Drowned In Silence

30. Trauma

Trauma

Elliot

When I wake up, Dynah isn’t next to me. Again.

I about had a heart attack last night when I couldn’t touch her, then I opened my eyes and I couldn’t see her either. I roll over onto my back and take a few deep breaths before sitting up and getting dressed. Checking the bathroom, I make sure she isn’t trying to burn herself in the shower again.

I really need to keep a better eye on her. She is damaged and broken, and I feel like I have to walk on eggshells right now. It won’t be this way forever, just until she accepts that I am by her side now. For good.

“Dynah?” I ask, opening the bedroom door.

“We're in here, bro!” Pen yells from the kitchen.

As soon as I walk into the hall I can smell food. Pancakes, syrup, eggs, and sausage. Spencer made a breakfast feast .

“Morning,” Dynah says, hiding her face behind a giant cup of coffee.

I grunt in response, but give her a wink that she blushes to and turns back to her coffee. Acting like it’s the most interesting thing that’s happening. “How long have you two been awake?”

“About an hour. Maybe two. I was sitting on the couch and Dynah came out,” he points to her with his spatula, “I could hear her stomach rumble from the other side of the room. So I got up and decided to make us all food.”

“I told him he didn’t have to, but he told me to shut up,” she says, taking another sip.

“Yeah, that’s Pen for ya’. He’s an ass,” I reply, laughing as he mean-mugs me while I pour myself some coffee.

“I’m the ass… At least I don’t go around stalking and killing people.”

I almost spit out my coffee and turn towards Dynah.

This is the first smile I have ever seen from her, and I can’t control the one that forms on my face in return. Her smile lights up the room, her eyes shining like fireflies at night.

“What? It’s not like she doesn’t know. She obviously doesn’t care much, or she would have tried running already. Fuck, I’d run from you too. You’re a scary mother fucker,” Pen says, turning back around to flip another pancake.

Dynah giggles and slides off the stool, heading to the living room.

“Real funny, Pen. Real funny.”

I leave him to cook by himself and walk into the living room, following Dynah. Like usual. Sitting beside her on the open couch, she snuggles into herself, pulling her knees up and setting her chin on them.

“Are you okay? ”

“I think I am. Me and Spencer talked for a while before you got up.”

“Yeah?” I ask, curious as to what was said. Spencer can talk for years about absolutely nothing. Now that I think about it, he’s got a lot to say for someone who doesn’t say anything at all.

“Yeah. It was… nice. So what are we doing today?” She asks, changing the subject.

“What do you want to do?”

“I think… I think I just want to relax. I’m not used to all this. I’m overwhelmed,” she replies, gripping her knees tighter to her body.

“Okay. What are we watching?” Spencer asks, walking into the room.

We sat around the house for the rest of the day, hanging out and watching whatever movie Dynah thought was slightly interesting. Spencer made dinner and we ate so much food that we are laying back down in the living room, stuffed and motionless.

“Are you better now?”

“Well, I don’t feel like you two are out to get me. I feel… Safe. Probably for the first time in my life. I don’t know how I feel about it though. One minute my life is abusive, living on the edge of death every moment of every day. Now, I’m sitting in a bungalow type house, on the beach, in the middle of the ocean. I don’t have visitors knocking on the door, waiting for me to spread my legs, and I can sit here and just think. It’s really nice. Too nice. I think I will always wait for th e next shoe to drop. That’s what my entire life has been. Trading one pain for another.”

I let her talk, explaining how she grew up and what the house was like. It sucks out a lot of my energy to listen to her and not pack my bags back up and fly back there. I want to drag my knife across her Father’s throat and make him pay for the cruel things he has done to his own daughter. She explains how little she was when she started having people visit her room, and all I want to do is cry for her.

Trauma dumping on someone so quick means you’re at least somewhat comfortable with them. It may not mean trust, but at least she is okay enough to open up to us. This seems like the first time she has opened up to anyone, and to let me in to her fucked up little mind, means more to me than anything in the world.

No one should ever have their body used and abused like she has, and I wish I would have found her earlier in life. Maybe I could have stopped this from happening.

“Shortly after I turned eighteen… I ran away,” she continues. I let her tell me her life story, trauma dumping about anything and everything. As time goes on and words get harder, I slide my arm around her back and pull her into my shoulder. Spencer sits across from us, holding a pillow as he holds back tears. She explains everything, every little detail that has plagued her life from the beginning.