Page 26 of Loving London

“Okay.” She nods, unsure.

“You’re going to rock this motherhood thing. Just wait.” I shoot her a wink before I sit back in my chair and grab another slice of pizza.

“I’m glad you have confidence in me.”

“I do.” I smile.

Sarah and I finish up eating. After tidying up the kitchen, we plop down on the couch to watch a movie. Sarah holds two Blu-ray cases in her hand.

“I picked up two movies from Redbox that I thought you would like—Batman Versus SupermanorDeadpool. You choose.”

My chest constricts with pain the second she saysDeadpool. Memories of repeatedly watching the movie while on deployment surface. Anything that reminds me of deployment automatically reminds me of Cooper. I will never be able to separate the two.

I let out a rush of air. “Batman,” I hastily spit out, wiping my sweaty palms against my shorts.

Sarah appears concerned and opens her mouth to speak before clamping it shut and simply nodding. She occupies herself by setting up the movie, taking longer than usual. I use the bonus time to get my shit together. Once I start spiraling down with Cooper regrets, it’s difficult to bring myself back to the present.

My therapists, both in Germany and in DC, taught me many strategies to stop the panic attacks. I quickly run through them—counting, staying in the moment, breathing, and acknowledging my fear. After a tense moment, my heart rate begins to slow, and I can inhale without the overwhelming tightness of my chest interfering. Honestly, I don’t think it’s any of the specific techniques as much as the concentration I use to remember the different strategies. It takes my mind off the trigger long enough for me to regain control.

Sarah sits next to me as the movie starts. This movie is completely up my alley. I love any Marvel or DC Comics movies. As a teen, I was able to get my hands on a few comic books. They were light enough and took up such little space that I was able to carry them with me as Sarah and I made our trek from Texas to Arizona. They were my only reading material for a couple of years, and I read those comics many times over.

Yet, as I sit here, I’m finding it difficult to even focus on the movie at all. We’ve been watching it for at least an hour, and I can’t even say what it is about.

Sarah reaches for the remote and pauses the movie. “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for this one tonight. We can watch it another time.”

“Yeah, I agree.”

I know she’s just trying to make me happy, sensing my energy. But, even if I insisted she finish watching it, I know she wouldn’t. Sarah has always been able to read me, and she’s as loyal as they come.

“Let’s just relax.” She sighs, leaning into my side.

“Okay.” I situate myself so that I’m lying back on the couch.

Sarah follows me down, her belly facing the side, as she lays her head on my bare stomach.

The two of us just lie like this in silence for a long time. It’s probably the best time I’ve had with Sarah since we’ve been living together. That’s a sad truth to admit, but it’s my reality.

I’m starting to drift off to sleep when I feel her hand start to glide across my abdomen.

Sarah and I have always been close. When we were homeless, we slept together almost every night, our limbs entangled as we clung to each other for warmth and comfort. Yet there is something different about the way she’s touching me now. It’s more intimate somehow.

My muscles tighten in response as her caress, loving and determined, teases its way over my skin. Her fingertip traces shapes on my body with minimal pressure. Her touch is almost a whisper. If I wasn’t paying attention, I might not even feel it, but I do. It resonates within, like a shout, and my mind screams with unrest.

I swallow and pull in a stream of air. “Sarah?”

“Shh…it’s okay, Loïc,” she murmurs. Her warm breath assaults my skin.

Then, I feel it—her soft lips gently kissing up my chest.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I try to make sense of it all, but I don’t have any success. The truth is, nothing in my life has significant meaning anymore. I wish I could feel love again, but there’s no room for such a luxury.

My life is a daily battle of fighting to simply exist. I fight to get up every morning, to breathe, to eat, to function. It’s an exhausting daily ritual just to make it to nighttime when I can close my eyes and drift off into oblivion.

And then I wake up to do it all again.

Every day.

Being in this position with anyone isn’t a possibility right now.

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