Page 2 of Pucking Unhinged
I sit beside him, close but not touching. I don’t rush him. I never do.
He’s been having these night terrors every so often since the carjacking. That night his mother was murdered right in front of us. Since he was forced to hurt me just to keep us alive. He never talks about it, but I know what he sees when he closes his eyes.
And I know what happens when his body finally gives out and lets him sleep. This.
The destruction. The panic. The painstaking recount of everything that happened between us.
This is why he doesn’t sleep like he should. Why he stays up until exhaustion drags him under against his will.
His dad has tried everything. Therapists. Specialists. But nothing works. Nothing reaches him. Not really.
And the truth is, I don’t know how to help him either. They all say being close to me is making it worse, and that’s when he shuts them out, cuts them off, and refuses their services.
I feel useless. Helpless. Like I’m watching someone drown while standing on the shore with nothing but empty hands.
Worse than that?
I feel responsible.
Even though I know it wasn’t my fault. I know it wasn’t, but I can’t say there isn’t still a part of me that aches with guilt. Because he never had nightmares like this until he was forced to hurt me. He only did it to save me from a worse fate. They were going to take me with them, and I need him to understand how grateful I am that everything that happened that night was only between us.
What makes it all so much worse is that he pushes me away when I try to comfort him.
For a long time, I thought maybe it was because it felt too intimate. Too close. Like maybe if he let me hold him, it would cross a line we weren’t supposed to cross. But now I’m not so sure why, because I can feel his body jerk toward me like he craves my touch.
Now I think it’s because he doesn’t think he deserves to be comforted.
Not by me.
And I hate that even more, because he’s the best person I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. He’s the only person who has ever truly made me feel safe and cared for.
Sometimes I catch the way he looks at me. And in those moments, I don’t think it has anything to do with guilt or obligation. I don’t think he’s just being protective because he feels bad for what happened.
I don’t know if he feels the tension that I feel, the heat under the surface, the weight of everything we never say. A small part of me wonders how on earth he couldn’t because it feels so strong to me.
I’ve always been attracted to Tristan Vale. I’ve always wanted him in some way or another. But with his parents fostering me, with the lines we’re not supposed to cross, I didn’t know if he’d ever see me that way.
He’s always been protective, even from the beginning. From the moment we met, there was something about him that locked onto me like I was his to watch over.
To me, it wasn’t brotherly. Not for a single moment.
Tristan’s twin brother, Sebastian, acted more like a traditional big brother. He didn’t hover. Didn’t coddle. If someone messed with me, he’d step in and shut it down, but that was it. Those moments were few and far between, because Tristan was always there to take care of me first. He never stopped watching. He never stopped showing up.
It was like the second our eyes met, something just… clicked. Like we both knew. Like something in our bones decided we belonged to each other. That we were each other’s person.
And that’s what makes this so gut-wrenching.
Watching him suffer because of something he did to protect me and not being able to fix it.
When I think of Tristan, I don’t see the same broodingly silent guy who so many have called rude over the years. He’s never been that way, and in fact, he’s always done everything for me. Even before the carjacking. Even when we were just awkward strangers under the same roof, he’d treat me like I was something fragile and precious.
He’d bring me my favorite snacks without me asking. He’d carry my bags, fix things in my room before I even noticed they were broken, walk me to class even when I said I didn’t need him to.
The princess treatment.
That’s what I called it in my head, even though back then I think even a part of me thought I was just wishing for someone to care about me when no one ever had.
And the truth is, I think that was always his way of loving me, even if he didn’t know it.
