Confessions of a Wanton

41 Solutions

🎶Walk through Fire : Zayde Wolf 🎶

Charlotte:

Dreams are very Interesting things. Some people don't remember having them at all. Some people remember everything. Their subconscious demons clambering around in their brains with a sticky residue on their weirdly clawed hands. A sort of dream monster that touches every inch of their brains, caressing each nook and cranny. Just how viscous the dream is determines how much is remembered.

Some believe that dreams are our subconscious way of sorting through the mental detritus of our days. A sort of filing system that helps you to remember the lessons you'd learned, sorting our experiences one bit at a time.

The way the head doc had explained it to me; PTSD is like a bull crashing through someone's mind. Every little cabinet you have is red, or maybe just a few of them are. The bull crashes through the landscape of your consciousness, disrupting the natural order, leaving a mess of emotions and turmoil in its wake.

The bull appears when something so utterly disastrous happens that the entirety of your narrative is shaken. In the midst of the chaotic ruins the bull disappears, leaving you bereft. Unsteady as you float, trying to figure out a way to organize the mind in a way that makes sense.

This can happen when someone tries to kill you, a near death experience, or an incident that leaves physical trauma can trigger this. Or say, your entire world is turned upside down because you never really knew the person you were before.

I hadn't ended up walking with Damien. Maze had come to me. A look in her eyes like I've never seen before. She'd been a tornado of energy before. Ripping through life like the roadrunner, but with an uncensored adult mouth. I'd always admired her strength.

She seemed smaller now; Uncertain. Her shoulders hunched as she'd asked to talk with me. Damien had understood, as always. Smiling, leaving a lingering kiss on my lips that smelled so deliciously of mint, before allowing me to join Maze.

We sat in the back of my truck. Betsy had made it intact thanks to Damiens careful planning. Beast is somewhere around here, hidden under a tarp. I can't wait to search for him. I miss the purr of the engine between my thighs and the wind ripping through my hair during the times I hadn't bothered with a helmet.

The beta fish that I'd had, Damien explained with a grimace had been assassinated by Romans kids. Ian and Bella had over fed him and the little glutton had eaten himself to death. Poor Rambo hadn't had a chance. They'd flushed him, both kids crying. Ian and Bella had apologized to me, squirming in their seats at the breakfast table. These things happen.

Maze looked over at me, the silver of her eyes having that strange ocular reflection that I'd seen in Killian's eyes all those nights ago. It felt like it had been years since I first laid eyes on Damien. Not just a few weeks.

"Do you see things differently now?" I had to ask. Had to do the girl thing instead of sucking it up and wondering for all eternity. Maybe it's not a male thing, maybe it's a me thing. I need to get better at asking personal questions.

"Not really. My senses have always been pretty good." She looked away from me, studying her bandaged hands. She'd ripped calluses too.

Jax had quietly bandaged her up. A silent mountain versus the wind blowing through the trees at such a rate I just know some of the mountains landscape is changing. I can see it in the way he looks at her when she's not looking.

"Though, my night vision is off the charts now." She thinned her lips. "I can see you plain as day right now."

I frowned. Well, that's certainly handy. I can see her outline and her eyes reflected in the minimal light in the warehouse. A few gas lamps are set on crates around people sitting on the opposite end, allowing those that need sleep to do so.