Page 42 of Tortured Whispers
“It wasn’t based on logical thoughts. It was a direct response to past trauma.” I let his words sink in then I replayed them. He was right.
I lashed out like an angry teenager when I found out Ant was sick. I could have been more compassionate but I wasn’t reacting like a rational adult. I looked at my watch and stood to my feet. It was time for me to get to work.
“Ronnie, thanks, man. I can’t believe I overlooked the fact that I was responding to past trauma,” I sighed.
“When things are right on top of us, we don’t see them. That’s what a neutral party is for.” We slapped hands and I told him I’d stop by again once my day was done. I wanted to brief him on Brook before she had her first session.
**
The end of my day came up quicker than I’d anticipated. My time got eaten up with new patients and the endless mountains of paperwork I had to review and fill out. I was so anxious to get home to Brook that I nearly forgot I was supposed to stop by and talk to Ronnie bout her.
I found my way to his office and knocked before walking in. He was done with patients for the day as well. He offered me a seat and said, “Okay, Cease, tell me about your niece.”
I sat on the couch and checked my watch. I had about twenty minutes to get home before I could see Brook. I hoped her second day was better than her first. I wanted to see her smile.
“Brooklyn…” I fought the smile trying to find its way to my face. “She’s a beautiful girl. She’s eclectic and funny. She’s also brilliant. She’s troubled though. She has anxiety and depression.”
“How bad are we talking?” Ronnie frowned.
“Moderate to severe with self-harm and possible suicidal tendencies. She needs patience, Ronnie. She needs to be heard.” Even though I was nervous letting anyone else talk to Brook, she needed it. She needed it more than I needed to protect her.
He nodded in response and wrote down some notes. “I’ll see her tomorrow. She’s in good hands, Cease. I believed him. Ronnie was an amazing psychologist and he bucked the norms of our field. If anyone would know how to handle Brook in a gentle manner, it would be him.
Before I went home, I decided to pick up something for Brook in case she had a shitty day at school. I wanted to get her something that would let her know she was beautiful no matter what her brain told her to think. I knew she was fighting some serious demons and I wanted to help.
I was determined to help.
**
Brooklyn…
The end of the school day crept up slower than a goddamn sloth. I wanted out of San Marino High School. I wanted to get away from the scratchy way everyone’s presence made me feel. I wanted to cover my ears and shut out the constant drum of noise created by useless conversations.
I wanted to be back at home with Cease.
He was my safe haven.
He was my protector.
He was like a lion and loving him was just as dangerous.
I moved through the hallway toward the main doors when I heard someone shouting. “Hey! Wait up!” I slowed my pace and glanced over my shoulder. Surely nobody could be calling out to me. I was invisible. A nobody amongst somebodies. I didn’t even fit in enough to stand out. I just disappeared.
I froze when I saw Ashley jogging toward me. I paused in the middle of a rush of students making their way out of the school and I got knocked around.
“Move! Stop being so fucking retarded!” A deep voice grunted at me and I cringed. I hated that word. Fucking loathed it. My skin crawled whenever it was hurled at me. I shrank my shoulders in and tucked my chin.
“Fuck you, asshole!” Ashley shouted at the guy then she flipped him off and put her hand on my shoulder, moving me off to the side. “Sorry about that. Sometimes these motherfuckers are rude.” She adjusted her bright pink book bag on her shoulders and smiled at me.
Why wasn’t I pretty like her?
“So, um…Brooklyn, right?” She asked.
“Yeah,” I whispered. My eyes darted around then landed on the shiny tiled floor beneath my feet.
“Listen, I wanted to apologize for what happened in ninth grade. I was being such a bitch. We graduate this year so I wanna make it up to you. Friends?” She held out her hand and I studied the smooth skin on her forearm and wrist. Not one cut. Not one tortured whisper leaving a scar on her pale skin.
My throat constricted and my cheeks flushed with heat. I was such a fuck up. Why did I scar up my arms? They used to look normal Ashley’s once upon a time.
