Page 44 of Nightclub Surprise
The next question asked if I felt at times like I was reliving the event, and anotheryeswas at hand. Recurring nightmares, stress over the memory, avoiding thoughts about the event, avoiding people that reminded me of the event, all of those had to be checked with ayesaswell.
I was on a roll. A bad one. And I wondered if all theseyesanswers would only earn me more time in theplace.
Then I got to check anowhen asked if there were things I wasn’t able to recall about the event. No, I recalled everything well—too well,actually.
Had I lost interest in anything I had once enjoyed doing? I was able to check anothernoon thatone.
Whew, for a minute there I thought I was agoner!
Morenoboxes followed as it asked if I had difficulty trusting people, or showing emotions. Did I fear I’d never have a normal future? I was able to check thenoboxes about having trouble falling asleep. I thought I’d been sleeping like a baby, but I’d been wrong about that. But I knew I never had trouble fallingasleep.
Angry outbursts got ano, too, and so did difficulty concentrating. But then the question about having guilt over those who died while I survived had to get ayes.
Oh, well, they can’t all beno.
I was there for a reason, after all. I had a mix ofyesandnoanswers as I continued through the questionnaire. Did I startle easily; did I feel as if I had to be on guard all the time, ready to spring intoaction?
I could spring into action whenever I needed to, like I did with the wildfire situation and Calum—but I didn’t go around tense and ready tospring.
I checked theyesbox for the question about whether I’d been experiencing this for longer than a month. The last question made me pause,though.
Do your symptoms interfere with normal routines, such as work, school, or socialengagements?
Didthey?
I had to think about that one. I could go out without any trouble. Ah, but there had been the incident on the freeway, and then a couple of others in the past—one in a nightclub, one in a restaurant. Anotheryeshad to be checked, and then I hit the Submitbutton.
The score said twelve, and I thought that was pretty good. But when I looked at the bottom portion, I read that anything over ten was considered to be evidence of symptoms ofPTSD.
Well, that wasn’t anything I didn’t know already. I would indeed be spending the next fourteen days here with the good doctors and therapists. I supposed things could’ve been worse. I could’ve lost Tawny and Calum, which thankfully hadn’t happened yet—and wouldn’t, whether I had to stay here fourteen day or fourteen months to fixthis.
With the test submitted, Tasha came back into the room. “August, the results showed us what areas you need to work on. Just a few more questions, so we can get you all set up.” She tapped a pen on the top of her clipboard then put it to the paper. “Do you feel more at ease speaking with a male orfemale?”
“Hmm, I think I’d like it to be a male.” I liked talking to Tawny, but mostly it felt easier talking to men about myweaknesses.
“Okay,” she said, as she took note of that. “And do you like being in a group or alone when you discuss privatematters?”
“Alone,” came my quick answer. I wasn’t one to talk freely in a group—never was, never wouldbe.
“Okay, then just one more thing,” she said, as she looked at me. “Are you a daytime person or a nighttime kind ofguy?”
“I get up early each morning, so put me down as daytime.” I got up out of the chair, eager to get things started. “So, when can we getstarted?”
“Soon. I’ll input this data into my computer and have a schedule for you in about an hour. Lunch is being served, so why don’t you head to the cafeteria and introduce yourself to the others?” She left the room, and I stood there, wondering if I really wanted to go meetanyone.
The idea of hobnobbing wasn’t sitting well with me. But the growl of my stomach told me to go eat, so out I went to find my way to thecafeteria.
About fifteen people were seated at various tables. Just like high school, they seemed to have their cliques. When I spotted a USMC tat on one guy’s arm, I headed to that table after picking up a tray of food and a bottle of water. “Hi, I’m August Harlow, formerly known as Major Harlow, First of theFirst.”
The bulky man shook my extended hand. “Tom Moore, formerly Second Lieutenant Moore, Combat Logistics Regiment Three.” He gestured to the man to his right. “This is Frank Wilson, non-military, son of a Mafia druglord.”
I shook that man’s hand, too. “Nice to meet you,Frank.”
“You too, August.” Frank went back to eating his turkey on rye, which was the main dish forlunch.
A set of blue eyes found mine as I looked at the woman seated next to him at the round table. “Natasha Granger, formerly Captain Granger of the TenthRegiment.”
“Ah, the Arm of Decision. Too many decisions you’d rather not have made—is that was brought you here?” I asked her as I shook herhand.
