Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Our additional laughs are suddenly overpowered by the evening DJ making an announcement. “Let’s do a disco minute! Everyone up on your feet for this next one!”
The main lights immediately lower to allow disco strobes to begin right before the unforgettable notes to “Car Wash” by Rose Royce flood the speakers. Excitement to get up and groove with the rest of the crowd that’s already clapping along, however, only lasts for a split second.
Seeing Archer’s head twitching to the left, over and over and over again as though trying to be taken away by something redirects all of my attention.
My focus.
Knowing this is an episode or about to be an episode pushes me to act yet being unfamiliar with what to do in the situation leaves me hesitant.
So much of the material I have read is contradicting. Some insists you let the moment just play out and be there for them when they snap back. Others swear that trying to pull them out before they get in too deep is better. And then there are the ones that say its harmful to make a generalization versus playing to an individual’s need. Yeah. See! I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to listen to and since he refuses to see a therapist or go to group therapy – both of which could possibly give us tips – I feel like my cluelessness will continue on.
Unusual coughing and gasping ensue pushing me to do the only thing that makes sense to me.
What worked the last time we were here?
I cautiously state, “Jaye is now.”
The simple statement seems to cut through the fog.
Momentarily stop the twitching.
The choking.
My hand gently lands on his leg next and his slams down on top of it in a way that indicates he’s not sure if I’m a friend or foe, in the past or present. “Sweetheart is now.”
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, grip transitioning to loving. “Sweetheart…”
“Sweetheart is now, Archer.”
“Archer…” Echoing his name is followed a long, deep breath. “Hiltz was then.”
“Sweetheart is now.”
“St. Clair was then.”
“Sweetheart is now.”
“That mission was then.”
“Bowling is now.”
“Bowling is now,” Archer repeats during a frantic head nod. “Bowling is now.” The bobbing motion continues alongside a slow rock that I simply gently stroke his leg through. Eventually, his green eyes locate my brown informing me he’s back in the present yet the sadness that’s glazed over them screams shame. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for embarrassing you like this. I’m sorry you can’t take me places without worrying about this shit. I’m sorry I’m-”
My fingers pinch his jaw in a loving, firm fashion. “Enough.”
He immediately stops.
Seals his lips.
Shrinks into himself.
“I am not ashamed of you or these moments. I’m not scared of you or these moments. What I worry about is you never healing from them. And you not getting the help you need for them. And as much as I wish I knew what they were about, what you were reliving, I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready. And just so you know, whenever that is, I am ready. Just like I’m ready to be there for you as you tell a doctor about your limp and your nightmares and whatever else they need to know for your quality of life to continue to improve.”
Archer’s head slowly shakes at the same time he airily croaks, “Why won’t you give up on me?”
“You don’t give up on people you care about.”
Tears fill his eyes forcing them to briefly close. It takes what feels like lifetimes for them to finally open and meet mine once more. “The last mission I served killed everyone on my team except me.”
There’s no catching the gasp that leaves my lips.
“Yeah.” Archer’s jaw trembles as he lets his head fall forward as though facing me during his recounting is too painful. “It was a simple order. Clear the area. Get in. Get out. Retrieve the target.”
Desperation to hear more pushes me closer.
Has my hand tightening tighter in support.
“We knew they used women and children as decoys. We’d been briefed numerous times on the subject, but that little girl didn’t look like a threat. And I know what to look for in a fucking threat. I’ve been trained on that my entire life. From my father to predators in foster homes to the asshole you run into getting a slushie at the gas station. I know what a threat looks like, Jaye. And unlike the women we had sent out of the area, she didn’t look suspicious.” His eyes cut up to mine. “She looked genuinely scared. Fucking terrified to be in the middle of a fucking combat zone.” Regret or remorse clogs his vocal cords. “There was…a bright flash. Then another. Quick. One right after another.”
The rapid lights that trigger him.
“They were blinding and the bang that followed deafening.” More head shakes arrive. “I don’t consciously remember much more after that. I know there were bullets flying. I know it was hard for us to find cover. I can practically still hear the screaming and see my best friend bleeding out while I did the same.”