Heal. There’s another word I never understood as it related to the accident.

I can’t help but peer around the group now, careful that I don’t seem interested as I take in their faces. Luckily, all eyes are riveted to Mark, watching him with fascination, like he’s a god with curative powers. There’s a mix of people—old, young, female, male, the well-dressed, the disheveled. If it tells me anything, it’s that suffering knows no boundaries.

“I’ll share my story,” Mark begins, pulling his chair forward as he sits down. “Ten years ago I was driving home from work with my girlfriend. It was raining hard and we got T-boned in an intersection. Beth died in my arms before the ambulance came.”

Like a vacuous pull, my lungs constrict. I see, rather than feel, Trent’s hand on my knee, squeezing gently. I can’t feel anything.

Mark continues, but I struggle to focus on his words, my heart rate climbing like it’s on its way to Mount Everest. I fight the urge to stand and run, to leave Trent here. Let him listen to this horror. Let him see the kind of pain these people have experienced. I have enough of my own to deal with.

Maybe he gets some sick fascination with this shit.

I barely hear Mark as he talks about drugs and rehab, as words like “depression” and “suicide” float around. Mark’s so calm and collected as he lists the after affects. How? How is he so calm? How can he throw out his own personal tragedy in front of these people like he’s talking about the weather?

“… Tonya and I just celebrated our second wedding anniversary, but I still think about Beth every day. I still suffer through moments of sadness. But I’ve learned to cherish the happy memories. I’ve learned to move on. Beth would have wanted me to live my life.”

One by one, they go around the circle, airing their dirty laundry to all as if it takes no effort to talk about it. I pull short, hard breaths through the second tale—one of a man who lost his four year old son to a freak farming accident. By the fourth, the coils around my insides have stopped tightening. By the fifth, all the emotions that Trent has managed to coax out from hiding over the last few weeks have fled back as tragedy upon tragedy beats me over the head. All I can do to avoid reliving the pain of that night four years ago, right here in this church basement, is to bottle everything human inside of me up.

I’m dead inside.

Not everyone shares their stories, but most do. No one pressures me to speak. I don’t offer, even when Mark asks if anyone else wants to share and Trent squeezes my knee. I make not a sound. I stare straight forward, anesthetized.

I hear murmurs of “goodbye” and I stand. With robotic movements, I climb the stairs and walk out to the street.

“Hey,” Trent calls out from behind. I don’t answer. I don’t stop. I just start walking down the street toward my apartment.

“Hey! Wait up!” Trent jumps in front of me, forcing me to stop. “Look at me, Kacey!”

I follow his order and look up at him. “You’re scaring me, Kace. Please talk to me.”

“I’m scaring you?” The protective numbing coat I pulled over my body for the session falls away as rage suddenly fires through. “Why would you do that to me, Trent? Why? Why do I have to sit and listen to ten people recant their horror stories? How does that help?”

Trent’s hands push through his hair. “Calm down, Kace. I just thought—”

“What? What did you think? You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve gone through and you … what, think you can swoop in, give me an orgasm, and follow it up with a survivor’s group full of f**king cyborgs who talk about their supposed loved ones like everything’s alright?” I’m screaming on the side of the street now and I don’t care.

Trent’s hands move to touch my arms as he shushes me, glancing around. “You think that wasn’t hard for them, Kacey? Can’t you see the torture in their faces as they relive their stories?”

I’m not listening to him anymore. I throw his hands away with a shove and take a step back. “You think you can fix me? What am I to you, some pet project?”

He flinches as if I slapped him across the face and I grit my teeth. He has no right to be hurt. He made me sit through that. He hurt me. “Stay away from me.” I spin around and stalk down the sidewalk.

I don’t look back.

Trent doesn’t chase.

Chapter Twelve

Storm’s hands fidget with a bead bracelet as seven o’clock rolls around. It’s bizarre that she’s so nervous considering she can swing over a stage topless in front of a room full of strangers. I don’t remind her of that though. I just help her pick out a classy yellow dress that flatters her skin tone and accentuates her curves but not too much. I help her clasp her necklace and pin her hair back on one side. Mainly, I try my damndest to smile when all I want to do is curl up into a ball and hide under my covers, alone.

“Ten tiny breaths,” I murmur.

She frowns into her mirror. “What?”

“Take ten tiny breaths. Seize them. Feel them. Love them.” My mother’s voice rings in my ear as I repeat her words and fight off a choke. That stupid session today has left me bothered, my defenses wavering, my ability to bury the pain challenged.

Storm’s frown dips further.

I shrug. “I dunno. That’s what my mom always used to say. If you figure it out, let me know, okay?”

She nods slowly and then I watch as she breathes in and out slowly, and I imagine she’s counting in her head. That makes me smile. Like I’m passing on a little bit of my mother to Storm.

We hear the knock on the new front door and, a moment later, Mia’s little hands fumbling with the lock. All is quiet, and then Mia approaches, her bare feet slapping hard against the floor as she runs down the hall, yelling, “Mommy! The police officer is here to take you away!”

I snort and shove Storm toward the door. “Stop fussing. You look great.”

Officer Dan is in the living room, putting his hands into his jean pockets and pulling them out, and then putting one in, and taking it out. I can’t help but smile just a bit as I watch him. He’s as uneasy as Storm. Though when he sees her, his face brightens.

“Hi, Nora.”

Nora? His blond hair is styled in that messy, spiky way. He’s wearing a fitted black golf shirt that shows off a solid body. I catch a faint whiff of men’s cologne. Not too much. Just enough. All in all, Officer Dan cleans up really well.

She smiles back politely. “Hi, Officer Dan.”

He clears his throat. “Just Dan is fine.”

“Okay, Just Dan,” she repeats and then the room fills with awkward silence.

“Officer Dan brought you flowers, Mommy! Tigers!” Mia runs to the kitchen where Livie is arranging a beautiful bouquet of deep red Tiger Lilies in a milk jug. Mia reaches up to grab one and knocks the jug over. Water and flowers splash everywhere. “Shit!” She exclaims.

“Mia!” Storm and Livie scold at the same time through gasps.

Mia’s eyes turn big and round as she looks between the two, realizing what she’s done. “I get one. Right, Kacey?”

My hand flies to my mouth to contain my laughter as Livie’s eyes shoot daggers at me.

“They’re beautiful, Dan.” Storm rushes over and scrambles to pick them all up. I take this as my chance to wave down his attention. “She’s really nervous,” I mouth without making a sound.