Page 14 of Vengeful Pawn

MiaBella

Tornadoes and whirlwinds.

Typhoons and tropical storms.

That describes my emotions right now. I’m shaking and spinning, rocking and crashing, unable to get a foothold on anything. I’m drowning and floating at the same time. Hendrix won’t let me go, and yet, I can’t seem to shake free, so here we sit together in his therapy session because he insisted that he couldn’t take his eyes off me. He needed to see for himself that I was safe. I offered to put in earbuds and listen to music or an audiobook, but for whatever reason, Hendrix wants me to be present during the session.

“How have you been sleeping, Hendrix? Have the nightmares been present?” the therapist asks him. His hands ball into fists on his thighs before he relaxes his fingers and stretches his arms down his legs.

Our eyes meet briefly before he answers. “Some nights are better than others. Mission nightmares aren’t as bad anymore, and when I have them, they’re less rushed. Almost as if they’rein slow motion and I can see everything happening in a way I haven’t before.”

“Are you discovering anything new?” She leans forward, excitement shining brightly in her inquisitive eyes.

“No.” His eyes drop. “Sort of.” I reach out a supportive hand, hoping to encourage him to be as honest as possible. “I remember the first shot. The one I took before Santi joined the firefight.” She nods reassuringly while I hold my breath. “I remember the sounds, the smells, the vibrations of my weapon as the bullets flew.”

“What else?” she…Elsie…asks quietly as Hendrix focuses on a painting across the room while vocalizing his revelations.

“The dust. The wind had picked up, drawing up dirt and dust from the ground, making their cover more solid. Making it easier to get the boys into place and hide themselves.” His eyes shine with dread and remorse, while my heart breaks for him. “They never had a choice.”

“Do you mean chance?” His eyes dart to Elsie and narrow on her. I know what she’s doing. Challenging his way of thinking so he can learn how to forgive himself.

“No. They didn’t get a choice. From the day they were born, their lives were forever going to end in the fortunes of war.” His voice cracks with emotion as he closes his eyes and balls his fists again.

Scooting closer, I rest my head on his shoulder. Immediately, his hand finds my belly, where the baby has been moving more and more lately. It’s one of the few things that keeps him in the present when he has an episode.

“Mia.” I glance at Elsie. “What have you noticed at home?”

“Oh, uhm…” I hadn’t anticipated being involved. “He’s not as restless at night.”

It used only to be that when he was holding me, he’d calm down and sleep. Now, even when I’m right next to him, and he hasn’t got me wrapped up in his arms, he settles down.

“That’s a good sign and fits with what he’s been telling me. Hendrix, how are you feeling about doing the EMDR?”

Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing therapy has been shown to help those with traumatic memories. In the past, I’ve helped victims of violence find therapists who use the technique.

He turns his head towards me, eyes searching mine at the same time the baby kicks, drawing a smile to his lips. “Yeah, I’ll do it,” he responds. “I need to. I need to be better so I can be present.”

It’s my turn for tears, it seems. While this is helping Hendrix heal from his military past, he’s doing it because he wants a future for himself and me. He wants to be the best dad he can be to our child.

“I’d like to do another session to prepare you for how the therapy is done, the side effects afterwards, and how we’ll proceed after it’s over.”

I’ve heard it can be intense and exhausting.

As the session ends, the toll it’s taken on Hendrix is obvious. He’s more relaxed but emotionally exhausted. After setting up his following appointments, I take the keys from him and drive us back to his apartment.

Walking hand in hand down the third-story hallway to his apartment, he drags me behind him when we notice a manila envelope taped to the door.

“Oh no.” Dread nearly drags me to the ground. Opening the one yesterday that was slipped into my purse while I was in the Social Services office sent terror racing through my veins.

Turning to face me, Hendrix cups my jaw in one hand and holds me around the back with the other. “Don’t do that, don’t goworst case scenario. Not yet. Let me handle this, and then we’ll decide what to do. Deal?” My eyes move to look at the door when he whistles. “Eyes on me, princess, or I’m not letting you go.” He waits until I take a few calming breaths and nod my agreement.

“Good.” He kisses my forehead before moving to my mouth. “You’ll go inside, I’ll grab the envelope, then we’ll deal with the contents.” He says this while unlocking the door and blocking me from seeing it.

The way Hendrix consistently works to protect me, to show me that he’s the wall between me and the unsavory characters of the world, it makes me realize…

I love this man.

Unequivocally and completely.

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