Page 10 of Dear Future Husband

“Hey, where’s the fire?” Trey asked with a chuckle.

Liam didn’t answer, but he halted with his friend. The pause in our retreat allowed Trey to spot me only a few paces behind. With how his eyes widened at the sight of me, I figured I had failed to school my features into neutrality.

“Hey, is everything alright?” He pierced Liam with his questioning green eyes, but Liam was a lot better at playing pretend than I was.

The smile he sported was worthy of awards as he put a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. “Everything’s great. I just need to get May home. We still up for tonight?”

Trey studied my brother. Then his gaze fell on me again, but I looked away, not able to meet his eyes. I didn’t glance back until I heard him say to my brother, “Of course, I’ll see you tonight.”

As soon as Liam resumed his pace, I raced up behind him, not stopping until we reached the vehicle. Once in the car, I anticipated we’d resume our same silence on the drive home. Just as we always did, despite the recent events—but I was wrong.

“What happened in there, May?”

I didn’t look at Liam. I pitifully kept my eyes on my fidgeting and folding hands. “I don’t know.”

Leaving his hands on the wheel, Liam dropped his forehead to it. A round of heavy breathing passed before he looked back up at me. “I thought you were better, that you had stopped—freezing when we moved here. Aren’t you in therapy?”

Why did it have to sound so small when he put it that way? It wasn’t a nail-biting habit I hadn’t kicked. It was a trauma response my body went into from years of terror. It wasn’t just an easy fix. It was a lifetime of war between the body, mind and soul.

I am what they call one of the prey species. Like rats, mice or squirrels. When threatened, my body activates its freeze response. Freezing was how I survived the life I was dealt.

Hold still, don’t breathe, keep quiet, obey.

That was the mantra that saved me from more hurt. The anthem that was on constant repeat when fear overpowered me. It was what kept me hidden when hunted. Now it was my prison. It was the shackles that bound me, offering me up as easy pickings to a cruel world.

I snorted, though nothing about this discussion was in the least bit amusing. “Therapy isn’t a cure-all.”

“I know that. I tried it, remember?” Liam reminded.

“For a week,” I scoffed, unsure of why I felt the need to after he just saved me. I guess it was the only fight I had the courage to take part in. The only words I could control.

“I did therapy for over a year,” he corrected, his tone still level.

Despite that, my tone was harsh, eager to be done with this night, this day, this life…

“Sorry, we can’t all be as great as you.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, May,” Liam tried to reason.

“Then what are you trying to say, Liam?”

He paused, and I knew the pause would carry. This conversation would stop here, because neither one of us was brave, nor knowledgeable enough to figure out where it could take us.

We didn’t know how to talk then, and we certainly didn’t know how to now.

Liam twisted from me, flicking his head up so his bouncy blonde curls would lift from his eyes. Without another word, he threw the keys into the ignition and took off down the road home.

The past clawed its way between us, suffocating the space. The past had a name—Richard. A man, a tyrant, trusted to take up the mantle of father but betrayed that sacred role. He was the sole reason we moved to San Francisco. The reason I struggled to find peace inside my brain and body. For years, Richard Amos may have been the one to hurt us, scar us... But the silence was our fault.

How ironic, us not being able to communicate. Despite the fact that we were the children of an accomplished therapist. You’d think we’d be able to talk about our feelings as easily as we breathed, but nope. We were still human, and our downfall was our inability to ask for help.

Liam didn’t pull into the driveway when we made it home. Instead, he parked at the curb. I didn’t need him to explain. He was leaving. Probably to go party, drink, and be with his friends. I couldn’t judge him, though; we all had our forms of escape.

“Tell mom I’ll be back later,” he mumbled as I exited the car.

Before shutting the passenger door, I peered down at my brother. I wished I had the words. The knowledge of how best to mend the rift that had never been a real solid connection between the two of us.

“Are you going to be, okay?” I heard myself ask.