Our Broken Love (Angels of war series #4)

CHAPTER TWENTY

MAX

Silence is the cruelest form of torture.

I'm certain of it. I feel like giving up today. The uncertainty way too much. This is all my fault. I know it is, but I'm running out of ideas of how to make it right.

"You going to shower today, buddy? You're stinking up this room," James says when he walks over to my window.

I turn over, slapping my arms down on the duvet. "Yeah, I guess I probably should do."

James smiles like I gave him the damn world by saying I'm going to wash. "Good for you, mate. I'll get you some food while you get freshened up."

I wait for him to leave the room before throwing back the duvet, learning my lesson from last time. Then I grab my dressing gown from the back of the door to cover myself before jumping in the shower.

It's a quick wash. I have little energy to do anything else. James is warming me up the leftover Christmas dinner Scarlett sent with him yesterday when I meet him back downstairs, a cold draft blowing in from the window he's opened.

Damn, does it really stink or something?

"We need a serious word," he says, grabbing a seat across from me. "Eat while I talk."

Okay. I don't put up any arguments as I try to dig into the delicious food, not at all hungry. James watches over me with a serious frown, letting his eyes fall to the plate with an encouraging expression.

"Talk then."

He dumps a few papers on the table, brochures and leaflets too. Then he reads them out to me. It's a treatment plan. One for PTSD, trauma and alcoholism.

I stare at them, fork in hand, eyes going up to meet James's nervous ones. "What's going on?"

"Have you ever thought about Ketamine treatments?" 

I frown. "Ketamine treatments? What the fuck are those?"

"They're proven ways to deal with the trauma. I reached out to Davies. Do you remember him from P6?" I nod and he carries on talking. "Well, he couldn't recommend it enough. Apparently it gets trippy, but can force you to see your trauma from images in your head."

"That sounds fucking cookoo," I respond, not about to take something to make me feel high.

He grins. "Yeah, it does, but it works. Davies said it was wild, he lived out stuff he totally forgot about."

"Stuff his subconcious forgot about?" I ask, knowing his chuffed that I've not stormed out  by now.

He nods. "Yeah. I researched it a bit and come across a story of this woman who was struggling to overcome childhood trauma. During the treatments she saw herself hiding in the loft from her father who was beating her mother. It was a memory she had blocked out. I really think you should try it."

"I'll try anything," I say, scratching my hand. "Anything."

...

I'm reading over the papers James left with me, trying to decide which treatment plan is the best option when my phone vibrates on the table. I pick it up right away at seeing gran's name, pushing the chair so it falls back when I hear her distress.

"Max!" Gran practically screams and panic grips me. "Penelope fainted and I can't get her to wake up! I called the ambulance and they're on the other line, but I'm scared. I'm scared!"

I'm not even aware of how I get into my truck, speeding out of the driveway with enough power to tip it to two wheels. I keep on the line, switching it to speakerphone as I beg for information, near enough losing my damn mind the entire drive.