Page 59 of Sol
“I couldhave—”
“No. You couldn’t.” I reached over and took hishand.
With a nod, he gathered me in his arms. He brushed his fingers up and down my bareback.
“You have PTSD, don’t you?” I asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to talk aboutit.
“Probably. Too early to tell,but…”
“Have you triedyoga?”
“No, but I saw there’s a studio right by my hostel. I saw someone reading a magazine on the train coming here. A tabloid. And there was a Spanish celebrity who didyoga.”
“It’s all over the place. I think it’d be good for you. Get you out of your head and into yourbody.”
“I’ll give anything a shot.” His wan smile broke myheart.
“Do you takemeds?”
“No. They gave me Xanax, but I didn’t like how it made me feel. I’m not gonna take itagain.”
“Have you seen atherapist?”
“I have a card and a contact, but I’ve never calledher.”
“We can set that up on Skype. I’ll help, if you like. The late afternoon here is morningthere.”
“Okay.” He stared at the open window. “It’s getting to the point I can’t function. I need to do something. Any little thing triggers me. Mopeds. Sunglasses. Helicopters are theworst.”
“I’m so sorry. I had noidea.”
“Yeah. I just keep reliving it over and over again. I don’t want to, but it’s like I’m there. Like I’m being bombedagain.”
“Honey,” Iwhispered.
“The crazy part is, I escaped a roadside bomb without any injuries. Why am I freaked out? I feel soguilty.”
I shook my head. “No. Your injuries are the hardest, deepest wounds to heal, because they’re invisible. You’re the bravest person I’ve evermet.”
“I don’t feelbrave.”
“The bravest ones never do. They justact.”
Tired, bloodshot eyes metmine.
This sweet, watchful man who always made sure I was safe. The man who made me feel like I was home when I was with him. Especially since I didn’t have a homeanymore.
Anything.
I’d do anything to make him feelbetter.
“I vow to help youheal.”
The corner of his mouth edged up in a half-smile. “Don’t know that you can do that, but I’ll let youtry.”
“Oh, I can be healing.” I got up and got us washcloths from the bathroom to wash our faces. Then I knelt at his feet and untied his boots one after another, throwing them on the floor along with hissocks.
“Come to bed,” I said. “There’s moreroom.”
