Page 4 of Trapped: Between Sky And Wind

“Memories are like sleeping dogs. They can wake up and bite at any time, usually when you least expect it.”

“Triggered memories, is that what you mean?” Who would know better than Bren!

He sighs. “Yes. In here, you’ll face all kinds of triggers. Maybe I should have bought another RV.” His anger at himself is apparent in his expression.

I shake my head. If I can’t make it here, it will be like running away from the past and I won’t make it anywhere else, but I keep that to myself. “Is your therapy giving you more control over your triggers?” He said earlier he might still scare me, so I’m assuming the attacks aren’t over yet. Maybe the metal plates with the steel eyelets are intended for him.

“It’s better than it was a year ago, or else I never would have been able to go into the studio for Hero of the Week.” He thinks for a moment as if trying to figure out how much he can tell me without me running away screaming. “My therapist’s name is India Lee. She taught me various skills that help me stop the attacks. She is fantastic.”

“Fantastic?” I smile slyly and squeeze his fingers. “Should I be worried?”

Bren smiles back, and once again, his smile reassures me. When Bren smiles, it’s like there’s nothing between us, nothing at all, not even the past. The right corner of his mouth moves further up. “She’s no taller than a garden gnome, Lou. You’re a giant compared to her.”

“Maybe you’re into garden gnomes?” I say, pushing out my bottom lip. “Does she wear a stocking cap?”

Now he laughs a short, choppy HA! A hot and cold shiver runs down my back. Partially because this laugh makes him look better than ever. He looks like a model for a wildlife commercial.

“I’m serious!” I punch him playfully in the chest and he catches my fist and holds it tight.

“I like your jealousy!” He kisses my knuckles. “India Lee is too old for me. And besides, she isn’t my type at all. She is not blonde, and she wears lambskin slippers and felt pants like a flower child. She’s a bit of a weirdo in a way.”

“A weirdo? Then you two are a good match.”

The look he gives me is disapproving in a good-natured sort of way. “Seriously, Lou. We have so much to talk about! I don’t even know where to start.”

“Okay, how about these skills?” I ask.

“Skills are abilities or strategies to break free during an attack. India Lee says there are parts of myself repressed by the past. My attacks aren’t merely flashes, Lou, they’re dissociative states. I’ll explain it to you later, maybe not on our first day. That would be…too much, wouldn’t it?”

I nod.

“I have better control of them, so you don’t need to be scared anymore—that should do it for now.” Now the laughter has gone, leaving the serious Bren behind.

“Will you ever be able to tell me what happened to you as a child?”

Shadows darken his face. “You already know it. Your deduction back in the forest was correct.”

I know even more, but I’m definitely not going to tell him that today. I know his mom didn’t abandon him, it was his stepfather who kidnapped him. But before he finds out, I need to know how he’s truly doing so I don’t end up making things worse with the truth and he relapses. “What I mean is will you ever be able to actually talk about it?” I ask instead. “I gathered what I know from your attacks, but it’s different to hear it from you when you’re clear-headed.”

“Able to talk about it?” He lets go of me abruptly and rests his hands on the wall to the left and right. “What parts of my story do you want to hear, Lou? The one where I was trapped in the coffin for days and my stepdad only dragged me upstairs to drink? So I wouldn’t die of thirst and he could continue tormenting me? Or do you want me to tell you how he used his belt on me until my skin split open because I misspelled Oklahoma?”

I can’t answer, maybe because his honesty shocks me, but maybe also because his tone is so harsh. For a moment, I don’t know how to react. He certainly doesn’t want pity, but I still feel miserable just looking at him, imagining what he’s been through.

He beats me to it. “My second mistake.” He shrugs, discouraged. “I’m asking too much of you.”

“I shouldn’t have asked. I know you hate talking about it.”

“It’s your right to ask.”

“And it is your right to remain silent.”

Dusk has given way to darkness over Sequoia National Park and a bird sings a high, delicate tune. A wood warbler, I think. The side door is still open and a cool wind is blowing through the hall. We look at each other. Brendan’s eyes are like shiny black water. There is so much unsaid, so much unfathomable. I realize therapy has probably changed him more than I thought. Maybe it made him even more vulnerable, who knows which of his hells he had to go through again. I can only guess but never understand. Especially not me because I grew up with so much love. That love probably acts as a shield against the bad things he did to me before I fell in love with him. Maybe I’ll never truly know him. And yet, now, beneath the darkness of his gaze, I feel that familiarity that bound us in the Yukon during the last few weeks. It’s like a ribbon that flutters from him to me and back again. And for some reason, I know that no matter what happens, it will never leave us.

“Lou,” he says softly.

“What is it?” I whisper back.

“I don’t want what I went through to stand between us.” He beckons me. “Come here.”

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