Page 24 of Up In Flames
“Okay. You win. I’ll stop. I only wanted to make sure you were happy.”
“I’m happy making my own decisions, but I appreciate your concern.”
We only talked for a few minutes after that. I could tell she was disappointed by the turn of events. Sometimes I wondered if Mom was trying to find herself a daughter more than she was trying to find me a wife.
The past twenty-four hours had been a trip. First, I came out to Oren. Then I’d had the best orgasm of my life. And now I’d finally convinced my mom to lay off with the matchmaking, and I didn’t have to lie to do it. I just omitted a few crucial truths. I could live with that.
CHAPTER 11
Oren
“And how are the nightmares?” Joanne asked.
At first I’d avoided the idea of having a therapist, but it didn’t take long for me to see the necessity of one. I’d had no one to talk to about anything. Least of all about the accident. The guilt. The way I’d felt crushed every morning simply for waking up.
Nightmares plagued me since the accident. I’d wake up sweating with the sound of screeching tires still ringing in my ears. Cold, clammy, drenched to the bone. It didn’t matter if it was midnight or five in the morning. The nightmares drove me out of bed and into the shower.
It was the lack of sleep that convinced me to see someone. Joanne specialized in dealing with people who’d been through a traumatic event. Attacks. Shootings. House fires. Car accidents.
“They don’t bother me the way they used to. Maybe they’re not as bad? I don’t know. But I’m sleeping better.”
“That’s good.” She smiled at me.
The thing I liked about her the most was that she seemed genuine. I wasn’t just a job to her. My problems weren’t just a puzzle for her to solve.
“And how’s work? Are you still taking the bus?”
Joanne was certain that if she could get me behind the wheel, my nightmares would stop. That it would be a physical manifestation of me taking control of the situation or something. I forgot her exact reasoning, but the idea of driving still made me cringe. Though if Will was with me, I might manage it. Will wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He was my friend.
“I’m still taking the bus. I haven’t—I’m not ready to drive yet.”
“That’s okay. One step at a time.”
“I did make a friend, though.” Thinking of Will made my hands sweat, and I wiped my palms down my thighs. Ever since the accident, I’d been a little obsessed with him. The obsession had started to fade, though, the better I got. Until I’d met him in that pub. He was all I thought about now. Morning, noon, and night. Was it normal to obsess about a friend? To think about them all the time?
“Is it a work friend? You’ve mentioned Hal, and your boss, Simon.”
“It’s not a work friend. He, um—he was there. At the scene.” I held my breath waiting for Joanne to disapprove. There had to be some fancy term about making friends with the person who saved your life. Trauma bonding? But I was the only traumatized one.
“What role did he play at the scene of the accident?” Joanne’s brow furrowed the way it did when she was thinking hard about something. Not necessarily with disapproval, but because she liked to have all the facts.
“He pulled me out of the car.”
It wasn’t that simple. He’d distracted me. Commanded my attention. Comforted me. And when he pulled me from the wreckage, he let me cling to him like he was the only thing in the world that could save me.
“He’s a fireman.” I elaborated for her. It seemed important that she knew. “I was at a work thing, one of the after-work dinners and drinks that you’ve encouraged me to join, and he was at the pub with his crew.”
He’d been easy to spot. I’d thought of his face so often in the days since. It was easier to think about him than it was to think about Byron and Rita and the smell of smoke. Burning rubber. Copper pennies. The gentle timbre of his voice comforted me to remember when all I could dream about was squealing tires and sirens. The details of how the accident happened were still gone. I doubted I’d remember exactly what happened, and I didn’t want to.
“How did you come to be friends?” Joanne wasn’t the take notes type of therapist who spent the hour staring at a yellow legal pad, drawing doodles or writing down how damaged I was. Instead she sat in an oversized chair with a giant cup of coffee and a water bottle that was big and heavy enough to use as a weapon should the need arise.
Part of me wished she’d use the yellow legal pad and quit looking at me, patiently waiting for me to untangle my thoughts and give her an answer.
“I saw him at the pub and said hello. I found out what station he works at, and I went there one day. He invited me out to a big fundraiser his station held. It was at the park. There was all kinds of food—he made chili. I’d mentioned it to Hal, who mentioned it to Simon, who thought it was a great idea to get the office out into the community. Anyway, I went. We ate chili and just walked around for a while.”
I kept the details to myself. The face painting. The photo booth. The butterflies that had taken up residence in my stomach whenever I thought about him. About that day.
“I let him drive me home.”
