2. Chapter Two #5
Maybe I should even talk to Adam, just to clear my head.
Just to get back on solid ground. These survivors are mine, but I’m not one of them.
I don’t get to be plural. I don’t get to relate or burden them with my own struggles.
If I had any doubt of that, it’s made clear when I see Matt’s face has twisted into something confused and worried, clearly reacting to how I'm reacting.
I need to get my head on straight. I can’t work here like this. They all deserve better than that. Matt deserves better than that.
I take another step back.
“Anyway, just try whatever you want, see what works. If there’s anything you don’t want, you can give them to me.
Or to one of the other operatives. Or just leave it on the counter in the kitchen or outside my office.
There are a few other survivors I gave bags like this too, and they might want more of whatever product you don’t.
You might want more of something they don’t.
I can trade things around. I’ll order more, too.
Of whatever any of you want. There’ll be a sheet soon, if it hasn’t been put up already.
You can add whatever you want to the list and we’ll get it during a supply drop.
” I take one more step away, realizing I’m going to have to turn soon unless I want to stand like an idiot with my damn back to the opposite wall.
“Oh, and I hope you don’t think I’m really fucking weird, but there’s a satin pillowcase in there, too.
And a head wrap. No - uh. No pressure to use them, obviously. To use any of it.”
Wait, stop, shut up, you’re about to start rambling again.
I clench my jaw, keeping my mouth closed tight.
He peers into the bag again, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. I watch as his eyebrows do a little up-down-up of confused surprise. I realize why when he pulls out the ASL for Beginners book I decided to include in his bag. That’s definitely something I didn’t put in the others’ bags.
Matt looks at me again, his eyes searching for something. An explanation, likely. It’s one thing to know what he looks like - what they all look like - ahead of time. It’s another to know about his struggles communicating. Does he think it’s creepy? Intrusive? Does he think this isn’t my place?
Jesus, is this not my place?
Yeah, this is so not my place.
But then whose place is it?
He deserves this. He won’t ask for things like this, none of them will anytime soon, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to have them. It’s basic self-care and communication. It’s the least he deserves, honestly.
I wish I could do so much more - for all of them. I wish I could be their Keaton, swooping in to save them from the dark. I suddenly have the urge to bring him to my office. To show him art. To hand over my fashion magazines. To play him my favorite music.
This isn’t nearly enough, but it’s a start.
“I got those for you,” I say carefully. I pause long enough for a mental duh before continuing.
“I didn’t know if you - well, your file says that - uh-.
” I rub a hand on the back of my neck, trying to figure out how I’ve gone from rambling to not being able to find any words at all.
Not the right words, at least. “I just thought you should have the tools to communicate, if you wanted them. I went with ASL because I know some, and Adam - Dr. Singh, the therapist - knows some, too. But if you’d like a different variation of sign language, just let me know.
I got you notebooks and pens so you can write, too.
There’s the ASL alphabet taped on the inside of the front covers of them, just to make it easier for you, but obviously you’re free to take them out.
They’re yours to do with as you please. All of it is.
And like I said, if you’d rather something else, just ask.
Really. I know it’ll be weird at first, I do, but it’s safe here.
I guess that’s the point of this entire speech that definitely wasn’t meant to become a speech at all - I just want you to know that you’re safe here.
Not just physically, not just your body, but all of you, on the inside, you’re safe.
And with safety comes getting to actually live again, Matt.
Not just survive. That’s what the bag is for, I guess.
To help you with that. To - well, to help you come back to life. ”
His bottom lip begins to quiver, his grip going tight on the book hard enough to make the binding creak.
He releases a shaky breath, stumbling back a step.
It brings him inside his room again, out of the way of the door if he wants to close it.
I’m not surprised when his hand immediately reaches for the slab of wood.
But then he pauses, his watery brown eyes finding mine.
I watch as he takes a slow, deep breath, then carefully places the book and tote bag on the floor of his room where I can’t see them.
When he straightens, he wraps one hand tightly around the door again before lifting the other hand until it’s by his chin.
It trembles as he nearly mimics blowing me a kiss.
I don't know a ton of ASL, but I know this one - Thank you.
I borrow the sign-movement in return as I say, “You're welcome.”
His lips twitch toward a smile, I think, just before he closes the door.