She stares at me expressionless. Any other person would laugh. It was funny. I’m sure she’s thinking, this woman keeps deflecting reality with her stupid jokes. Maybe not because she’s a professional, but because I’m just making up stories to deflect. Typical Leyla behavior.
“You could give yourself a chance,” she suggests. “You two seem to have a domestic routine that could lead to what you ambitioned for your future.”
“Is it possible?” I ask, skeptical. “We have what the other one needs right now. It’s foolish to think that there can be more. When the time comes, we’ll go our separate ways. He’ll find a woman who meets his expectations. They’ll have a more mature and normal relationship than the one we currently have.”
When I say that out loud, my heart stops, and I panic. Sweaty hands, shallow breaths, and head pounding. I haven’t had one of these episodes in a long time. Too long to even remember. Now that I’m thinking about it, I haven’t had a night terror since…
“No, this isn’t good,” I say as I bend over and put my head between my legs, trying to slow down my breath and my pulse.
“Is it possible that there might be more than just casual sex between the two of you?” She hits me with the question right when I’m at my most vulnerable point.
“But it shouldn’t,” I insist. “I’m not ready yet. There’s so much we don’t know about each other. I haven’t met his family.”
“He doesn’t know about yours either,” she states. “Your past is important. However, falling in love involves a lot more than where you came from. It’s about who you are at that exact moment. That’s also why people fall out of love. We don’t grow with each other, and one day you wake up next to a stranger.”
“I know a lot of things about him, but for the most part, he’s an outsider,” I confirm.
“How well do you know him?”
“He keeps a lot of himself private. Like his family, friends… We don’t have friends in common,” I answer without adding, not like I have many myself.
“What can you tell me about him?”
It sounds dumb, but I start with his favorite color, which is blue. Though he swears auburn is his new favorite since it reminds him of me. He loves animals. His father taught him how to ride horses. If possible, he would spend the entire weekend with me in the stables taking care of Poppy.
He loves his work, but sometimes he wishes he could be doing something else with his degree. I know he doesn’t get along with his cousins. They are a bunch of assholes who try to take advantage of everyone. His mother never married. He is an only child. He likes to read thrillers but has read a couple of the women’s fiction novels I read. We share a love for non-fiction books.
“It seems like you know him well,” she claims.
“I’m sure there’s a lot more than knowing his favorite food,” I argue.
“What is it that you want in a relationship? I understand that the ultimate goal is to have a husband, children, and a happy household. You can’t get to your final destination without making a few rest stops.”
I understand what she’s trying to tell me. I do. But a part of me is afraid of giving it a try because I like him too much, and if I can’t make this work, then I’ll lose him. He’s not the kind of guy who promises forever. For now, he’s my steady ground. The place where I can seek shelter when things are hard to handle.
For the first time in forever, I’m with someone who I feel comfortable with. Sure, this will end, I’m just not ready for that to happen. I’m not ready for him to leave.
“People leave,” I tell her.
“Do they?” she asks.
“Well, they don’t stay,” I amend. “Before you tell me that I never give anyone a chance, I can remind you about the twelve years after my parents died.”
“The system failed you,” she says, and I’m not sure if she’s agreeing with me or trying to tell me that my past shouldn’t be the reason why I don’t let many people into my life.
“My grandparents didn’t want me,” I remind her. “Because, and I quote my grandmother, ‘What if she’s like her father and kills us in our sleep?’”
“You have a valid argument,” she says, and I hate when she validates me but then slaps me with some stupid fact that I should be accepting. It feels as if she’s just gaslighting me.
You’re valid, but let me tell you that you’re wrong.
Yet, I’m here on her couch every week because I want to get better, have a family, and stop being afraid of becoming like my mother or father. I want people to accept me.
When the timer rings, I’m relieved that this is over.
“Next week, same time?” she asks, and I just nod.
Maybe I should be hiring someone else. Someone with a different approach to counseling. In the meantime, I’ll have to keep coming to her.
Chapter Seven
Leyla
My biggest fear happens that night, just when I realized that the night terrors weren’t gone. Pierce is out of town, and I stay at my apartment with Buster. He’s the one who wakes me up. I pet him, and he stays with me for the remainder of the night. It happens three nights in a row. On the fourth one, Pierce is the one who wakes me up.
“It’s okay, you’re with me,” I hear.
In my dream, I see him carrying me away from the house. I’m not a kid, but I’m bleeding and hurting like when I was six. He begs the paramedics to save me. He begs me to stay with him. My eyes open, and I’m tangled in his arms.
“Breathe, Ley,” he whispers. “Inhale, one, two, three…then exhale slowly for me.”
He kisses my nose and says, “Bad dream?”
I just rest my head against his chest. The steady sound of his heartbeat calms me. I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m not sure what I hate more, that the night terrors are back or that he knows about them.
“Why are you here and not in my bed?” he whispers, pressing me closer to his body.
“Because you’re not in town?” I mumble, absorbing his masculine scent. How I missed the strong woodsy aroma of his. Little by little I start feeling whole again.
“Was that a nightmare or a night terror?” he asks.
“Isn’t that the same?”
“One of them is the result of PTSD,” he explains, and I sigh, closing my eyes.
“Can you trust me, Ley?”
There’s a knot forming in my throat because this is how it ends. I take a few deep breaths before I step away from his embrace and leave my bed.
“This has been fun,” I begin, smiling at him even though I think I’m dying a little.
“We can still have fun,” he interrupts.
“No. This situation changes everything,” I explain.
“Not from my perspective,” he insists.
“We’re not those kinds of people,” I remind him. “We hookup, have fun, and share a dog. That’s our dynamic. Our arrangement doesn’t go deeper than that. You established it.”
His intense gaze holds mine, and he says, “Our arrangement changes every day, Leyla. You can’t possibly think that this is casual. We’re a lot more than fuck buddies. Just because we don’t say it out loud, it doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”