24. Giselle
TWENTY-FOUR
GISELLE
Fear Response
I was in bed with Ben, which was the last place I’d expected to be. And yet it felt exactly where I was always meant to end up, with his head resting on my chest and my hand in his hair.
The day had gone better than I ever could have hoped for. I had hoped he’d agree to go with us to his pack’s graves, but I wouldn’t have forced him to go. It was a choice he’d have to make on his own.
I was so incredibly proud of him. I was under no misconceptions that anything about the day was easy for him, but it had been beautiful.
More than once tears came to my eyes, but I’d managed not to burst out into sobs. While I wanted to empathize with the three, to share their pain, I couldn’t let myself get swept up in the deluge of grief. I would have my time later, but I needed to be the support Ben needed.
That was how relationships worked. Not fifty-fifty, not one hundred and zero, but sixty-forty with both parties trying to be the sixty. We would cover for each other, help each other, and hold each other.
“You okay?” I murmured, idly stroking Ben’s hair. I took immense comfort in how steady his breathing was—not even a hint of a panic attack.
“As okay as I can be, I suppose.”
That was fair. It would have been strange if he was hunky-dory—sociopathic even.
“I’m really proud of what you did today, I hope you know that.”
He was quiet, but in our short time together I’d learned it was him thinking, not shutting me out. So, I closed my eyes and felt his heart beating against my side until he was ready.
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said eventually, and holy hell, it sounded like each word had a tangible weight to it. I could feel the effort it took for him to verbalize that, and now it was my turn to be quiet.
But that was okay, because just like how I understood him, he understood me. Give and take, ebb and flow. We were like the ocean and the shore, meant to be together, but shifting tides were only natural.
“I’m falling in love with you too.” There was no need for an “I think” qualifier on my part, because I knew with absolute certainty that my feelings for Ben went far beyond a crush. Far beyond mere attraction.
“You are?” Ben asked.
That such a strong, guarded man could trust me and be so vulnerable in my presence made me feel quite special.
“I am,” I answered truthfully. After all, I had promised myself I would never lie to him again. “Is that okay?” I wasn’t about to apologize for how I felt, but I did want to know what Ben thought of it, and how it made him feel.
“It is,” he answered slowly, and I could sense that it wasn’t the end of his thought. “But…”
“But?”
“It scares me. And then I feel like shit for being scared. Because if I’m falling in love, none of that should be affecting me. If I’m truly lucky enough to have found a soulmate for a second time, why am I so terrified?”
Oh, Ben, my darling, darling Ben. He really didn’t cut himself enough slack. But that was okay. I was happy to be there to remind him to give himself the same grace that he gave others until it became a habit.
“Just because we’re falling in love doesn’t mean it automatically makes everything perfect and all rosy. There are going to be bumps and bruises. Times when you have doubts, times when you’re scared. That doesn’t mean your love for me is any less real.”
“I’m trying to see it that way, I really am. But sometimes, the fear gets so loud that I don’t know what to do.”
I squeezed him a bit tighter, wanting to reassure him.
I wanted the hug to tell him how much I understood.
“That’s okay,” I assured him with all my heart.
My mind flashed back to the conversation that had started this all, when little Benny was up against the impossible monster of night terrors that haunted both him and his dad.
“When that happens, you just do it scared.”
It had been a long, long road, but somehow, we’d finally reached the end of the school year. It wasn’t an easy journey, but after the visit to the graves, there had been a marked improvement.
There were still pitfalls, of course, which was to be expected, since life liked sweeping the legs out from under a person at random intervals, but the general trajectory for our little cluster was a net positive.
Ben and Benny had been seeing a shifter therapist Natalie had found.
I was pretty sure she was going as well, but she didn’t directly disclose it.
With Natalie, I’d learned that if she didn’t say something outright, she had her reasons for it, and privacy was one of those reasons.
I got it. Natalie had been through a lot between her herd trying to force her into a marriage she didn’t want just so she could pop out babies and increase their numbers, them rejecting her sister because she couldn’t have babies, then losing that sister in an insanely violent act while she herself was traveling.
I tried to be there for her in any way she needed, but I respected that she wanted and needed more space than the rest of the Poynter family.
As a result of the therapy, my boys were having way fewer night terrors and panic attacks, and they were able to talk about what had happened more often.
Not that we were talking about it over coffee or at meals, but now that it wasn’t such a taboo subject, they could tell me stories about the people they loved, who were no longer with us.
It was a slow transition, but it began to feel less like their memories were haunted by phantoms, and more like they were blessed with visits from those who had passed on.
I was also improving. I gained two pounds and had started taking a collagen supplement for my hair.
Whether it worked or not might have been a bit of a placebo effect, but I didn’t care.
It was nice to do something for aesthetic reasons and simple self-care rather than it being a life-saving medication.
But it was more than vitamins and the like.
I was genuinely more confident in myself.
I still loved my wigs and wore them often, but I didn’t feel like I had to.
If I was running late for work because I’d caught a few extra Zs, I didn’t crash out at the thought of being seen as me.
After all, if Ben could look at me like I was a goddess gracing his presence, maybe I could see myself a little nicer too.
Although it was such a small thing compared to pack massacres and healing deep traumas, my class excelled in all their evaluations.
Every single one of them showed a marked improvement, and no one was held back.
I was proud of each and every one of them.
I had established a really great method for setting my students up for success for the rest of their academic careers, and I couldn’t wait to improve on it the next year.
I was going to miss my class terribly.
That was the one big downside of being a teacher. You spent nine months getting to know and nurture little souls who had their entire lives ahead of them, getting invested in their hearts, their successes, rooting for them every chance you got, and in the end, you had to let them go.
Some of them would stay in touch, and all of them would check in throughout primary school, saying hi at recess or lunch, but the grand majority of them would never speak to me again once they hit high school.
And although it was a bit crushing, a bit isolating, I was incredibly proud of being their teacher.
Despite all the successes in my personal and professional life, it was hard not to have little dips of melancholy as the end of the year approached.
Sure, the pizza parties helped, as did the ice cream socials, the end-of-year field day, and spending the last week of school introducing students to reruns of Bill Nye the Science Guy and MythBusters, but it didn’t take away the ache in my heart.
Ben noticed, of course. Ever since he’d shut me out, he made a concerted effort to never do that again.
Even when he had his slumps, he would text me a warning that he was struggling and might not be as communicative for the next couple of days.
He always followed it up by saying he’d made an appointment with his therapist, or that he was going to visit the tree grove.
That’s what we’ve taken to calling it instead of their graves.
It was a far-fitting term. Because yes, while the remains of their shattered pack were resting in the ground there, there was also life there.
Love and respect displayed itself in growing spreads of verdant green, lush emeralds, and even crimson with some leaves on the maple.
I could see us visiting it more often, leaving flowers, and Ben telling more stories.
Not a chain to the past, but a glowing, heartfelt connection.
Like it was always supposed to be.
“One more hug before you go?” Benny asked, gently grasping the sleeve of my sun-protection shirt.
“How could I say no to you?” I answered, bending to wrap my arms around him.
Although Benny had always been quite affectionate with me ever since I started seeing his father, I had noticed he was becoming more and more comfortable with physical touch as he continued his one-on-one therapy, after-school art programs, and the once-a-month family counseling.
We’d gone from high fives and pats on the head to the occasional side hug, now to full embraces when we were coming and going.
I loved it. And knowing I would be seeing Benny in my day-to-day life made saying goodbye to my students easier.