Page 15 of Social Sinners

“I didn’t want to mix it with the Valium.”

I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Why would you give him both to take?” I asked her point blank.

“I didn’t, I only prescribed the Xanax.” She looked just as angry as I felt at his declaration.

Reflexively, I clenched and unclenched my jaw, repeating the motion until I was calm enough to speak. “Easton, where did you get the Valium from?”

“Can we discuss this later?” he whispered to me, staring down at his lap and avoiding eye contact.

“Easton,” I tucked my finger under his chin and tilted his head to face me while repeating the question, “Where did you get the Valium?”

“My mom.”

Fuck…me.I’d not met his mom before, none of us had. But Easton had shared with me that his parents’ marriage was of a paper nature only. His mom, I’ve been told has a wandering eye amongst other body parts. Neither Sal nor she was happily married, but neither was willing to give up half of their estate by divorcing.

“Easton, you’re a grown man. A smart man, and I know you of all people know better than to take someone else’s prescriptions. I want you to stop taking the Valium, and I’m going to switch you to Trazodone. Fifty milligrams at bedtime nightly to help combat the post-traumatic stress disorder and use the meditative exercises I provided you with to help with the anxiety,” Dr. Linden informed him. “If you find it’s too much, you can switch to half a pill before bed.”

PTSD, I’d never thought to associate that with Easton’s condition.PTSD comes in many forms and isn’t strictly associated with those who’d served our country. Easton had watched Rob die, horrifically at that, which resonated deep within his psyche. That shit would fuck up anyone. Words I’d previously said,Images he’ll never be rid ofcame to mind.

“Do you guys have another tour or road trip scheduled any time soon?” Dr. Linden asked him.

“No, we don’t.”

“Good. I need to see you twice a week for at least the next month, then we’ll reevaluate your progress.” She jotted some notes down before turning to me, “Diamond, I don’t want to assume but do the two of you live together?”

“Not technically, but we rarely sleep apart anymore. We’re actually looking at houses with a realtor this afternoon.”

“That’s good to hear. While some don’t remember dreams, some do. Easton does. Tell me, does he sleep soundly, or is he restless throughout the night?”

“Restless, sometimes combative, and he’s always up before I am.”

“So even the little bit of sleep he is getting isn’t deep enough to get the rest his body requires. Easton, I want you to focus on the imagery rehearsal therapy we discussed last time. I’ll ask Michelle to print you another copy of the directions. If you’re having challenges with it, we can always look into doing it while exploring hypnotherapy.”

“Are you licensed in hypnotherapy?” I asked her.

“Yes.” She pointed to the wall of frames. Scanning it, I found the one I needed to see.

I wanted to ask her what imagery rehearsal therapy was but decided to read the handout she was giving him instead and search the web for more info on it as well as on PTSD and hypnosis. I didn’t think there were any adverse side effects associated with being hypnotized, but I needed to be sure Easton wouldn’t be in any danger by agreeing to this treatment if he chose to proceed with it.

“Easton, have you spoken with anyone besides me about what you witnessed the night of the accident?” she eyed him curiously.

“Not in depth. I just gave the police the cliff notes version.” He wasn’t looking at either of us now, just stared intently at his hands as he wound and unwound his fingers repeatedly.

“Do you think it may be beneficial to speak to someone you trust about it, someone such as Diamond?”

“I’m afraid it will have the same effect on him, and I wouldn’t wish what I’m going through on my worst enemy, let alone on someone I love.”

“I’d like to have you attend the appointment at the end of the thirty days if you would please, Diamond,” she requested.

“I’ll be here.” Come hell or high water, I will be at that appointment. This shit ran far deeper than I’d imagined. The suicide rate for those with PTSD was ridiculously high, and it was more than evident that Easton wasn’t doing well with this. On average, twenty-two veterans suffering from PTSD commit suicide every day. I wasn’t willing to allow Easton to follow that path.

On the way out, he booked his appointments for the next thirty days with Michelle, and I asked her to print a copy of them for me so I could put them in the calendar on my phone. I’d do my best to bring him to each appointment, but if I couldn’t go for any reason, I’d be asking one of the twins to escort him in my place. Learning what I did today had me on high alert, and I was afraid that Easton would continue to take matters into his own hands as he had been by self-medicating. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him, not as long as I could do something about it.

He spoke not a word on the way out nor as we hopped into my Ford F-150 King Ranch Edition truck. I’d ordered my steel beauty at the same time Mickey had ordered his Raptor, but I chose to go with practicality as opposed to racing performance. My baby was agate black with metallic stony grey trim and was a vision as she rolled down the road. The first thing I did when I picked her up, was have the guy at Joe’s shop, limo tint the windows. She had a few other tricks up her metal sleeve, but those were all goodies for me.

Trivium’s Dead and Gonewas playing on the radio.Ironic? Fucking hell, I hoped not.I let the song play out, wanting him to be the first to break the ice but it seemed his will was stronger than I’d thought. “East,” I said, turning the music down, “talk to me.”

“Do you hate me?” he mumbled, staring out the side window. His question surprised me.

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