Page 57 of To Save Him

“Youdid, Kimberly.”  He touched my cheek again, his thumb stroking the skin.  “You made me feel like you cared, and I haven’t had someone in my life like that for a long time.”

“Idocare.”

“I know.”  He kissed me then, and it was not the kiss of youth but rather the kiss of someone who’d been through the worst that life could throw at him, someone who had experienced far more than he ever should have—but also someone who was finding a way to triumph.  When our kiss ended, we held each other for a while, and I sensed that he needed that closeness.  Finally, he asked, “Do you mind if I sleep in here with you tonight?”

Just the question bruised my heart.  How could I communicate to him that I’d be there for him—and that the lust could be taken out of the equation and I’d still feel the need to protect him however I could?

All I could do was be there for him…and hold him throughout the night.  Eventually, he would know.

 

* * *

 

IT WAS DARK and I’d been out deep, but two things pulled me out of a dead sleep.  First, Brandon was flailing and tossing about, making my bed feel like a ship at sea in the middle of a storm.  Second, he was shouting and yelling, but I couldn’t find the light switch fast enough.  I had barely turned it on when his arm came crashing down on me and he straddled me, hovering over me like a rabid beast.

I was shouting his name, smacking my hands on his chest, trying to get his attention, but he just kept yelling.  His eyes were open, but I could tell he wasn’t actually seeing me.

It was frightening.

What would my kids think if they heard the commotion and ran downstairs to save me?  Would I have to explain to them what Brandon was doing in my bed in the first place?  As those thoughts cycled through my head, I continued fighting against him, until I could see consciousness light up his eyes.  He paused first and then he sucked down a big gulp of air.  “Oh, shit.”  His eyes were wide and dark.  “What am I doing?”

“It’s okay, Brandon,” I said, grabbing his face in my hands.  “It’s fine.  I think you were having a nightmare.”

He closed his eyes as if trying to see something in his mind.  “Yeah, I was.  I…have them on occasion.”  He rolled off me and sat on the bed, looking down at his hands as if they were lethal weapons.

Well, yes, they were, but I also knew Brandon was feeling guilty about something it seemed like he had little control over.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

He was quiet for a while before he answered.  “It’s not that I don’t want to.  It’s that it’s hard to explain.  Those dreams—they’re not likenormaldreams.  They’re more like flashes of something.  Theyareflashes of stuff…that happened before.  But I can’t figure out how they fit.  It’s like I have these huge gaps in my memory—and I don’t know why, and I don’t know how to get them back.  Or if I ever want to.”  He stopped talking for a few moments before adding, “I don’t think I do.”

“What happened to you?”

I saw his fists clench before he answered, “I don’t know.”  He tried to relax the muscles in his hands but failed.  “But I know it must have been bad.”

It felt as if one of his fists had my heart in its grasp and was squeezing.  “I want to help you, Brandon.”

He lowered his head into one of his hands.  “I don’t know if you can.”

 

* * *

 

BRANDON MIGHT NOT have had any confidence in my abilities (not that I did), but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try.

Ihadto.

I felt like he needed my help…like he was drowning and I was a life jacket.  He worked a mid-shift that day, so I let him sleep late and crossed my fingers that my kids wouldn’t notice he was staying in my room and not Gabe’s.  Neither of them said anything but I didn’t have the courage to go upstairs and see if the door to my oldest son’s bedroom was open until after they left for school.

A wave a relief washed over me when I saw it was closed.

Feeling a little out of control, I tried to focus on my list.  I didn’t take my walk (up too late that morning) but I did some yoga.  That act alone helped me decide what I needed to do for the day.  Writing first until Brandon left for work, I planned on then doing some research.  If he was suffering from PTSD like he believed, he needed treatment.  Short of that, I knew the internet was full of advice, some useful, some not, but it would be worth educating myself more, because I knew very little about that affliction.

The fact that he felt helpless, that he said there was no cure…it made me want to find one.  So I decided to start online, planning to do outside research if necessary.  After doing most of my work for several years on the computer, conducting informal research using the internet was a natural thing for me to do.  So I picked up where I’d left off the night before, by doing more research on PTSD using my laptop.  I had a vague idea of what it was, especially after what I’d read last night, but I didn’t really know enough to be helpful.

Most of the authoritative medical information I found about it was pretty discouraging.  It seemed like sufferers could getbetterbut there was no cure—just like Brandon had said.  Alternative healing sites seemed to think there was at least a chance for some people to find peace.

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