I'm here. (Tim Bradford)

24

Maya Jackson

It's been two weeks since I left the hospital; during this time I've avoided everyone— including Tim. I've been in such a bad place mentally that I can't even look at myself in a mirror without feeling triggered or grossed out.

I lay peacefully in my bed as I read a book. I'm in my apartment that's not too far from the station. I hear a knock at my door, and I groan. I really don't want to get out of bed, but I get out of my bed anyways and make my way towards the living room. I peek through the peephole and frown when I see Tim; I don't want him to see me this way. I bite my bottom lip and unlock the door. I crack it and look at him.

"What are you doing here, Tim?" My voice shakes as I try to stay calm. I haven't been able to see men without getting panicked that something bad was going to happen to me.

"I just wanted to come check in on you. Do you mind if I come in?" His voice cracks— showing how much this whole situation is affecting him. I feel bad for being this way.

I stare at him for a moment as I try to decide whether or not having him in my apartment would be a good idea...
"Uhm, sure..." I whisper out as I open the door and quickly walk into my kitchen to put space between us. I hear the door close, and I quickly take a deep breath, trying to let the air seep into my lungs in an attempt to stop the fear coursing through my body. I watch him as he walks around the bar in my kitchen, keeping his distance on the other side.

"How are you doing?" His voice carried a hint of concern as he looked me over; I knew he was scanning every detail.

"Are you wanting the truthful answer or the answer that'll make you feel better?" I try to keep my tone kind, but I'm extremely terrified of being honest about how I'm feeling. I know he will only worry more if I'm honest.

"The truthful answer, please. I'm worried about you." His eyes soften as he speaks. I'm unsure if I want to be truthful with him.

"Well, I feel like absolute hell, if I'm being honest. I don't even know how to start talking about my problems." I mumble softly as I look down at the marble bar, trying to stop the cold sweats breaking out across my body.

"Have you seen your therapist recently?" I can tell his question isn't meant to hurt me, but it does. I don't need a therapist, I can deal with my problems on my own.

"I don't need a therapist; Tim. I'm okay." I continue to stare at the counter, counting the number of lines that go through the marble.

"You do, Maya. You've gone through hell and back, and you refuse to talk to anyone. Hell I'm unsure if you've even left your house recently." I let out a sigh and continue to count the number of lines. I need to calm down before I try to talk to him— not only to stop myself from becoming snappy, but also to not upset him on top of everything.

"I left my house yesterday; I went and got groceries." I whisper softly, I know it's a lie, but I'm hoping he doesn't— I actually haven't gotten groceries in about a week and a half, leaving my fridge and cabinets completely empty. It's not like I was going to eat the food anyways; I lost my appetite the second I got back to my own apartment— I know Tim wouldn't be happy with me not taking care of myself.

I watch as he walks over to my fridge; he opens the door, and I let out a frustrated sigh. I don't want his sympathy; I can barely stand even talking to him, and he did nothing wrong. "Your fridge is empty, Maya; don't lie to me." He turns around and frowns at me; I can tell I've upset him.

I decide I can't handle talking anymore; I quickly run off to my room— slamming the door behind me as I try to hide away from Tim. I curl up in a ball on my bed as I begin to cry. I hate hurting others, but I also can't stand being given sympathy for the trauma I've gone through.

As I'm crying, I miss the sound of my bedroom door opening. I panic when I feel a hand press against my back. I quickly turn around and see it's just Tim... I take a few deep breaths, feeling the oxygen make my stomach rise and fall as I calm down. I hate that I'm terrified of him; I just want to be normal again.

I bite my bottom lip as I look up at him and continue crying; I can't make it stop. "Baby, what's wrong?" His words come off as a whisper as he slowly brings his hand closer to me; I can tell he's trying to give me enough time to pull away. I let him wrap his arm around me, and I place the side of my face against his chest— my hands remain at both of my sides as I cry. This is the first time he's touched me since the hospital, and honestly I don't know whether I hate it or need it to stay that way.

"It's okay, baby, you are safe— I am here." His words are a whisper into the wind as he continues to let me sob.

"I don't know how to be normal anymore; I don't know how to be the person I was before this." My voice is muffled due to my sobs... I feel terrible, and I have no idea how to handle all of the emotions I'm feeling.

"You don't have to be normal; I love you for you, including all of your trauma and flaws that you think are too big for me to handle." He whispers as he bends down so he can place his chin on my head. His words comfort me more than I thought they would. I quickly wrap my arms around his waist and continue to cry. I don't know how to handle being touched or even having a male in the same proximity as me, but I need to learn to fix the problems I'm having.

I don't fight him as he pulls away from the hug and lays down on the bed next to me; he pulls me close and lets me rest my head on his chest. This is the most comfort I've felt since I left the hospital.