Page 38 of In You
"Tell me anyway."
He turns his head to look at me sharply, flicking the ash off the side of the porch. "She needs a hospital, Caleb. Point blank."
"No. Tell me something else that will make more sense than her savior dropping her off and leaving. You can’t ask me to abandon her like that."
His brow raises. "Savior?"
I nod. "That's what Camilla calls me."
"Hm." His eyes narrow a little more and then he exhales deeply. "Well, being with a woman who's been abused is certainly not easy. Truth be told, friend," turning his gaze to the horizon he squints, "you never know just how deep the mind fractures under duress. She may never come completely back to herself. I don't know ifIcould do it. Just being plain honest here."
A muscle jumps in my cheek and I brace my boot on the lower rung of the porch. "So you're saying it's not possible."
"Nope, not saying it's not possible. But this isn't just abuse we're talking about here, Caleb. Tamryn has dissociative identitydisorder. Navigating a relationship with someone in the depths of that sort of mental crisis after the type of torture she went through will not be easy. This will be averylong road. My suggestion-"
I snort, cutting him off. Tapping my hand against my bicep I will the fucking horror of my own past back in the background where it belongs.
"Since when's my life ever been fucking easy? I couldn’t fucking care less about how hard it is," I say quietly, watching Ringo rolling in the grass. I look over to him, arching a brow, refusing to let myself entertain thoughts of giving her up. To a psych ward? Fuck that. "I don't assume to know much about you, or your life, but count yourself fucking blessed that you don't have to worry about someone giving up on you." Stepping forward, I clap him on the shoulder once and then pull a twenty thousand dollar check from my pocket and hand it to him. "Thanks, man. I appreciate you."
He holds up a hand. "Oh, it's not necessary. Colin took care of it."
I curl my lip, shoving it into his breast pocket and not even bothering to ask him about pursuing intimacy with her. That's a non-negotiable, as is us moving forward in a relationship. "Aw, yeah? Well, use it to help the next person in need, doc. Have a safe trip home. Now, if you'll excuse me, I got a woman to see to."
I leave him smoking on the porch, and shut the door to my house, locking it.
Walking into the living room I see her blinking sleepily, but she hasn't had her pain medicine, or dinner. Remembering the way she held her hand out to me, I walk slowly to where she's sitting, then sink to my knees before her. "Can I lay my head in your lap?"
We stare at each other for a second, then she nods. Slow as molasses, I go to my knees and rest my forehead on her thigh.
She gives me her intimacy, and it slices my heart open.
In her lap I smell her scent, and it takes everything in me to not drag my pajama bottoms off her and start something I know we have no business getting started right now. I cut off a groan when I feel her fingers sink into my hair. But she doesn't rub, she just keeps them pressed to my head just like when she was touching my fingers earlier, and every muscle locks down as I force myself to stay perfectly still.
"Are you ready for dinner?" I mumble against her thigh.
She giggles quietly, and I freeze.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you." Glancing up, her fingers fall away, but her eyes are amused as she looks at me. "Goodness, you look about as tired as I feel," she whispers, dragging her fingers across one eye, making the skin slightly red.
"Don't worry about me, darling." I get up, holding my hand out to her. "Up you get. Do you like meatloaf?"
"Ooh, so that is what I was smelling," she says, ignoring my hand and shimming from under the blanket. "I do. A lot."
I've never seen anyone eat meatloaf as fast as she did. She even had seconds, and she kept it all down.
The next day we get her medicine, and have her clothes delivered, and I begin to try and implement a daily routine. Paying attention to triggers. And boy, there's a lot of them…
She switches between Tamryn and Camilla so much over the next few days that it takes me a while to get over the whiplash.
I find myself calling her "sweetheart" more and more, because it's easier than offending her when I call her by the wrong name when she's in a switch that I don't know about. It dawned on me that the sight of water in a glass is the strongest trigger. And for some strange reason it'sjustwater.
I've poured her tea, soda, and juice; but the moment a glass of water goes in front of her, I know an immediate switch is coming. I don't have it in me to ask why. Who knows if she would actually know, and the answer, or the inevitable breakdown following it, might break my undead heart even more.
What’s even more saddening is it’s not even the switch, it’s how she drinks it down afterwards. Clutching it with both hands, streams of water escaping her lips and dripping down her chin as she gulps like she’s never had water before in her entire life.
Six days after her appointment with Alexander, I wake up with a raging headache after another nightmare that left her screaming for her mom again.
I was up for hours after that nursing my own demons while I tried to sit with her through it. She didn't let me hold her this time. Shivering in the bed, staring wide eyed at the wall, refusing to let herself go back to sleep. I don't know what the fuck she saw in that dream, but she was unwilling to talk about it and I wasn't willing to press. I just sat there in that fucking chair and prayed she'd fall into the mercy of unconsciousness.
