Page 2 of Four Times Saved

"It's nothing, Mom!" I yelled back. "Stay up there and..."

Before I could finish what I was saying, my mother appeared over the wooden railing. "You don't tell me where I can or can't go in this house!"

Like two sides of the same coin, my mom and dad. Once she glanced at my father, though, she began to mutter to herself, complaining about the injustices of assigned locations in her own damn home, all while going back into her bedroom.

"Would you like to see if he'll take the meds from you?" The nurse looked at me, and I couldn't help but think that she was more than just a little grateful for me being here. Dealing with two people with PTSD was a lot. As much as you care, you're still human, with feelings that can be crushed and fears that can be triggered, no matter how hard you try. You're not a robot who can just turn those things off. I imagined that after a long day, she locked herself away in her room, trembling and mentally preparing for the dread of the following day.

It's not my parents' fault though. They can't help it. I'm not sure who to blame. I know for a fact that they're not having a good time either.

I nodded at the nurse and took the pills as she hurried upstairs to check on my mother. It took a whole lot of convincing, and at one point I considered crushing it and putting it in his drink, but I'd have felt too much like I was spiking him or something. Eventually, he took it.

"If it'll shut you up, fine. When were you leaving again?" He scowled at me.

So, yeah, that was a little rundown of what it's like helping my parents. They don't want help. In fact, helping them is like spitting in their faces. Both are used to being in complete control, barking commands and shying away from vulnerability. When they are vulnerable, because they can't control themselves, they punish the world for it. A part of that is the PTSD which makes it hard to be mad at them. But some of it? I love my parents to death, don't get me wrong. But I didn't realize the trauma I'd experienced until coming back to stay with them while they're battling this disorder.

Every time they bark a command, I shake. When I try to get close to them and they reject it, I wither. I'm a grown man, and yet, in some ways I'm still a child. Theirs. They're just as determined to be right as ever, except, what little semblance of 'homeliness' or 'coziness' they embodied before has been cleaned away by my father's accidental attempt to kill my mother.

Yes, you heard that right. Accidental attempt.

Before this year, they were like two peas in a pod. Two stern peas who have the utmost respect and admiration for each other. He wouldn't think of harming my mother. But it wasn't my mother he saw when he pointed a gun at her. And it wasn't my father she saw when she ran and ducked for cover.

Now they can't bear to be around each other, guilt and fear keeping my father from making eye contact with my still triggered mother. It's easier to handle them when they're separated from each other. Easier doesn't mean easy. The nurse keeps my mother occupied and I keep my father distracted from possible triggers, so that we can be aware and ready to handle anything that could lead either of them to, I don't know, find a gun and pull it on themselves.

Heaven knows where they'd find any weapon at all when along with all the firearms we've removed from the house, we've also hidden all the knives. It's difficult cutting into a hard block of cheese with a flimsy plastic knife. But people can be pretty crafty when they're desperate, and at fifty and fifty-two years old, they're more than just a little spry. They've only been retired a year. They're strong and fit as hell. There's no stopping them if they're determined.

So, I spent all day fishing with my father. I thought it would be a genius way to keep him distracted, while helping in my own way. Otherwise, he won't accept the help. We have to do the same thing with Mom, come up with creative ways to sneak in disguised assistance, like it's a thief wearing a ski mask. Neither of them wants to feel like they can't be left alone or look after themselves. My father will accept the idea of his only son visiting his folks for a while and catching up on times missed out on whenever they were deployed. He'll accept fishing as a father and son bonding moment. I've done so much fishing, I could take it up for a living.

It's not all bad, though. The days aren't always like today. There have been a few moments when his drawn features have cracked a smile and his dead, distant eyes light up. Those moments make the times in between, when he's dissociating and I'm terrified for him, or when he's hurling insults my way, more bearable.

Swiping my hand over my face, I picked myself up off the porch chair, took my empty beer can to the trash, stretched and started making my way upstairs to the shower. My room is on Mom's floor. Dad gets the whole bottom floor to himself. It's easier staying out of his way.

A smile stretched my cheeks when the slightly cool water touched my skin. It was getting to that time of night when I got to call Lily and share caregiver stories, although I wasn't doing any caregiving, and she was an actual practical nurse who had kicked the remaining two guys out of the house because they kept distracting her with sex, so now she was back to doing it all on her own.

If I were there, she'd just have to deal with the sight of my shirtless body every now and then, because I wouldn't be going anywhere. And if she couldn't keep her hands to herself, too bad. I'd be there to help her out whether she wanted me to or not. It's not our fault she's so insatiable. Okay, maybe we are a part of the problem.

Man, I missed her. The only reason I was all the way over here now was because I had to choose between everyday sex with Lily, and my parents. As difficult of a choice as it was, my parents needed me more. Although, at this point, it was as if they couldn't wait to see the back of me.

Drying off my body, I attempted to focus on anything else but the memory of her body, the taste of her. I was at my parents' house. Come on. I had to behave myself and control my body, if you know what I mean. Fine, I'll spell it out. I couldn't be walking around with a strong armed cock lifting up my towel. What if my mother opened the door? My cheeks burned and I grinned to myself. I was a grown ass man, but there was something about coming home.

If that ever happened, I'd never be able to look at my mom again.

But when I was behind closed doors, that was a different matter. Already 'feening' for the instant opium of Lily's voice, I didn't bother with getting dressed. Settling into the bed with the towel barely hanging around my hips, I reached for my phone, waiting for her text message, needing it to come sooner so that I could give in to her voice warming my blood, rushing through my veins, and settling in the head of my deprived cock.

Nine o'clock had already passed, which was our usual time, but guessing she might be a bit busy, I grabbed the lotion off my nightstand and started applying it to my body. Yes, the lotion was on my nightstand. A day away from Lily was too long, imagine over a week. I was starving for some of her. If I was lucky, during our calls, we got to have some fun.

Regardless, I still rubbed myself off to the thought of her before I went to bed, the moment I woke up, if I could get away in the middle of the day. I had to stop myself from checking the security footage to spy on her. Even if the only footage throughout the day consisted of her feeding her mother or watching television. I was fucking addicted. Plus, it wasn't weird. She liked when I watched her. Said it turned her on and it comforted her in some way, to know I was always there. I'm not a creep, I promise.

Giving her some time to settle down and message me to let me know when it was okay to call, I put on deodorant, drew on some shorts and headed downstairs to the kitchen for a snack. By the time I checked my phone again, it was nine-thirty. That was odd.

It was only a half hour, but we didn't mess around with our time. For the past week, I'd been ready and waiting by my phone by at least five minutes to nine, and the only time she'd been late, she was late by a minute.

Come to think of it, I hadn't received any messages from her today. Maybe except for this morning? And with the 'hullabaloo' of today, as mom would have said, I didn't check the security footage, needing moments of nothingness to relax my brain. Watching the security footage would've only reminded me of how far Lily was and I didn't want to torture myself with that. That's the mood I was in. Overwhelmed. Tired. Today was a lot.

But it was only made that much harder by the long wait I had until I knew I'd be hearing Lily's voice. Something was off. I dialed her number. Nothing. It rang out until the voicemail version of her voice picked up.

'You've reached Lily Thornbread. I don't have many people calling me, so if you're any of the houseguests I've had for the past three months... (a playful sigh) Be patient, I'll get back to you as soon as I'm free. Can't a girl catch a break?' (A soft laugh, followed by the dial tone)

Damn, I ached for her. I called her again, while opening the security camera app on my phone. A dull, pounding ache punched through my chest and into my back as the phone continued to ring. I sensed it before I saw it. A black screen. Tapping on different rooms of the small house produced the same image. Darkness. Except for a soft streak of light reflecting off the shadow on the ground that must have been coming from the street, through the glass window, there was nothing.

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