Page 19 of The Dirty Saint

Dr. Safiya returns the smile.

“What’s your son’s name?”

“Noah.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

We sit in silence for a few more minutes, and I watch the time pass. I’ve already revealed more than I would have liked.

“Ezra, I have one more question.”

“Okay.”

“It says here in your file that you lost your husband a few weeks before you were assigned to a classified mission several years ago. Do you mind talking about him?”

My body suddenly fills with a nasty hatred, and I have to steady myself on the couch in hopes of not falling off.

“Christian,” I fill in. “That’sthe man you’re referring to. And no, I do not want to talk about his death. I didn’t come here today to talk about him. I came here so I could put in the hours, and the army could give me my job back.”

Dr Safiya unfolds her hands, her eyes steadily focused on me.

“Ezra, my job is to help you work through what has happened as a whole. Not just the kidnapping.”

I scoff.

Like, I give a shit.

“My husband is an off-limits topic. Not because I’m sad or in denial, so you can stop writing that on your damn notes sheet.

“Look, Dr. Safiya, you don’t need to put me back together piece by piece. I’ll never be who I was before, and I’ve accepted that. So should you.”

“I want to help you, Ezra. If you’ll let me, I’d like to help you.”

“You wanna know whatI’dlike?” I ask. “I’d like to have everything I have ever lost.”

Dr. Safiya looks at me with sadness in her eyes, like I’m so fucking broken and too far gone.

“It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling,” she says. “It’s normal.”

I scorn.

“Really? It’s normal to be in so much pain you can barely think straight? It’s normal to wake up in the morning and pray to God that you find the strength to make it through the day? It’s normal to fantasize about being in that basement again, all chained up and starved and being violated every time you opened your fucking eyes just so you can have another moment with the man you loved?”

I shake my head.

“That doesn’t seem so normal to me.”

During

JOEY

I hear her cries all the way from my bedroom. She tries to hide them and cover them in silence, but she fails.

After tossing and turning, I realize that sleep is not going to be coming along anytime soon, so I decide to hop out of bed and pay a visit to the soldier.

“How are you doing?” I ask, dumping out her piss bucket in the sink.

“I’m fine.”

---