Page 41 of The Way We Fell

I pour conditioner into my palm and then wrap my fist around my dick, breathing in deeply and letting the sweet citrus heat in the steam of the water. I glide my hand up and down my shaft as a low buzzing sensation settles in the base of my spine, fizzing away in my bloodstream.

I adjust my stance, letting the water rain down just past my dick, rock hard and aching in my hand. The edge of the downpour licks at my skin and it’s almost enough to make me imagine what Katy’s tongue might feel like, swirling around the head just before she sucks me deep. Just before I blow my load, shooting it straight down her throat.

I wonder if she’d swallow or spit.

My fist tightens as my balls do, the sensation in my veins like a jaguar ready to leap. I stroke myself harder, faster, desperately, as my pulse races and my breathing quickens, images of Katy flashing behind my closed eyes. The way she savours every bite of a sweet treat. The way she laughs at every joke I tell. The way she wraps those pouty little lips around straws to drink her water. That pink lipstick I want decorating my dick like a fucking tattoo.

“Katy,fuck.” I come with a shout, the force of my orgasm knocking me almost off-balance. With my free hand, I brace myself against the tiled wall as the room tilts off-axis and my vision blurs. When I’m done, I rinse the shower pan clean, dry myself off and dress in the first sweatpants and T-shirt I grab from my dresser. They’re the same sweatpants I wore when I ran with Katy.

I miss her.

The realisation hits me with enough force to make me stumble backwards into the kitchen counter as I wait for my lasagna to heat in the microwave. It’s been nearly a week since I last saw her, and three days since our last conversation—a handful of texts back and forth to let me know she was stopping at a service station for a comfort break and an overpriced chocolate bar, and then that she had arrived safely with her parents. A little later, she sent a pretty photograph of the sun setting over the sea. Since then, she’s been quiet.

I know I could text her myself. But I don’t want to interrupt her time with her parents. She doesn’t get to see them often, and I know she misses them. The old Jay would’ve just sent the text. And while time—and I suppose more specifically, time spent with Katy—has brought me closer and closer to the old Jay, there’s still something missing. Something not quite there anymore. There’s still something that saysdon’t be a burden.

So, I miss her quietly, and I eat my reheated leftovers. And then I go to bed in silence, falling into a restless sleep plagued with a disconcerting combination of dreams of Katy and nightmares of war.

Chapter twenty

Katy

WhenIreturnhomefrom a few days on the coast with my parents, I find myself at another meeting. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Jay have a panic attack or dissociate, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. He told me he finally made an appointment to see a therapist, and I thought that was going well, but this week, he’s seemed edgy and unsettled, even when we’re at my house. Even when we’re at his. Even in his own space, his eyes dart about the room, pupils wide, tense and ready to run.

And I don’t know how to fix it.

I don’t even know if I can. But something about him—something about this friendship we’ve forged, the way he smiles at me with twinkling eyes, the way his voice rumbles deep in his chest when he calls me Princess—something begs me to try.

“Don’t enable him, honey,” one woman says. I wring my hands, at a loss of what to do with them as I stand in a circle of veterans and partners of veterans. I feel like a fraud in this room, but they’ve all welcomed me so kindly. “The worst thing you can do is enable him.”

“Enable him?” I ask.

“Don’t give in to everything he wants. Especially when he’s triggered.”

“That’s when you should let him get what he wants,” someone else chimes in. “If you fight him then, who knows what might happen.”

“No, no, no,” the first lady argues. I squeeze my hands into fists by my sides. “Be a safe space. Communicate. But when he’s triggered, you have to be firm.”

“Sure, if you want her to get smacked around.”

I can’t help the gasp that escapes as my mouth falls open.

“He’s not violent,” I begin. “He just—”

“Sometimes they’re not… until they are.”

“No. He’snotviolent,” I insist again. “He just needs—I don’t know what he needs. That’s why I’m here, but maybe it was a mistake to come back. Maybe this isn’t the right place for me—for him. For either of us.”

I crouch to retrieve my handbag from under my chair, and fold my leather jacket over my arm before I move towards the door, my boots squeaking on the parquet floor as I hurry out. I’m outside the front of the building, taking deep, deliberate breaths when I hear footsteps approach me.

“Katy.” One of the voices from the meeting calls my name. “Katy, listen. Not everyone is the same. Not every bit of advice works for everyone. You—your friend—whoever it is. You might be right. They might not be violent. But sometimes, they’re not violent, until they are. PTSD… look, love. Come and sit.”

She leads me a few metres away to a bench beneath a tree just barely sprouting new leaves. I look up at its skeletal branches, dark fingers pointing skyward to an ominous storm cloud.

“PTSD is a funny thing. There’s no one-size-fits-all. It affects everyone differently. People have seen and done different things. Got different triggers. Even have panic attacks differently. Just… be careful. Look after yourself. And your friend.”

She stands and leaves me on the bench, swishing her open trench coat like a cape as she walks back into the building, the belt slapping lightly against her legs. When she leaves with the rest of the group a little while later, I hide my face. I’m not ready to be seen just yet.

I’m not sure how long I spend sitting on the bench, watching the clouds swirl across the sky and listening to birds communicate in song, but the sun is descending by the time I finally move on. London is bathed in a strange, yellow light from the clouded sunset, and I walk home without really noticing where I am until I reach my front door.Maybe this is what Jay meant.I twist my key in the lock, let myself in, and lock the door behind me with a soft click. I drop my jacket and boots on the bench by the door and head straight for the kitchen.

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