Nothing to Fear (Nothing to… #11)

ONE

“HELLO?”

“You’re connected to operator 1908,” an automated voice echoed down the line.

No matter how good technology got, most humans recognized a non-human voice. Not the most comforting start.

“Hello?”

“Hi, you’re speaking to Jacob.” His deep voice rumbled right through her. Though there was something not quite right about it. Human? Automated? This couldn’t be AI, could it? Maybe she should take her previous thought back. “Do you want to give me your name?”

Did she? Probably not, but what the hell was the point in calling if she wasn’t going to engage?

“Anna.”

Not completely true, but not a lie either, perfect.

“Hi, Anna.” Reassurance came with the bass of his words. A vague picture of him formed in her mind’s eye. Bet this Jacob wouldn’t lie down and take abuse. “Thank you for reaching out to Trauma Support at Lighting Darkness. Why did you call tonight?”

Why did she call? “My boss suggested it might be… a good idea.”

Like a million years ago, but she’d been busy. That was her excuse anyway.

“Okay. Are you friendly with your boss?”

“Not overly,” she said, sinking into the couch, twirling her finger in the cord of her rotary phone. “There was an incident at work, or work related and…” She exhaled. “This is stupid.”

“Why is it stupid?”

“Because I’m not afraid and my trauma was… it’s nothing to what some people go through.”

“Do you always measure your experience against others?”

“Don’t we all?”

“No,” he said, plain and simple, just like that.

Well, okay then, way to call her weird. Shouldn’t that be against some phone counsellor rules?

Inhaling, she held the breath until her lungs burned. “I have trust issues. Opening up isn’t easy.”

“That’s okay. This is a free line; it costs nothing to talk to me. I’ve got nowhere to be. You’ve got me all night, if you want me.”

The warmth in that statement did ease a little of her tension. But there were others, people waiting on hold, people who may really need help.

The “ Lighting Darkness ” charity helpline covered many needs neglected on a state and federal level, and by the healthcare system in general. Upon dialing, a user was given options, press one for this, two for that, and so on. Trauma, suicidal thoughts, grief counselling, loneliness, befriending, self-harm, etc. the list was comprehensive.

“How long have you worked for Lighting Darkness?”

“Lighting Darkness is staffed primarily by volunteers. Everyone is vetted and has experience in the area they answer.”

“Experience?”

“Could be they’re trained in the field or that they have dealt with similar issues themselves.”

“Do you?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Which? Experience or training?”

“Both,” he said. “Everything you say is held in confidence. It won’t be discussed with anyone else. Your own judgment is valid. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, you have no obligation and can hang up without explanation or pursuit. The exception to this is if we believe you are a danger to yourself or others. In that case, we pass your number to the appropriate authority to ensure your safety.”

A rehearsed spiel she’d bet. “I don’t mistrust you; I don’t know you.”

“It’s cliché to say, but this isn’t about me. It’s about you. I’m a sounding board, a sympathetic ear. Nothing about me matters. You are in control.”

“What about continuity of care? You must have people who call up more than once. Do we have to start at page one with a new person every time?”

“At the end of the call, you’ll be asked if you’d like to connect to the same agent in future. If you press one, your number will automatically be routed to my line whenever you call.”

“You’re on twenty-four, seven?”

“No, we have voicemail. If I’m unavailable, you can leave a message and I’ll call you back. Alternatively, if you prefer something more concrete, we can schedule an appointment to talk.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility for a volunteer. Doesn’t it take over your life?”

“Volunteers set their own parameters. Some people do dedicate their time to this twenty-four, seven. Some don’t accept appointments. Each restricts the number of clients they take on at a time.”

All very smart. The charity should be proud of itself. She’d been on the line for less than five minutes and was already impressed.

“How many do you take?”

“I don’t discuss clients with clients.” And it sounded like there was a smile in his voice though the wary edge added to her picture of him. He’d be tall, able, probably a guy who looked after his physique. Was he a meathead? Not so far. “Tell me something about you. What do you do?”

“I’m a sales associate.”

“Sales. Do you enjoy it?”

“It pays my bills. My employer has always been fair. Though my direct supervisor can be… curt. Sometimes the power goes to her head.” Folding her legs in front of her, they twisted into lotus of their own accord. “That wasn’t nice, she’s easily swayed by stress. Things get on top of her sometimes.”

“Isn’t that true of all of us?”

“You don’t sound like the kind of man who understands stress.”

“No?”

“No. How old are you?”

“Old enough to know age is just a number. I’ve met eighteen-year-olds who’ve seen more grief and trauma than any of us should. And eighty-year-olds who still believe in Santa Claus.”

“That means you’re young.”

“It does?”

“Yes, you’re defensive about it,” she said, stretching the phone cord out to the side. “Society often dismisses young people as inexperienced and ignorant. It tends to place more value on older members of society when it comes to experience and wisdom. To a point anyway. After a certain age, the elderly are infantilized, treated as doddery or irrelevant.” Silence. “There’s a not-so-sweet spot, usually somewhere between seventy and eighty, depending on health, when many people subconsciously dismiss their older relatives as being on a downward slope. Like overnight everything they’ve seen and achieved is erased and replaced with senility. We love our older relatives and follow their example until we assume we know more than them.” More silence. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I—that’s an interesting perspective.”

Which, by the sounds of it, he didn’t share.

“Sorry, that’s… it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if you want to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, I just… The wider view is easier,” she said, coiling the length of cord around her arm on and off over and over. “Talking in generalizations…”

“Gives the illusion of talking about something without actually talking about it,” he said. “Do you keep everyone at a distance?”

“Most people, it’s not like—why would they care?”

“Why would who care?”

“Anyone. People say they’re friends. Colleagues, co-workers, neighbors, people are close until it doesn’t suit them anymore. At work, you see the same people every day, share discussions of weekend plans, family events, bitch about your partner or your kids, but if you change job, how many of those friendships carry through?”

“Not many.”

“Exactly. We might converse with our neighbors, even take on a common cause if it’s relevant to the building or street or whatever. But when you move, you don’t take those people with you, do you?”

“You take the experience with you.”

“True,” she said. “But you can’t trust those people to be with you, to be at your side when it really matters.”

“What about your family?”

“What about them?”

“Aren’t they there for you when it matters?”

“My mother, my sisters, they’re all about the drama. They live to spy on the neighbors and whisper in their circles. I wouldn’t trust them with any secret.” She sighed and her arm dropped, coiled in the phone wire. “That’s not fair, I… It’s not malicious, they just don’t—they’re not like me. Hence why I’m talking to you.”

“You selected the trauma line. Do you want to tell me about what you went through?”

Did she? “It seems stupid to call and then not talk about it.”

“This happens at your pace. Nothing is obligatory. If you want to just talk, we’ll just talk.”

“Are you close to your family?”

“Some more than others.”

“Do you trust them?”

“Some more than others,” he said. The whisper of his laugh prompted hers. “Who are you close to? A friend? Husband?”

“Oh, men, that’s a whole other kind of trauma.”

“You’re not married?”

“No. You?”

“You always do that? Bounce questions back.”

“Isn’t it the polite thing to do? Reciprocity.”

“Or it’s a defense mechanism, to prevent anyone from asking a follow up question.”

“There’s no reason you should care about my answers.”

“I care.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to help.”

“Why?”

“Because I can,” he said.

Again, just like that. Either he was super genuine or the answer was rehearsed. That edge to his voice intrigued her again.

“How do you know? How do you know you can help me?”

“What makes you think I can’t?”

“Now who’s bouncing questions back?”

“Why did you pick up the phone tonight? It’s late. You couldn’t sleep?”

“Sleep’s been a problem all my life. For as long as I can remember anyway. When I was a kid, our house was burglarized,” she said. “I didn’t see the guy, but just knowing he’d been there, taking our things, touching them…”

“You felt violated.”

“I was a kid.”

“Children understand more than society gives them credit for, just like you said.”

“We moved and—we didn’t have a lot of money. No insurance, so no replacement anything. Took us a long time to build everything back up again.”

“How did that feel?”

“Great, until the fire.” Licking her lips, she extended her arm again. “I’d say bad luck doesn’t follow a person, or a family, but with us, it was always one thing after another. My mom is a professional victim and is always looking for someone to bail her out. She has the routine down to a tee. Taught it to my sisters too.”

“Skipped you?”

“I’m the youngest.”

“So that means…?”

“There wasn’t enough to go around?” she hazarded in humor. “I’m not a great victim, but calamity follows me everywhere.”

“More bad luck?”

“Do you believe in fate?”

“Do I…? I don’t know, do you?”

Her shoulders rose and she swayed sideways, lying on the couch, legs still folded, but now propped on the arm. “We weren’t raised religious… unless it suited the cause. A lot of charities are religion affiliated. Is there a higher power? A god? Maybe. Maybe not. It can’t all mean nothing, can it?”

“It?”

“Experience. Life. Everything we go through.”

“It makes us who we are.”

“Right,” she said, sitting upright quick. “Exactly. Everything we’ve ever done, said, seen, it’s brought both of us to this moment right now, to this call, to this conversation, to each other.”

“Why did it do that?”

She winced. “And that’s the problem.” Slumping again, she took her cord coiled arm to her forehead and closed her eyes. “I have no idea. Everything happens for a reason. What that reason is… isn’t always clear.”

“If I’m confused about where I am or why, I retrace my steps.” Logical. “Narrow that wide focus. Why did you call tonight?”

“Because I was tired of staring at the ceiling wondering why.”

“Why?”

“I follow the path, the signs, I give fate the reins and I trust that.” Did she? “I try to trust that.”

“What happened to make you doubt something you’ve believed in your whole life?”

“I still believe, what I doubt is the end goal. Maybe the goal isn’t happiness. I believed the signs would steer me to contentment, as a reward, I guess. I still believe in fate, but maybe not the balance of the universe. Good doesn’t necessarily follow bad. Not everyone dies happy.”

“You’re a pessimist?”

“Not until tonight.”

“What happened tonight?”

“My ex called,” she said.

“To upset you?”

“To hook up.” Her eyes closed. “He was drinking, sometimes he calls when…”

“He wants to get laid.”

“Right,” she said on a grateful snicker.

“You can say anything here, believe me, I’ve heard it all. Sex, violence, even chick flicks with Kevin Costner.” Huh, that was oddly specific. “Nothing is out of bounds. What do you usually do when your ex calls?”

“Tell him where to stick it.”

“You didn’t tonight?” Concern crept into his astute tone. “Did he hurt you? Force himself on—”

“No, God, it wasn’t him, it was me.”

“You?”

“For a minute, a few seconds maybe… I was tempted.”

“If things haven’t been going great for you, it’s natural to want what feels good.”

“Sex with Jeremy doesn’t leave women feeling good.” A harsh truth. “Not me anyway. And being with me didn’t leave him feeling good either. All that baggage, all that history… I swore I’d never go back. How far have I sunk that for a minute I was willing to forget our past? I’d have let him have sex with me just so I didn’t have to fall asleep alone. God, I’m a mess.”

“Are you afraid at night?”

“Bad things happen at night, don’t they? In the dark, when we’re vulnerable.”

“And Jeremy would’ve made you feel safe?”

“I never felt safe with Jeremy, he’s… charismatic, personable, he can get along with literally anyone. Women are accessories to his brilliance.”

“And you had a relationship with him? For how long?”

“Too long.”

“But you didn’t invite him over,” he said. “You said no.”

“I said no.”

“And then you called me.”

“A couple of hours later, yeah. I can’t figure me out—God, I’m sorry. Isn’t very traumatic, is it? Maybe I should’ve pressed the number for Whiners Anonymous.”

He laughed and a ball of satisfaction built in her chest. Like there was less space for the air she sucked down, oxygen caught in her throat. What a sound. Something about him was genuine, his reasons for doing what he did were entirely his, but she couldn’t deny her curiosity.

“Was that your trauma? Jeremy’s call?”

“No, I… something happened to me, kind of recently, it’s brought back old memories, I guess.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s pathetic, I’m pathetic. I shouldn’t feel like this over one stupid incident. Why can’t I just get over it? Forget about it?”

“Trauma impacts individuals in different ways. Some people become jaded. Some shut themselves off. Some seek solace in the familiar… or the bottle. Your experience is valid. You are allowed to feel what you feel.”

Was that what she needed? Permission?

“It’s not on you to fix me though, is it?”

“I can’t fix you, but I can listen. I can advise. I can offer my opinion and guidance.”

“That’s what my boss said, that Lighting Darkness offers exercises for users to follow. That’s what I need. I need you to tell me what to do, what steps to take, one by one, because if I look at the big picture, I’ll hyperventilate.”

He laughed again though it wasn’t actually a joke. “What are you doing this weekend?”

“My supervisor is on a personal mission, competing with her nemesis. Has been for a while. The rest of us try to keep her on the tracks. We’re taking part in a bake-off event in the park.”

“Like the TV show?”

“Not exactly. It’s for charity. Volunteers bake, whatever they can. Then we sell what we bake. There are stalls and booths, proceeds go to charity.”

“That’s a worthy cause.”

“We put a team together at work. People can wander through the tent and watch, there are donation bins all around.”

“Will that distract you from what you’re feeling?”

Would it? Could anything?