Page 45 of Splintered Memories
Whatever made August so scared, it had my fingers trembling over the steering wheel.
Things started to unravel after we stepped inside my house.
August paced the length of the living room. Back and forth he walked, turning sharply on his heel at each end. He clutched his shoulder harder. I watched him for a while, taking him in. His body was rigid; sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his temples in rivulets. The longer he paced, the more his face twisted with pain. He muttered under his breath…groaning, rushed words that I couldn’t decipher.
I stood in the corner of the room, arms folded around myself until I couldn’t take it anymore.
I cut him off as he turned to stride the length of the room again. He almost ran right into me, his eyes widening at my disruption.
Giving him a hard stare, I planted my feet. “How can I help you?”
A muscle in his jaw ticced. As he looked down at me, he seemed so very lost, as if he were fighting with everything he had just to see and hear me. His body was vibrating, his limp left hand trembling at his side.
When he didn’t answer, I asked, “Do you need me to call someone? Reid?”
At the mention of his brother, his chin jerked to the side. “No.” He gasped the word. “Don’t. I—I don’t want…” He squeezed his eyes closed as a tremor racked through him.
“Tell me what’s happening so I know how to help you,” I said, my voice on the verge of desperation. This was nothing like the August I knew.
He shook his head again. “I just need to remember where I am.”
Recognition twisted in my chest. He was having some kind of anxiety or panic attack. It had been a long time since I’d seen someone go through it, but now that it hit me, I knew that’s what was happening. Delainey used to struggle with them when she was in high school. Before she moved out and started seeing a therapist, she used to have them too often. She’d hide in my room when they hit her, not wanting our mother to see her like that.
Without thinking, I stepped closer to August. I put my hands on his hips. His muscles were taut and hard beneath his thin cotton shirt. “You’re at home, August,” I reassured him. “You’re with me, and you’re safe.”
A flicker of pain flashed across his face, and he closed his eyes again. “I know,” he said, voice straining. “But I can’t keep my grasp on it. I can’t—” He hissed through his teeth as his fingers dug into his shoulder, as if he were trying to stanch the flow of blood.
My hands gripped his waist. “What do you feel?” I said, wanting to ground him in this moment.
“Pain,” he said immediately. A tremor shook through him.
“Where?”
He grunted. “My shoulder.”
He had insisted he didn’t need a doctor, but now, I wasn’t so sure. “Can I take a look?”
Tentatively, he opened his eyes. It took him a moment to focus on me, but eventually, he nodded.
Good. That was good. At least he was letting me do something.
I steered him toward the couch, pushing him down the moment the backs of his knees hit the edge. He didn’t let go of his shoulder. I waited, but he didn’t move, didn’t loosen that grip.
I lowered myself onto the open seat on his left side. I didn’t know whether I should touch him, but I had to do something.
I swallowed. “Can you show me where it hurts?”
August gritted his teeth, throwing a look of desperation at me. “I’m—I think I need help.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure what that meant. He looked at his shoulder, at the hand that held it in a vise.
Tentatively, I reached for him. As if he were made of the most delicate material in the world, I brushed my fingertips over the back of his hand. He didn’t move, but he didn’t flinch away. I took that as a good sign and pressed a bit harder, covering the back of his hand with mine. He still didn’t let go of that shoulder. It was as if his hand were frozen there.
After a few minutes, I began to rub slow, soothing circles over his hand. “It’s okay,” I said in low, calming tones. “You’re safe, August. You’re home.”
Gradually, his hand beneath mine relaxed. One by one, I extracted his fingers from his shoulder and was able to pull his hand away. I placed it on his lap.
He watched me, taking in deep lungfuls of air as if he were running and not sitting stone-still on my couch.
