Page 15 of Consumed By Fire
"Good morning, Charlotte. Yes, strangely I slept,” I answer and she looks at me. It’s as if she wants to read me.
"Dylan, how long have you been having nightmares?” she asks.
Her question makes me understand why she’s here. I turn on my back, looking at the ceiling. The nightmares ... only my therapist knows and yet she was unable to help me overcome them, nor to help me sleep.
"I'm sorry I woke you up."
“Don't worry about it, but seeing you so shaken last night made me worry. Do you have them often?" she asks.
I sigh and nod. "It's a continuous loop, always the same scene, always the same episode, night after night."
"How long?"
"For years now,” I answered honestly. I can't lie to her.
"Did you talk to anyone about it?"
“Yes, Charlotte. Unfortunately, they haven't been able to do much. At first, the nightmares lasted all night. Now, they’re only for a short time. Fortunately, I often manage to wake up.”
"Dreams last for only a few minutes, Dylan. It's just your feeling that it's infinite."
"I’ve read that too, yet when you live it, it's different."
"I'm sorry. I was afraid to wake you up last night. I felt so useless."
"I'm sorry I made you worry. Is that why you stayed here?" I ask, looking at her. In the morning light, she’s even more beautiful and her pink silk nightgown fits her divinely. I refrain from looking at her for too long because I already feel an erection growing in my underwear and I don't want her to think that I'm like everyone else.
"I wanted to be there if you needed me, even if there was little I could do."
"You’ve done a lot, to be honest, because I never sleep this late."
"Can I ask you what you dream of?" she asks, avoiding my gaze. I think it's time to be honest and follow my therapist's advice about opening up to someone I trust. She sits on the bed and when she looks into my eyes, I realize that maybe she’s my cure.
"We were in Afghanistan, six years ago," I begin, reviewing the scene in front of my eyes as if it were happening now. "We were on patrol and entered a small town, following the usual protocol." I stop to hold back the tears and feel her hand on my arm.
“If you don't feel ready to tell me, don't do it. I can only imagine how hard it was there.”
"I've been carrying this inside for six years. Six years I've been living with this sense of guilt that maybe I could have saved him."
"Save who, Dylan?"
"A child was playing on the road we were walking on. I told him to go home and play somewhere safer, and he told me that was his home. An infinity of rubble, with only a few houses still standing and many inhabitants intent on cleaning up and rebuilding their homes. I gave him a bar of chocolate, telling him that he was brave, and we went on." I swallow the lump in my throat and clench my fists. "On the way back, the boy came to greet us. There was an ambush and they started shooting at us. I had kept the child safe behind us, but then I was distracted by a glare from a high building. The child ran away in fright and stepped on a mine." I can still feel the explosion that made me tremble at the time and that is making me shiver today. I feel Charlotte approaching and I don't dare to look into her eyes, to feel judged. Everyone has been doing it since I got back. Maybe they don't realize it, but it hurts, increasing my sense of guilt. I turn around while sitting on the edge of the bed, with my back to her, and I hear her footsteps on the carpet. She stops in front of me and waits.
I don't move. I don't look at her. I care too much about her to see the horror and contempt in her eyes.
Charlotte kneels in front of me and takes my face in her hands, wiping my tears.
“You couldn't do anything, Dylan, and you don't have to feel guilty. It wasn't your fault. That kid will always remember that Marine who was nice to him," she whispers and I find the courage to look her in the eye. No mercy, no judgments, just sincerity and tears running down her cheeks. I feel light, as if a weight has lifted off me, as if she has healed me. I rest my forehead on hers and I’d like to kiss her, but I know it would be too soon for her, and I don't want to rush. She deserves the best.
She gets up, walks away, and goes to the window. "You asked me why I left my ex..." she begins and I know, I feel it, that what she’ll say is something that has marked her.
“After I graduated, I realized that my period was late, and I found out I was pregnant. I hadn’t thought much about the delay. Between my thesis and my mother, who was always against me, I blamed stress. You can imagine my surprise when I saw the two positive lines on the pregnancy test. I talked to him about it and he made me choose between him and the baby. I laughed at him. There was no need to give him an answer, and I left the apartment with some of my stuff still there." She stops, wiping her tears.
"What a jerk!" escapes me and she smiles.
“It was the best decision ever, to leave him. I went to my parents and when I told them, my mother said I had to get rid of that burden, as she had called the baby. Dad didn't say anything. That same evening, I packed up and left. I didn't need them. My grandfather left me a substantial legacy and I would have been able to raise my baby alone with all the love in this world.”
"So, you have a baby?" I ask and she shakes her head.