I smiled back at Nicholas. He knew that it was not easy for me to be transparent, to show that some things could actually pierce through my shell. He knew that when I thanked him, I was actually eating a portion of my ego because I judged him so easily, and I was wrong. So, our whatevers meant we understood each other. It meant that he had proven me wrong one more time, and it was okay for me not to say it because he was letting me walk away with my head held high.
But not this time. He deserved it. He deserved to know that I was wrong about judging him. That I now admit that he’s a good person.
I squeezed his hand back and said, “Thank you, Nicholas. You’re a good guy. And I’m sorry for judging you too soon. I’m sorry for ruining whatever chances you may have with Jen if you were really into her. I’m sorry for all the crap I gave you. And thank you for being there for me when I needed someone the most.”
He held my hand tighter in his. He looked into my eyes for a moment. “You’re forgiven. And you’re welcome.” He gave me a boyish smile as he added, “Friends?”
I nodded contentedly. “Absolutely, Nicholas.”
“Calling me Nick is fine too, you know.”
“What’s wrong with Nicholas?”
He wrinkled his nose a little, then he replied, “Too formal. Friends usually call each other by their nicknames, in case you didn’t know.”
I laughed. “All right… Nick.”
I felt a lot better when I went to bed that night. I may have lost Jen or my father for good, but I was glad that I gained another ally: a person far more deserving of my trust and affection than Jen and my father combined.
I slept with peaceful thoughts, but once my subconscious took over, the nightmares came back.
I was running in the dark, and the evil laugh kept looming over me, chasing me relentlessly. I cried for help, but no one came. I felt a strong force slice through me, breaking my strength and all I could do was scream in pain. Then suddenly, something warm enveloped me, and I heard a soothing voice cradling me, comforting me, protecting me until finally, everything was still and peaceful once again.
Kitten…
When I opened my eyes again, the light was peering through the window. I was alone on one side of the bed. I looked at the other half. There was a pillow on it, and the sheets were a little crumpled. It was unlikely that the other side of the bed had not been occupied all night. I suspected that Nick slept there because I was screaming in the middle of the night again.
I could trust Nick. I wasn’t scared that he would take advantage of me. I knew he wouldn’t. But I was scared, scared that I was beginning to like this setup in ways that were so unfamiliar to me. I had never witnessed a man and a woman living together before. Growing up, I thought sleeping beside a man was disgusting. But there was nothing disgusting about the way Nick held me to chase my nightmares away.
I brushed my teeth and washed my face in the bathroom. I wondered where Nick was. The clock says it was already nine in the morning. He was not in the living room or the kitchen. Finally, I went to the patio and found him swimming in the pool. He did two laps before he noticed that I was already up.
He smiled up at me. “Wanna swim?”
“In what exactly?”
“You look okay to me,” he replied, looking at the shorts and mini t-shirt that I was wearing.
I shook my head. “Nope. I’m okay here.”
“Can you swim?”
“Well, if I was on a cruise and the ship sank, I’d survive.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I just don’t feel like taking a dip.”
He pulled himself up from the pool, revealing his perfect abs to my view.
Holy mother of crap!
I didn’t want to stare at his absolutely gorgeous body. I had found it revolting when girls drool over a guy’s torso, but now, somehow, I could not take my eyes away from Nick’s abs. I was biting my lips to keep my mouth from hanging all the way down the floor.
“Come on!” he said.
I turned away from him. “I’ll go make breakfast. Carry on.” I headed inside the house in my attempt to escape him. I was getting used to his beautiful face, but shirtless… he was something else. He made me want to take a very cold shower. Or perhaps, diving in the pool was not a bad idea after all.
I do not like men! I do not like biceps! And I do not like abs unless it’s mine!
I kept reciting these to myself as I walked toward the kitchen.
Suddenly, I felt iron arms encircle my waist, and I was lifted off my feet. I couldn’t help but shriek.
Nick laughed heartily. He carried me in his arms and ran to the pool.
“Put me down, you moron!” I shouted.
“Better hold on a tight, kitten!” I felt him jump, and I had no choice but to wind my arms around his neck and hug his body. We landed in the pool with a splash. I felt his arms go around my waist while we were underwater. He held me against his body as he brought us up to the surface.
He was laughing when we emerged. His arms were still around me, and I was still clinging on to him as if I was hanging on for dear life. I stared at him sternly, but that didn’t stop him from laughing.
I pulled away and started splashing water on his face. He did the same thing to me. After a minute, we were both laughing and chasing each other in the pool like a bunch of five-year-olds. Then he pulled me to the corner pool steps. We sat beside each other quietly for a moment.
There was this thing with Nick. We had these moments of silence that didn’t feel awkward at all. I was so used to being alone most of my life. I didn’t have many friends at all. And at home, I was always confined to my room because I didn’t want to risk running into my father. But somehow, sitting here quietly with Nick, I felt as comfortable as being on my own. I felt no pressure to conform or define myself.
Nicholas wasn’t curious about me and my personality or preferences like many people I came across with.
Is she straight or a lesbian?
If she’s straight, then why does she dress like that?
Why does she wear her hair like a guy does?
If she’s a lesbian, why isn’t she hitting on hot girls?
And why does she color her hair purple or pink?
The best thing about Nick was that he was not trying to hit on me, like many guys I had met before.
Does she like men? Or women? Or both?
If she likes only girls, why doesn’t she have a girlfriend?
Maybe she hasn’t met the right guy who will sweep her off her feet yet! Let’s see our chances!
It could be tiring to have to explain or justify yourself all the time. Sometimes, you just wanted to be accepted at plain face value. No need for definitions.
“Did you sleep in the bed last night?” I asked quietly.
It took a moment for Nick to answer. “You were screaming in your sleep again. I woke you up and calmed you down.”
I sighed. “Thank you.”
He took a deep breath and looked at me uncertainly. “You seem to sleep better when I’m around.” He was reluctant to say it, but we both knew it was true.
My nightmares attacked in the middle of my sleep. Even though I seemed okay and normal when I was awake, my subconscious relived the experience over and over when I was asleep. And when Nick was beside me, the nightmares immediately disappeared. It worked because he was my rescuer in my actual traumatic experience. In his presence, I felt as if the man in my nightmares, as well as my evil father, would not be able to touch me.
I stared at him for a moment, and then I said, “I feel safe around you.” I immediately looked away, knowing that my cheeks were turning a deep shade of red. I wanted to deny that, but I didn’t think Nick deserved it. He had the right to know why his presence seemed to have a calming effect on me.
“Can I ask you for professional advice?” he asked. I turned to him, raising a brow. “Pretend you’re my shrink, and I came to you with a problem. You’re not Ken Clarke, and I’m not me.”
I nodded. “Go ahead. I mean, I haven’t graduated yet, and I’m pretty sure now that I chose the wrong degree. But I was a good student, so I’ll offer you the advice I read from the books.”
“That’s good enough,” he replied. It took a few moments for him to say something again. “I have a friend, and I really care about her. She’s having post-traumatic nightmares, and I suspect this is not going away soon. I want to help her. But I don’t entirely know how. Can you tell me what I need to do? I will do anything…” he paused, and then carefully he added, “…everything.”
My heart pounded inside my chest. Even a ten-year-old would know that Nick was talking about me. There could be a lot of books out there to tell him how to help me, but he opted to ask me because he wanted to know which of the methods of ‘help’ would be okay with me. He would not force me to do something I wouldn’t be comfortable doing, such as taking sleeping pills or going to a shrink to talk about what happened.
Some people can self-cope with PTSD without seeking professional help. And at this time, I knew I could do this without going to the doctor. But Nick was right. I may not be able to do this alone.
I took a deep breath and scanned my head for what help could be given to a person who has post-traumatic nightmares. Then I tried to separate my own experience from the theoretical things I learned in school.
I cleared my throat for a moment, but when I spoke, my voice still came out a little shaky. “Wait. You have to wait until she’s ready to talk about it. Do not pressure her to say what’s in her heart. And when she does speak, listen. Do not refute her statements or convince her that she’s going to get over it. Maybe she will, but only time can tell that. There are some things that you just do not rush.
“She would need a lot of understanding. And she probably doesn’t trust anybody right now. You have to prove to her that she can trust you. When she curses at men, including you, don’t take it personally. You didn’t do that to her, and she knew that. But she couldn't help getting angry at men in general.
“She can be perfectly fine when she’s awake. But she can dread the idea of sleep because there’s where it happens all over again. You have to make her feel that she’s not alone. That you’re there. She will scream and cry in her sleep. You have to be ready for that. Do not make her feel that she’s disturbing your sleep, or she’s becoming a burden—”
“Never,” Nick interrupted me. I stared up at him. He was looking at me seriously. “She would never be a burden to me, even if I won’t get any sleep at all.”
I gave him a small smile. I fought the urge to cry. I’ve wanted my father to love me and accept me all my life. I’ve done everything for Jen so she would care about me as much as I cared for her. And yet, now, at the lowest point in my life, Nick was telling me everything I wanted to hear from either of the only two people I had loved for six years.
I took a deep breath. “If… if it gets too much for you, just wear headphones to block her out. The nightmares will pass. It rarely lasts all night.” That was my way of telling him what he could do for himself. I was not his problem to deal with, really.
He stared at me for a moment, then he slowly grinned. “Why don’t I just get into bed with her and hold her all night? That always seemed to work.” His tone was teasing.
“Well, cuddling works for most cases. It’s an effective way of making PTSD patients feel that they are not alone… makes them feel safe. But then again, you risk getting punched in the face. Violence while having those nightmares is common. Remember, in dreams, everything feels real. When she’s fighting for herself in her nightmares, she will most likely mistake you for her assailant. You risk getting hurt every time you comfort her in the middle of the nightmares.”
“That would be a risk I’m willing to take,” he said quietly.
I sighed. “It’s your funeral.”
“Yeah. I decide how I want to die.” He chuckled.
I smiled. But I wasn’t smiling because I found him funny. I was smiling because of his kindness. He was making it easier for me. When he asked me what he needed to do, he was not just asking for professional advice. He was telling me that he would be there for me as I cope with this. And he sincerely wanted to know what kind of help would be okay and not okay, so he was sure not to cross any of my boundaries.
“Outlet,” I said. He looked up at me. “PTSD patients must have an outlet to free their minds from the trauma they suffered. It could be any activity, even exercise can help. Alone and idle, the bad memories tend to go back more often. You have to be aware of the trigger points. Make sure that it’s avoided.”
“That could be a challenge,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“Because she’s tough and strong. I have no doubt her conscious mind would be able to control her thoughts and emotions. It’s hard to tell which things might trigger the trauma to return.”
I sighed. He was right. A smart person has the ability to cope with the trauma consciously. It’s during sleep that they tend to be affected more.
“Trigger points can be ambiance, sound, place. Even scent can remind her of what happened that night.”
Hearing myself say that, I realized that Nick had already done me a great favor. He asked me to live in his house—away from my room, my house, my father, and my neighborhood, which could easily make me remember every single detail of my father’s vicious plan to defile me. Nick took me away from the place where my nightmares came from.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“For what?” he asked.
I stared at him and gave him a teasing grin. “For being nosy and not minding your own business. For being a persistent fool and not recognizing the signs when and where you were not wanted. For having this insatiable need to save damsels in distress. You just can’t resist being a girl’s superhero!” I turned away from him, pretending to be pissed for forcing himself into my life.
He didn’t say a thing. When he’d been quiet for a long time, I turned to look at him. He was not looking at me. But he was suppressing a triumphant grin on his face as if he’d just won the lottery, but he couldn’t tell anybody about his good fortune. I have never met anybody so happy to be accused of all those things I just said. I expected him to be at least a little defensive.
I wondered which of the things I said actually made him feel as if he had just conquered the world.