Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Dean
H i Dean.
Haven’t spoken in a long, long time. I hear you’re living in England, that’s awesome. Hope you got some peace and are doing good. Hope you don’t mind me contacting you like this, your sister gave me your email address. Was really happy to see how well she’s doing, as well.
This is a surprisingly hard message to write. I want to start upfront by saying I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t wanna, and I’m not here to make you uncomfortable. Unfortunately, what I’m planning to do might do that anyway.
I’ve thought long and hard about this, and I want to write a book about what happened that night.
I’m not doing this to cash in on our trauma, I cannot make that clear enough.
I don’t give a shit if I don’t make a cent, and anything I do make is going to a charitable foundation I’m setting up to help survivors of school shootings, kids just like us.
I’m not profiting from any of it myself, and I can provide paperwork to prove it. It’s not about that.
I want to write it to exorcise some old demons, give up some ghosts, and use what happened to me - to us, the handful of survivors - to help other victims who might need it.
You’re in my book - of course you are, finding you was a turning point for me that night - but your story is not mine to tell.
I’m not trying to do that. But if you’re amenable, I would be so grateful if I could ask you to read the book before it’s published.
I’ll completely understand if you don’t want to - Lord knows, walking back into that den of nightmares isn’t my idea of a good time - but I want to make sure I cover everything accurately and, above all, respectfully.
I don’t want anyone who was there that night to read it and be upset or feel disrespected by seeing anything they don’t believe to be true or fair.
Once again, you are in no way obligated to read it or get involved, but it would mean so much to me if you did.
I’d love to catch up with you outside of all this.
I’d love to know what you’re doing, and how you’ve found your own light in the darkness.
My husband and my children have brought me clarity and joy, and my work with other survivors has brought shape and purpose to my life. I hope you’ve found that, too.
Much love,
Latanya Willard (nee Cormier)
It’s hours later and I still can’t breathe.
Liaden slept over for the third night in a row, so I didn’t sleep at all last night, though it was a close thing.
Regardless of how great she felt in my arms, I had to keep getting up and walking around, and I pounded a few energy drinks for good measure.
I even had to slap myself hard once or twice, but I did it.
Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t remember the last time I got even the fragments of sleep I used to get before we became a thing, before I had obligations to her that I didn’t think through enough before I leapt into them.
And then this email arrived, waiting for me after she left for work.
Thank fuck it’s Monday, I couldn’t tattoo so much as a dot right now without screwing it up.
My hands won’t stop shaking. My temples are throbbing.
The hum of the fridge is too fucking loud, and I can taste Callie’s blood again.
I was gonna finally, finally grab some shut-eye, but that’s completely hopeless now.
I haven’t even called Eli. Even if I did, I’m pretty sure he and Em are doing some wedding prep shit today, buying flowers or the cake or whatever.
Fuck.
I grab my keys and, somehow, manage to get to the off licence at the end of the road to pick up a bottle of whatever I could get that was strongest. It’s brown, it’s a large bottle, that’ll do.
The moment I’m through the door I grab a glass from the draining board, fill it to the brim, and set to drinking it. All.
It burns, it tastes disgusting, but I’d drink battery acid right now if it could bring me the tiniest amount of relief.
What the fuck is Latanya thinking?! NO, I don’t fucking want to read her goddamn book.
What the fuck?! We all had this pact, this unspoken pact, that what the eight of us saw that night was too terrible to talk about.
Three of us even offed ourselves because it was that fucking bad .
And she wants to bring that to the light?
! FUCK! She was one of Callie’s best friends, how can she even consider this? !
The glass isn’t empty yet, but I top it up anyway.
Liaden
I decide to just quickly drop by for a kiss and a cuddle with Dean after work.
I’ve had a great day, not least because when Mitchell tried to correct me during a department meeting today, someone else pointed out to him that he was wrong, and he looked like he swallowed a turd.
So, that was fun. Plus, the lowest mark I had to give any of my students for their most recent essay was a 2:1, so that just fills me with pride. They’re such a good bunch.
Maybe I can take him out for dinner. I’m sure there’s somewhere quiet we can go that won’t agitate him.
Maybe even a nice table outside, now that the weather is getting better.
I also want to treat him because he’s been looking tired lately.
Last night he seemed completely worn out, and whatever sleep he got plainly wasn’t very refreshing.
It’s probably because he screws me every chance he gets.
I’ve never had a lover with such staying power and stamina.
As an added bonus, he has the shortest refractory period of anyone I’ve ever been to bed with.
Sometimes, despite it being so unbelievably good , easily the best sex of my life, I’ve had to ask him to stop because I need to get at least some sleep.
So a night where neither of us have to cook while also putting a seal on a good day sounds like a great plan to me.
I text Dean in advance, but he hasn’t replied by the time I knock on his door.
He takes a little longer to answer than usual, and when he does, he looks manic.
His eyes are wild, his hair is going in all directions, and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his head.
Oh, no . Have I happened upon a meltdown?
Well, I need to learn how best to support him when he gets like this, and there’s no time like the present.
“What happened?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle and calm. “Are you OK?”
He stares at me blankly for a few seconds, before coming back to himself and pulling me inside.
“Did something trigger a bad memory? What can I do?” I stay patient. He’ll tell me when he can, and the best thing I can do is let him take his time.
He’s breathing heavily, clutching onto my hand pretty hard. It hurts, but I can deal. Fortunately, it’s not long before he lets go. Nothing , he says at last. I’m just tired, that’s all.
I don’t doubt it, but I also don’t buy it. There’s something else going on here. “OK. But if there is anything else, you know you can talk to me, right?”
I don’t want to talk . He pins me to the wall with a rough kiss, shoving his thigh between my legs and clutching me tightly. Too tightly. His tongue darts into my mouth, and he tastes unpleasantly of cheap whiskey, sour and spicy and old. He’s been drinking. He’s been drinking a lot .
“Hold on a min - ” He kisses me again, stifling my words. I push against him harder. “Dean, I said wait !” He lets me go and takes a step back, panting with frustration.
What?We’re alone.There’s no-one to listen in.
“Yes, but this doesn’t seem like it’s just for fun. It seems like you’re trying to avoid thinking about something, and that’s not healthy.”
No? What’s wrong with that? Maybe I just want some fun instead of more fucking words.
“Ouch, says the wordologist in me,” I quip, feeling uneasy. “But seriously, you seem kind of upset, and I don’t want to just swipe that to one side.”
I’m not upset. Huh. It turns out it is possible to spit words out without using your mouth.
“OK…” I give him a searching look, trying to find my sweet Dean. “You do look tired.”
He starts to laugh, silently and mirthlessly. It’s unnerving. Tired…yeah, I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m so tired.
“Well…maybe just having an early night might be better for you - ”
If we go to bed, I’m not getting any sleep.
OK, now I’m getting annoyed. “You will. Because we’re not doing anything tonight. Not a damn thing. I can say no for any reason I want, but I certainly don’t sleep with people too tired to be polite.”
He starts signing furiously, too quickly for me to understand what he’s saying, so he grabs his tablet and starts typing.
Liaden. I’m tired because you keep staying over, and to keep you safe from me, I have to stay awake ALL FUCKING NIGHT. I haven’t slept in three nights. THAT’S why I’m so fucking tired.
I gasp. “But you…” It suddenly hits me like a ton of bricks that I’ve never actually seen this man sleep. I just assumed he drifted off when I did, or not long after. He’s stayed awake all that time because of me? “Why?”
His chest heaves with irritation and types again. Because your safety is more important to me than any amount of sleep. I’m fucked up. I have night terrors. That scar on Leo’s eyebrow? I put it there. I’m not doing that to you .
My heart melts, and I feel my eyes get hot. “Dean…that’s awful. I had no idea.” I think frantically, trying to work out a way to circumvent the problem so he can sleep while I’m with him. “I have a friend who does sleep studies, they might be able to help you?”
The look he gives me is one of pure rage. My heart falls through my stomach. No. No-one can help me. Don’t you get it? THIS IS WHAT I AM. Sleep studies, therapy, meds, none of it helps. This is me. This is how my life is always gonna be.
I don’t know what to say. What is there to say?
He starts towards me again, backing me up against the wall and signing again. So just let me have a few moments of escape. Please? He takes me in his arms and starts undoing the buttons on my blouse. I can feel him hardening against me, his hands determined, rough.
And I push him away as hard as I can, tears starting to spill down my face as he scrambles to stay upright, looking shocked.
“Jesus…” I wipe them away fast enough that they don’t reach my cheeks.
“I’m just a receptacle to you, aren’t I?
Just a sock for you to wank into. I’m a person, Dean !
” I shout the last part. “We’re supposed to enjoy intimacy, do it for good reasons, good feelings…
not to numb your hurt. We’re supposed to be doing this because we’re falling in love.
That’s what I thought, anyway. But I’ve never felt so cheap.
I’m just your whore, if that’s how it is. ”
He stares at me, and I can see the nerves jumping in his cheek. His hands flex at his sides, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more terrible in all my life.
And then he proves me wrong. His face crumples, and he sinks to the sofa, burying his face in his hands and juddering with tight sobs.
“Oh, sweetie, no…” I reach for him, wanting to comfort him even now, but he jerks away from me, walking clear to the other end of the room.
This. This is why I can’t do this.
“What do you mean?” A cold feeling settles over me, a sense of foreboding. This is seriously not good.
I’ve made you cry. I’ve made you feel like… He wipes a hand over his face. I’m sorry. This is not what I wanted. But it was… He starts to sign words I don’t understand. Noticing my confusion, he picks up the tablet again.
It was inevitable, and I knew it, and I still took this far enough to hurt you, which was way too far. This is why I can’t have a normal life, and why I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry for everything. But it’s best if you leave now, and lose my number, and forget I ever existed.
“You can’t be serious,” I say with a shaky laugh. “For god’s sake, it’s just a disagreement. We can fix this if we just communicate when our heads are clearer, after you’ve had some sleep - ”
He shakes his head no, tears pouring down his face. It’s for the best. For your own good. You can’t be with someone who can’t even sleep next to you. What kind of future is that? And I’m not hurting you anymore. Not in any way. I won’t do it.
I feel winded, like he just punched me in the gut. “You’re…breaking up with me?” My voice sounds nothing like me. It’s high, disbelieving. shattering like glass.
His face distorts with misery. I’m sorry. Please, just go.
It’s like the bottom has fallen out of my world.
“But I…love you,” I whisper. “Don’t you hear me? I fell in love with you.”
He just shakes his head, hard, and breaks my heart with a single word: Don’t.
Somehow, I find my way to the hallway where I dumped my handbag and, on shaking legs, walk out the door.
I don’t remember getting home.