering than he probably would have gotten in court. There are too many triggers in everyday life that provoke such seizures.”

“You lived in the slums. Were there no triggers?”

I snort bitterly. “The entire slums are one big trigger, but that doesn’t matter now. If I’d had flashbacks there, no one would have even noticed.”

She is silent. She’s probably trying to figure out how to convince me. Maybe she truly thinks we can live together among other people. In a cozy small town with stuffy neighbors and the supermarket around the corner. But how could that possibly work? Inevitably, when I freak out for the first time, it would all be over. And Lou would leave me one day when she realizes how hopeless I am. No, I can never go back. I belong in the woods with Lou.

I think she had dropped it when she asks, “Your flashbacks didn’t start immediately after…” She falters. “…after whatever?”

“No.”

“How long have you had them?”

I sigh loudly. “They started when I was fighting for money. So years later. I thought I had overcome everything until then. Could live without thinking about it all the time.” I laugh cynically. “Sometimes, one word was enough. Or a blinding light. Shopping centers were really bad—because of so many stimuli. A certain perfume, the way someone walked, or talked…” Like months ago at Trader Joe’s in Los Angeles.

“I can go shopping,” Lou murmurs. I almost smile at her optimism, but only almost.

“Bren?” she whispers again.

“Lou?” I reply.

“Do you think they might get better someday?”

I sigh again. “Perhaps. One day.”

“Bren?”

“What now?” I grumble, impatient and tense.

She presses her cheek into my hair. “I love you too.”

The world around me begins to sway and suddenly my eyes are wet. I swallow hard, wondering why I’m so sad right now.

I release Lou’s leg, only holding her on one side and pull her head close to mine.

“Oh, God, Lou…” I can barely speak. “You continue to surprise me… I want to make you as happy as you deserve.”

“Bren?”

“Yes?” My throat is scratchy. I don’t want to cry, not now.

“Maybe we should talk less and hold on to each other more?”

“Maybe you should stop talking and get well first,” I say firmly, covering up my weakness. I grab her thigh and pull her back up properly.

“Good idea,” Lou mumbles sleepily, and I start moving again.

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