Page 58 of Sol
Dani -- Comfort
Trent thrashed on the couch,wailing out with a haunting, mournful cry that spiked my fight-or-flight response to cave woman versus grizzly bear levels. I sprung up and wrung my hands over him, unsure what to do. I could guess what his nightmare wasabout.
I’d never heard any noise from a person that heartrending, a cry both of pain and of sorrow. It started from somewhere deep inside him and came out like a grieving, but insistent lament. I hated to say that it reminded me of a dog howling at the moon, only it was so horribly human. Not otherworldly atall.
The noise terrified me, but I had to act. I kept trying to reach him, rub his arm, soothe him, dosomething, but as he’d turned into a wily octopus with arms that went everywhere, I couldn’t touch him for fear of gettinghit.
“Trent.Trent! Wake up, it’s just a nightmare. It’s okay,” I said, as I hopped back and forth next to him. The movie played behind me on the flat screen. I snapped it off with theremote.
He continued flopping about on the couch like a freshly caught fish. I held back, tentative, trying to reach him and get on in there to calm him, but not wanting to be in the way of his arms flailing like the Whomping Willow. My eyes darted around the room, searching for something to help him. I didn’t have anything exceptme.
“Trent!”
With a vein popping on his forehead, he sat up with open eyes, then fell back onto the couch. He’d get hurt if I didn’t wake himup.
“Trent! It’s me. Dani,” I said more forcefully, and with a jump, I ducked under his thwacking arms and swaddled myself around his waist tightly, almost tackling him to the couch cushion on his back. Instantly, he squeezed me tight like a boa constrictor, breathing elevated as if we’d just run around Parque García Lorca. I straddled him, holding him as firmly as I could, wishing I could hug the hurt out ofhim.
He shook in my arms. Holding me so tight he might leave a mark—and I didn’t care—this beautiful man sobbed in myarms.
“You’re safe. It’s okay. Shhhh, it’s okay,” I repeated over and overagain.
He clung to me while lying on his back on the couch, with his nose in my neck. I tried to comfort him with my entirebody.
“Right here, right now, you’re alive. You’re with me.” And I couldn’t help but enjoy his body, the muscles, and the soft fabric of his shirt and velvet of his skin. The muffled thump of his elevated heartbeat in hischest.
The street noises wafted up to my studio apartment. Groups of people walking by and talking. The clink of glasses. Laughter. An engine. A luxurious breeze caressed my bare arms and back where my maxi dress had nofabric.
Life went on outside my doors. I didn’t know what to do inside though, except holdhim.
Over and over again, I said against his torso, “Shh, shh. It’s okay. You’re safe. Nothing is happening to you. I’m here. It’s Dani. It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re here in Spain, not in the army any more. Breathe with me. Doit.”
He shuddered in myarms.
“I don’t know what movie is playing in the theater of your mind,” I kept going. “War is not required viewing for anyone. You saw stuff no one should have to see. It would scareanyone.”
Blood. People dying. People torn apart byIEDs.
My brother dying, torn apart by anIED.
“I’m sorry, Dani,” he whispered in my ear, his lips brushing it. “I’m sorry I have these attacks. Fucking hate this,” he muttered. “Hate these nightmares. All I see is him, his legs blown off. He reacted too fast. He saved me. I didn’t savehim.”
My poor brother. My poor, poorbrother.
I was wrong to hold a grudge against TrentMilner.
“I’m so sorry I was ever angry at you,” I said, my eyes welling up. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I hope you forgive me for lashing out atyou.”
Shaking his head, he sat up. With a disbelieving look on his face, he pushed away from me. “Me? Forgive you? Why? There’s nothing toforgive.”
“But I was such abitch.”
“Anyone would have acted that way.” His dark blue eyes exuded sincerity. “There’s nothing you did that’s wrong. But if you need reassurance, I forgiveyou.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, rearranging myself so I was sitting next to him on the couch. He put his arm around my shoulders. “And I don’t know if you needed it or not, but you have mine, too. My forgiveness. I forgive you. My brother’s death was not yourfault.”
A light shone in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “Thank you,” he said, almost in awe. As if I had lifted a burden off of him he hadn’t known he wasbearing.
“You couldn’t have saved him,” I assured him, and I meantit.
