24. Ava
24
AVA
The bed shakes, and for a moment, I mistake it for an earthquake. As my vision adjusts, I catch sight of Jack, his face contorted in agony, his body convulsing violently on the bed. The sound of his labored breathing soars, mingling with the thuds as his massive frame repeatedly crashes against the mattress like a stone slab.
I hover above him, caressing his face. “Jack, baby, wake up.”
Despite my touches, his eyes remain shut as he unleashes a roar.
“Jack, it’s me!” My voice struggles to match the intensity of his menacing tone. I press both of his cheeks, tapping them repeatedly.
He thrashes, his arms flailing and clawing at an invisible target.
As I grasp his heaving shoulders, his hand swings wildly, his fingernails scraping against the top of my chest. I recoil as three distinct red lines etch themselves onto my skin, breaking open in a few spots, releasing a trickle of blood. I snatch my robe, concealing the scars .
Searching for a way to take him out of his nightmare, I return to him, clasping his wrists as his fingers turn rigid. All this time, his physical strength has become a symbol of his protection and masculinity. Now, for the first time, I taste what it’s like to be on the wrong side of Jack Kelleher. The man wrenches himself free as if my grip is paper-thin. In a burst of movement, he sits upright, seizing my arms and unleashing another piercing scream.
“Jack, baby, listen to my voice!”
He opens his eyes. As if confronting a different man, I see fear suffocating him. I don’t think he sees me. His expression and pose look as though he’s defending himself against a great enemy. Gritting his teeth, he has my left arm in his locked grip like it was a twig.
“Let go.” I grimace in pain. “Jack! Let me go!”
His grip loosens as awareness slowly rises in his eyes. At the same time, the sound of Quinton crying echoes in the background. Jack fights for each breath, his back contorting in spasms.
“Let me see it,” I whisper, meeting his restless hand hovering the scar between his shoulder blades. It pains me to witness his current state, and I’m questioning if this is merely a glimpse into the depths of his brokenness.
He calms, and I drive his hand away from the scar, afraid he’ll scratch it and make it bleed.
“I’m okay,” he mumbles, and a familiar touch lands on my hand.
I seize the moment to attend to Quinton.
“Mommy’s here. It’s all right. It’s all right.” I hold my baby in my arms, rocking him back and forth, comforting him with gentle strokes on his back, and planting kisses on his tear-streaked cheek. I grab his giraffe teether and dangle it in front of him before gradually offering it to him. He takes it, but he won’t stop crying.
Still rocking Quinton, I approach Jack.
He looks at me in anguish and shakes his head in disbelief, murmuring, “Ava, I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” I lay a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to take Quinton outside, then I’ll come back.”
He nods.
I settle down on the couch in the living room to breastfeed Quinton while processing what just happened. So this is why Jack always wakes up before me. It’s the first time I’ve seen the reason behind his morning huffing, like a runner who’s out of breath.
After a few minutes, Quinton starts wriggling, his ‘I want to play’ kind of fussing. So I place him on the mat, surrounded by toys we’ve accumulated during our time here in Helena. Among the usual suspects of Paw Patrol toys, there are also a few of his new favorites—a truck-shaped pillow and a squishy rubber donut. Although, the giraffe teether is still his number one.
I let Elmo do his usual thing, keeping a watchful eye on Quinton.
“Mo!” Quinton babbles, resting his head on the pup’s back, dipping his fingers into Elmo’s thick fur.
“Yes. Elmo.”
Suddenly, Quinton smiles at me. “Mama.”
His call resonates with intention, a departure from his usual babbling that often resembles successive ‘ma.’ I smile back at him. “Quinton? Did you just say ‘Mama’?”
He reaches out one arm to me as if wanting to shake hands. “Mama.”
“Yes. I’m your mama.” I take his tiny hand, trembling with happiness. I lay down beside him on the mat, embracing the small bundle of love close to my heart, wishing I could hear his call under less tense circumstances.
Right then, Jack emerges from the bedroom. The density of his pain is evident, and it breaks my heart to witness. What he did in bed just now doesn’t hinder my admiration for him, nor has it altered who he is to me. The situation has changed, but he has not. His posture is slumped and defeated, but he’s still my hero.
I kiss my baby and whisper to him, “You wait here with Elmo, okay? Mama will be back.”
Resetting myself, I approach Jack. He welcomes me with a tight, sorrowful hug as if he was mourning a loss.
“You okay?” I look up at him, running my fingers through his hair, knowing he intends to shave it all off before our trip to Hawaii.
“Yeah.” He gulps, rapidly blinking as if trying to erase the haunting images of his nightmare. “How’s Quinton?”
“He’s fine.” I steal a quick glance at my baby, who appears content while snuggling up with Elmo. “He just called me ‘mama.’”
Jack’s glum expression fades away, replaced by a twinkle in his eyes and a gentle touch as he strokes my cheek. His smile stretches wide. “That’s fantastic. I wish I heard it.”
“It won’t be a one-off, for sure. So you will hear it soon,” I say. “Should I…teach him to say ‘dada?’”
His laugh is hesitant, but his touch is firm as he cups my chin. “Did I scare you just now?”
I purse my lips, torn between wanting to spare him further guilt and the need to address the problem. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Suddenly, his eyes widen and lock onto the front of my robe, fixated on a small bloodstain. “Did I…?” He gasps, peeling the robe back to sneak a glimpse at my chest. “Did I do that?” he exclaims upon seeing the scratches.
“Jack, you didn’t mean it.”
“God! Those are nasty, Ava.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “What have I done?”
“Sit down, Jack.” I guide him to the couch so I can watch Quinton as we talk.
“Ava…” His face transforms into a mask of sheer horror.
My robe has slipped off my shoulder and arm, revealing faint shades of bruises from his grip.
“Ava, did I do that too?”
“Jack…”
“Did I do that?” His face cringes even more, shrinking like the peel of an orange.
“It’s nothing.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” He trembles, his hand covering his mouth.
“It wasn’t your fault. Maybe I spooked you when I tried to wake you up.”
“Don’t shift the blame to yourself, please,” he emphasizes, full of anguish. He rises from his seat and paces restlessly across the room, stopping only to watch Quinton. The baby gazes back at him with a radiant smile, tiny arms outstretched. Overwhelmed by the sight, Jack can’t resist the urge. He kneels, engaging in playful interaction with him.
As Quinton becomes absorbed in his rubber donut, Jack’s attention returns to me. Worry paints his face as he asks, “What are we gonna do? I scared Quinton too, didn’t I?”
Seeking to reassure the guilt-ridden man, I reply, “He was just startled.”
However, Jack resumes his agitated pacing, this time leaving the room entirely. Elmo follows him .
I stand in the hallway, caught between the living room and the distant recesses of our home. “Jack,” I call out, halting him in his tracks. “Please come back and sit down.”
He retraces his steps, sinking into the seat with a heavy sigh. His face cradled in his hands, he confesses, “I do want us to work, Ava, but you and Quinton can’t bear the brunt of my mess. Now you see how broken I am.”
“Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat it. You did scare me back there. You were not you, and yes, you scratched me and clutched my arm. But it doesn’t mean I’m going to give up on you or on us.”
“I hurt you, Ava. That’s unforgivable.”
“You didn’t mean to.”
“It doesn’t matter. I. Hurt. You.” He looks me in the eye. But, as if he couldn’t bear my stare, he slouches back with a twisted expression. Clearly, in his mind, he’s committed an irreversible mistake.
I scoot closer to him, intertwining my fingers with his. “Now that I know about your nightmares, we can work it out together.”
“How? Don’t tell me to seek professional help. Been there, done that.”
“But you didn’t have me then.”
He looks off into the distance, seemingly contemplating if my presence would’ve improved the effects of the therapy. Then, he hums as if indicating a negative response. “Maybe I should sleep in a different room.”
“Jack, no! That’s not a solution. You’re my partner. I want you beside me.”
He tilts his head to touch his forehead to mine. “Just when you thought you were safe from Willem, I ended up causing you harm. ”
I withdraw, facing him straight on. “Don’t you compare yourself to that monster!”
“Am I not a monster?”
I embrace him, pouring my heart and soul into every touch, hoping to sway him. “No! You’re the man I love. And you love me. You’re not him!”
“It’s not going to get better. I’ve had this nightmare since I knew what a nightmare was. I was so drugged, and everything was a blur. I couldn’t distinguish between reality, visions, dreams, and nightmares. I’ve had other dark dreams, but they’d come and go. This one has persisted.
“At first, it made no sense at all. I mean, I didn’t make sense. As far as I knew, I had never been born—I was just placed there in Florida when I was twelve.”
He told me this in Bozeman, and my reaction remains consistent. His description translates to murky surroundings between the dark of night and the complete absence of light inside an airtight box. I won’t say I understand, but I’m sure my vision is exactly the fear and hopelessness he’s sharing with me.
Jack continues, “When I had the nightmare, I used to think what I saw was my parents’ basement. Maybe they were the sick type, a pair of child beaters or something. Other times, I thought it was my mind trying to reconstruct itself out of what’s left in me. Then, my life flipped once again when Sam found me and explained what had happened.”
I expect him to lighten up when he mentions his brother, but the burden seems heavier.
The time is now to unravel the dark place in him, so I ask further, “Did Sam make you remember the bad things after you were taken?”
“Well, things started to make sense, and I could find fragments of reality within that nightmare,” he sighs, shaking his head painfully. “Did it make things better? Half-revealed visions only serve to confuse. They make nothing better.”
“Did you wish Sam hadn’t found you?”
His eyes flare, not believing my question. But he nods, acknowledging that it’s worth answering. “Maybe I did. Sometimes, I thought I was better off not knowing at all. But… no, no. My brother has been the best thing that has ever happened to me.” He then squeezes my hand. “Before you.”
“A life surrounded by family is better than a life alone. And a life knowing where you came from is better than not having a past, no matter how painful it is. You’ve got to admit it.”
He draws my hand and kisses it. So heartfelt, I can feel his vulnerability in each wrinkle of his lips. He then says, “I don’t know exactly what I usually do when I wake up from that nightmare, but I swear, this morning felt so much worse.”
“What do you think made it worse?”
“I don’t know, Ava. I don’t know,” he mutters. “Maybe I could consider myself lucky that I didn’t find out about the abduction until I was an adult—well, a reasonably stable adult. Otherwise, I can’t even begin to imagine what I would have turned into!”
I hold his hand. “Don’t give up on us.”
“I can’t keep hurting you.” His whisper carries the weight of his remorse. “This will happen again.”
“I won’t let you hurt me,” I assert. “As an immediate solution, when you have your nightmare again, I’ll walk away. Then I’ll come back to you when you’re calm. Then we’ll seek help—you and me, together. Don’t keep it bottled up. Let’s talk about it.”
“Oh, Ava…”
“There’s always a way, Jack,” I assure him, my hand reaching out to touch his shoulder .
He shakes his head, his eyes filled with despair. “Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with your optimism.”
I pull him closer, wrapping my arms around him.
“Please don’t touch me there,” Jack mutters as my hand inadvertently settles on his scar.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
Suddenly, Quinton exclaims, “Mama!” his joyful voice cutting through the heaviness. I join him, tickling his belly as Elmo wags his tail in excitement. “Yes. Mama. Now, can you say—” I start, but my words are interrupted as I catch a glimpse of Jack rising.
He stands tall, towering over me. The sound of his uneven breathing reaches my ears as he declares, “Staying with me means you will wait a lifetime to have the children you desperately want. I can never be a real father.”
He turns around, marching like he’s in the barracks.
The room feels suffocating, as if the walls are closing in on me, squeezing the air out. I dismissed his brokenness before, treating it as if it were a passing rain shower rather than a destructive storm. I will still choose to stay with him even though that means Quinton won’t have a sibling. But I can’t lie. His revelation crushes me.
I follow him. “Am I wrong about you, Jack?”
“I don’t know what you think of me right now. But this is who I am, and I’m a danger to you.”
“What has changed? Tell me!’
He moves even further away from me. “I’m gonna get dressed and then take Elmo for a walk. Please, don’t follow me,” he requests. “Keep your phone close. If there’s anything, anything at all, call me. I won’t be far.”
I’m not wrong about him. I’m wrong about me . I had this belief that I would be the reason for him to keep fighting and overcome his past. I now realize that it was merely my assumption. I never bothered to ask or really listen to him.
I respect his need for space. But as he walks out the door, I feel a pang of emptiness. He’s just out walking the dog, but my mind races with questions. Can I truly live without him? The answer is terrifying.