His hand found its searing way beneath my shirt and up my waist and stopped on my breast. Already breathless, I grasped his head that hung low above my breasts, but then I stilled when something wet hit my shirt above my left breast. Another droplet quickly followed, falling next to the first one, and terrible pain dug its claws into my chest.
“Hayden?”
He didn’t move, his hand frozen on my breast. His tears kept falling, and I realized too late he’d been trembling all this time.
“Hayden, look at me.” I tried to make him look at me, but he didn’t budge. “I’m here. Look at me.”
He finally raised his head, and I barely managed to suppress a whimper. His features were distorted with devastating pain, and his tears silently slid down his cheeks, leaving heartbreaking evidence of his deep-seated agony.
“You’re going to be okay. I’m here,” I whispered to him and turned on the lamp on his nightstand.
Remaining silent, he lay back down and looked fixedly at the ceiling, his breaths coming fast. My eyes never left his as my mind worked to come up with a way to help him.
“Tell me what is bothering you. You’ll feel better if you share it with me.” His breathing got faster. “Hey.” I leaned over him and cupped his cheeks to draw his attention back to me. “Breathe slowly.”
He frowned. He remained quiet, but his eyes said more than enough. His hand was so cold when I took it in mine.
“I’m here with you. I’ll listen to you. Breathe slowly.”
I repeated this a couple more times until his breathing reached a normal rate, which reminded me of the time when he helped me with my panic attack. He was still far from okay, but the worst had passed, so I sat against the headboard and pulled his head into my lap.
“Talk to me,” I encouraged him once more and caressed his hair.
“I can’t sleep,” he finally said in a gravelly voice. “Whenever I close my eyes, I see terrifying images.”
I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He was very vulnerable, so it would be difficult for him to open up to me, but I hoped he would. “Do you want to talk about it?”
His face was a landscape of his silent battle when he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. I didn’t push for the answer, stroking his hair slowly.
“I see so many things. I see Kayden. I see you. I see myself failing over and over again. And much more.”
Kayden. Painful questions resurfaced, and I stilled my hand. My eyes went to his scar. “What about Kayden?”
“I see that accident. I see it too often, and it’s too much.”
The familiar guilt slowly peered its head out, but I didn’t dwell on it. I refused to let my old mindset destroy the progress I’d made. “What do you see?”
“The moment we get hit... It’s ridiculously unreal and horrifying. One moment we were walking, and the next... Pain. Confusion.” He touched his scar and curled his hand into a fist. “He was lying on that pavement with all that blood around him and...” He sucked in a sharp breath. “And that face. The same face that would never smile again. That night is always on repeat.”
Sharp pain tore through me, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I’d forgiven myself for my mistake, but that didn’t make me feel any less sorry about it. “I’m so sorry, Hayden. I wish you didn’t have to go through this.”
“I don’t know what to do to make it stop. Then there’s you. The moment when Josh stabbed you keeps haunting me. You were lifeless, and there was so much blood, again. Too much.” He fisted his hands on his sides. “Or when Brad aimed that rifle right at your head in the woods. It feels like I’m already in that dark reality where you’re dead.”
A tremor rocked me. His words were painful, and I couldn’t imagine how terrible he must feel each time he replayed these moments in his head.
I ran my fingers down his cheek. “I’m completely okay. Don’t worry about me. That’s in the past.”
“It doesn’t feel that way. It feels like it will keep messing with me. Everything you went through, all those fucked up things I did to you... And I can’t ever erase them.”
I ran my fingers down his cheek. “Hayden, don’t worry about it. It’s okay. You’re not the same person anymore.”
“I know, but still. It’s not okay. I keep thinking about your letters and all those days you spent next to me in the hospital. You don’t know what it was like to hear you and not be able to talk to you or hug you. I wanted to tell you so much, but I couldn’t. You were so close to me, and I couldn’t lift even a finger.”
He entwined our hands and left a kiss on the back of my hand. I moved my finger over his scar, thinking how hard it was to build something, but destroying it could take only a second. We were surrounded with pain, walking on a big chunk of ice that was life, and even a small misstep could lead to our downfall. No one should experience something so horrible, yet Hayden had experienced it for so long, and my heart crumbled. I wished I could erase his sorrow from those days and replace it with happiness.
“I constantly saw all those things when I was in a coma. They were on a fucking repeat. I hated being alone in that room because my mind would wander off and create nightmarish illusions that seemed like they would never end. I thought I was going crazy.”
I called to mind what he’d said about us telling him he was all right those days. “When I was by your side, did any of my words help?”
He turned his head to look at me. “Yes.” He wasn’t smiling, but there was softness to his eyes. “They were the only things that kept me sane all that time. They gave me hope.”
I slid my finger over his cheek and jaw aimlessly. “Do you often have trouble sleeping?”
He looked away. “Too often. Sometimes I’m not able to sleep for days.”
My brows pinched together. “Does your therapist know about your insomnia?”
“Yeah.”
“Did she tell you how to deal with it?”
“She mentioned some relaxation techniques and suggested cognitive behavioral therapy. She also suggested some meds.”
“Do the meds help?”
He rubbed his forehead tiredly. “I don’t know. I take so many different drugs that I’m sick and tired of them. Every single day.”
“I get that it can be too much, but I’m sure they do you more good than you know.”
“If you say so.”
I smiled at him. “I believe so. You know, I mentioned in one of the letters that I was going to see your therapist, Ms. Kishimoto. I talked with her the day you woke up.”
He met my gaze. He was much calmer now, and his eyes had lost the tormented expression. “How was it?”
I recounted what she told me about things that could help our relationship work. “She advised couples counseling. I think we should give it a try. It can help us solve our problems more easily. What do you think?
“I thought about it too. I also think you should start therapy.”
My pulse sped up. “Me?”
He pulled himself up and sat next to me. “You also have issues, and I don’t want you to hurt. You can’t deal with it on your own, because you’ll burn out eventually. At least talk to me. What was that nightmare about? You had a nightmare, right? That’s why you woke up.”