“I imagine it is very hard for Ethan. So many soldiers suffer with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” I noted that she wrote it down in her book.
“So, what can I do for him?”
“What you have to understand about victims of trauma, and from what you’ve just told me, Ethan has suffered—and survived—trauma in the extreme, is that they will do almost anything to avoid having to be reminded of what traumatized them in the first place. It’s too painful.”
“So, when I press him to tell me, it’s just making it harder for him? Asking him to speak of what happened, hurts him even more?”
“Well, think of it in your terms, Brynne. You have suffered a trauma. It’s affected your life in every way. You just told me about how the coverage of Lance’s injury in the media this week has upset you terribly.” Dr. Roswell never was one to sugarcoat anything. “How hard do you work to avoid being reminded of what happened to you?”
Really f**king hard, Doctor.
LEN held the door for me as I left Dr. Roswell’s office. “Shall I take you home, Mrs. Blackstone?”
I sighed at my gentle giant of a driver. “Len, please. We’ve been through this over and over again. I want you to call me Brynne.”
“Yes, Mrs. Blackstone. Home then?”
I shot him a slow nod, and muttered, “I give up.” The man was as stoic as they come, and yet I always felt he was teasing me when we played this little game of ours. I settled into the seat and pondered what Dr. Roswell and I had discussed about PTSD. I had a lot to think about. For Ethan and for myself, but mostly, I just wanted to be a good wife and supportive of him. Letting him know I was there, and loved him no matter what he’d shouted out during a bad dream, or needed from me in order to feel better. If it took some pounding sex to help him relax after a bad dream, then I could do that. The sex was always superb, and right now my body was on hyper-drive with the hormones, so…
My phone chirped and I fished it out of my purse. From Benny. You okay, luv? It made me smile when I read it. Ben hadn’t stopped looking out for me just because I was married to Ethan now. We kept in touch religiously. He was a friend I loved with all my heart, and knew I could just be myself when we were together. Ben and I were different in a way that I couldn’t be with Gaby. Ben and Gaby were also very close, but she wasn’t without her own demons, either. We both teased Ben that he attracted women friends with mountains of emotional problems. He said it gave him “pussy points” knowing what made us females tick. That he may not be into pu**y himself, but it did make the world go round, so it was worth understanding. Sadly, his jest was very true. Ben would have seen Lance’s story splashed all over the news. Hell, a person would have to live under a rock not to have heard it. So he was just letting me know that he was in my corner.
I shot back: I will be :) I miss u tho. Take me shopping 4 pregger clothes sometime soon?
I grinned wide at his quickreply. Yes, sexy mum. xo He had the very best taste, in regards to all things fashion and design. Ben would do me right in the clothing department, I had no doubt.
London traffic dictated that the time spent getting me home would be taking much longer than it ought to, so I checked emails and responded to texts until my inbox was cleaned out. Len was not a chatterer, so I didn’t have to keep up conversation as he drove the Rover expertly through clogged streets and autumn drizzle.
It hadn’t escaped my notice that my mother never tried to call me back either. Not a surprise really. I’d said some pretty harsh things and hung up on her. It would be a while before we talked again. Our relationship was just so messed up. I hated believing that, but the truth was often ugly, and for my mother and me, the truth was a succubus with raging PMS.
My phone alerted me to an incoming text. I dug it out of my purse once again and read it.
It was a media message that included a screenshot of my Facebook profile. I looked closer, feeling my heart sink like a stone when I deciphered exactly what had been sent to me. A post I’d made on my profile, when I’d used the GPS on Facebook to lead Ethan to where Karl had me. I’d also tagged Karl Westman in Who are you with? soEthan would know who had taken me. Below the screenshot was a single sentence: Karl Westman has been missing since August 3rd and his last known contact was you.
HYSTERICAL, was the only way to describe her when she arrived at my office. Len ushered Brynne up to the forty-fourth floor and I met her out in reception. From there I took her straight into the en suite adjacent from where I worked.
She looked around the studio flat in confusion, probably wondering why she’d never been in it, or heard me speak of it. Telling her this was the place where I would f**k all the women before she came along, didn’t seem appropriate at any time, but right now? Out of the motherfucking question.
So I held her in my arms instead. “Tell me you’re all right, baby.”
“Ethan, why are they doing this to me? Are they ever going to stop? Her questions broke my heart. As if a meat cleaver was put to my chest and given a hearty whack, shattering bone and obliterating flesh.
“Brynne, I need you to calm down and listen to me.” I took her face in my hands and lifted it up, forcing her to focus on me. “Senator Oakley rang me that night after the news hit the wires. He wants you to visit his…son in the hospital, and show the world what good friends you are.” It made me ill to have to even say the words to her, but I’d realized a few nights ago, there was no other way out of this mess.
“He called you? You spoke to him and didn’t tell me?” she shouted accusingly.
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but I made a judgment call—”
“—But why? I don’t ever want to see Lance Oakley again as long as I live. Don’t you dare ask me to go to him,” she spat. “You’re no better than my mother!”
With her eyes flaring wildly at me, I could tell she was ready to bolt, so I shut that idea right the f**k down. “Nope, not true,” I said, gripping both of her arms, forcing her to focus on me. “I told him no. I said I wouldn’t ask you to do something that would upset you, but they sent that Facebook screenshot today.” I lowered my voice and told her the brutal truth. “This shit won’t go away until you go on the record as a close family friend.”
“No…” she said pitifully.