Page 54 of Inseverable (Carolina Beach)

I use the towel to wipe my face and sniffle. Crying is not something I do often. But when it happens, it’s like my soul is bleeding tears. I don’t like this feeling, and every last emotion that comes with it, and I especially don’t like it now. Everyone’s okay, I remind myself. Everyone.

It’s not the first time I’ve had a post-rescue breakdown. But the situation today, coupled with the night I spent with Callahan makes my fears more brutal and raw. I think it’s because my vulnerability appears to dismantle more in his presence. It’s not a bad thing, I reason. It’s simply the way he affects me. Everything around him—all these emotions—be it sadness or joy I feel to the extreme when he’s near. Yet I wouldn’t want it any other way.

With Callahan with me, my world is simply better.

Feather-like kisses sweep along my temple. “I don’t like to see you cry,” he tells me.

“Sorry, but I’m not always as happy as people think,” I confess. “And sometimes, I really get sad.”

He waits for me to say more, and I don’t disappoint him. “I don’t have to tell you that there’s a lot bad in the world,” I begin. “Through actions of others, or sometimes, like today because of chance. I’ve had a lot of good, and smiles, and have laughed more times than I’ve cried. But some people haven’t been as blessed.” My gaze falls to my feet where my toes are digging into the sand. “I can’t explain it, but when I see others hurting, it breaks my heart.”

“I think I understand,” he says.

Maybe he does.

He smiles softly in the quiet that follows, only to ultimately close his eyes and take a breath. When he opens his eyes again, I watch his stare grow distant. He’s no longer with me, not fully. He’s remembering, be it because of what he saw here today, or everything he’s experienced over these last few days.

Watching the way he withdraws, destroys me. Yet there’s nothing I can do right now to help him.

I kiss him briefly, wanting my lips to linger, but knowing that now isn’t the time. “I still have to finish up here,” I tell him. “Why don’t you head back to your place? I’ll be there as soon as I’m done.”

He nods and doesn’t argue, which pains my insides even more. I still don’t know Callahan well. What I do know is how much I want to.

And how fast I’m falling in love with him.

I remain at the beach a lot longer than I intend. By the time I pull into Callahan’s gravel driveway and skid to a stop, it’s almost dark. I don’t mean to run, but I do, anxious to reach him.

The house is dark when I hurry in, exactly like it was the previous the night. This time, instead of that horrible silence I encountered yesterday evening, the sound of pouring rain blasts from his bedroom. He’s listening to the CD I purchased him, even though there’s no noise in the distance. I don’t know what he’s doing, I only hope that it’s helping.

“Callahan?”

I stop short when I find him sprawled across his large bed. His arm is draped over his face and the opened container of earplugs is on the nightstand to his right. I don’t think he can see or hear me, but somehow, he realizes I’m there.

He drops his arm away and sits up, his eyelids heavy from more than just the lack of sleep. Callahan is a man exhausted by life and all he’s endured in its grip. I sit beside him and pass my hand along his bare chest.

“Hi,” I whisper.

My voice is so low, I’m not sure he can hear me with all the white noise despite that I notice he’s not using the earplugs I’d brought him.

He brushes my hair from my shoulders. “Hey,” he says back.

“Did you have dinner?” I ask.

“No,” he replies. “It’s been a bad night.”

Because of those awful memories, he doesn’t add. “Are you hungry?” I ask.

He nods, and rubs his face, searching for something to say. But he’s already shown me enough.

I lean in, offering him a brief kiss. “I’ll make you something to eat. Why don’t you lie back and try to relax?”

When he doesn’t move, I press my hand against his shoulder. He clasps it, his face on mine as I edge him down to the mattress.

The way he holds my hand against his shoulder, I think he means for me to join him. But then it slips away. I watch him as I back away. Something in his leaden stare telling me that despite the white noise CD, the voices of his demons continue to whisper.

I head into the kitchen and wash my hands, then fish around for something to make him. I settle on grilled cheese and tomato soup given that it’s fast and easy to prepare. It's cold in the house with the A.C. blasting, but I think the hum from the motor is the reason it’s on so high.

I make several sandwiches and cut them up into tiny triangles that he can dip into the soup. It’s not much of a meal, but we both need to eat, and I need to get back to him.

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