Code Name: Aries by Janie Crouch

27

Wavy

I wrote notes to my family before I left for Ian’s penthouse. I had to explain that in order for me to move forward, I couldn’t stay here. And to thank them for taking such good care of me. I owed them that much, and so much more. I knew they’d all understand, and were probably at least a little bit relieved that I was going, that they didn’t have to be responsible for me anymore.

The bubble had burst, and I couldn’t get back inside it. Everything felt scratchy and raw against my senses—too bright, too loud, too immediate. The bubble had kept me buffered. Part of me wished I could get back to where I didn’t feel anything, good or bad.

No. I didn’t want that. I couldn’t allow myself to want it.

And now sitting in Ian’s penthouse, looking down at the Denver area below me, I knew coming here had been the right decision. I couldn’t stay in Oak Creek, but I was terrified of being alone.

Ian could give me a balance. He wouldn’t baby me, but he would help in whatever way I wanted. He would give me space, but also keep me close.

And . . . I wanted to be near him. When he was around, I felt better. I wasn’t sure what shape our relationship would take, if any. All I knew was that being here felt right.

He hadn’t tried to talk to me the entire flight from Wyoming to Denver. He’d seemed content to be next to me, which in turn had helped me be more comfortable living in the space.

Once we got to the penthouse, he’d left me alone to come out here to my favorite view. I had stayed out here longer than normal, enjoying the crisp fall air, looking down on the city. Maybe it was because it was night and everything was already muddled and dark so it didn’t have to feel unusual. I didn’t have to worry that my colors were still gone.

Destroying as many of my paintings as I could hadn’t made them come back. All it had done was make me tired.

How did I explain any of what was going on inside my head, how there were big chunks of my memory missing, and what I did remember was fuzzy?

All I could remember clearly was the pain, and I didn’t want to focus on that. So I kept it all from my mind.

Finally, the night air’s chill got the better of me, and I went inside. I found Ian sitting on his couch, a glass of his favorite scotch in his hand. I didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there, but he’d been able to see me from his perch on the sofa.

“Enjoy the night air?”

I nodded, trying to force words, but they wouldn’t come.

“It’s one of the main reasons I bought this place. I definitely get the appeal.” He leaned back in the couch. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to talk about the rules of you living here.”

My eyes narrowed, but the thought of house rules was actually intriguing. It was normal. If we were going to be in this space together, we needed to know how to interact. I liked it.

He gestured to the overstuffed chair across from him and I sat, wrapping my legs under me and pulling a small, thick blanket over my lap.

“Okay. First, this is a safe space. There are only two ways in or out of this apartment. One is the elevator. The second is via the emergency stairway that leads off the kitchen. The elevator is currently set so that only you or I can use it. That means no one will be coming up here without you being aware of it and inviting them. It’s always been set so that only a few people had access, but I’m eliminating their access too.”

I had to admit, I felt better knowing no one else could use the elevator except the two of us. I nodded again.

“If you want, I can take my access off too. That way only emergency services could override in a fire or something.”

I shook my head. He didn’t need to remove his own access. If I was afraid of him coming into his own home, then I had no right to be here.

“Okay. I’ll leave my access on. You’ll still get a notification every time the elevator is on the move. It only stops here and the lobby, and is accessible through a special key, so no one can use it accidentally. The emergency stairs can only be accessed from the inside, except for emergency services.”

I nodded.

He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “There are security cameras on the balcony and in the foyer where the elevator exits into the apartment. I have someone watching those security cameras twenty-four seven. So if you decide to dance around naked, you might want to avoid those two areas. There are no other cameras anywhere else in the penthouse.”

I could feel the beginning of a twitch at my lips, but it disappeared before it could form into an actual smile.

“I guess those weren’t so much rules as they were security specs, but I wanted to make sure that you understood. I want you to feel as safe as possible in this place.”

I nodded again. He took another sip of his scotch, then leaned back.

“Okay. So let’s talk about actual rules. First, you are welcome here as long as you want, with or without me being here. If you decide to reside in this penthouse for the rest of your life, that’s okay.”

I wasn’t about to kick him out of his own home, but I nodded.

“As you know, I have four bedrooms here. My bedroom, the guest bedroom, my office, and the fourth room. All of those spaces are completely available to you. I will still need my office, but that can be moved to a different room if for some reason that space is more comfortable to you.”

I shook my head, brows furrowed. This was getting ridiculous.

He held out a hand. “Before you argue, let’s talk about the second rule, equally as important as the first.”

He stopped and leaned forward, placing his drink on the coffee table. “When it comes to recovery, what you need is what you need. Sometimes it’s not going to make sense and sometimes it’s not going to be convenient. But it is what it is.”

It didn’t seem right that he would be the only one inconvenienced by what I needed. I scowled. He smiled a little at that, then continued.

“There’s a reason I know that, Rainbow. Because I had a recovery of my own, and believe it or not, it had to do with Mosaic. I never told you about it before because it’s ugly, and I don’t like to talk about it. But if you want to hear it sometime, I’ll tell you.”

My scowl fell, and I leaned forward in my chair, studying him, fingers running over the blanket in my lap.

This changed things.

If he actually knew about recovery, had suffered something similar, then maybe for the first time I had someone who wasn’t merely trying to fix me. He was somebody who understood.

This time I forced out the words. “Okay. Thank you.”

It sounded like a croak, but Ian broke into such a big smile you would’ve thought I had offered him the most precious of gifts.

“Good. All right, rule number three. Recovery is not linear. I guess that’s not really a rule either, but it’s still true. Recovery will not always be forward in progression. It’ll be one step forward, eleven steps back. But that’s how recovery is. The important thing to remember is that you are actually recovering.”

He leaned back, propping his arms along the back of the couch. “I want to help in any way I can. I have extensive resources at my disposal, and you should not be afraid to take advantage of them. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to bring in Dr. Rayne Westerfield. She does a lot of work at a place called the Resting Warrior Ranch in Wyoming, and she specializes in dealing with extreme PTSD. She is the very best in the business. She helped me when I didn’t think that was going to be possible.”

The fact that Ian had needed a psychiatrist to talk to about whatever he’d been through told me it had been a pretty big deal.

“Okay,” I whispered, and got another smile. It was almost worth talking, worth forcing my voice to work, to see him smile. For the first time, I realized how exhausted he looked. “Tired.” The word came out a little choked.

“You’re tired?” he said. “Had enough talking for one night? I totally understand.”

I pointed at him. “You tired.”

He stared at me for long seconds, then wiped a hand down his face and got up. He walked slowly over to me—obviously waiting to see if I was going to freak out—and crouched down at my feet.

I wasn’t going to freak out. Ian would never hurt me. I touched the hair over his ear like I’d wanted to do that very first time I’d seen him. I could remember that. My memories from my captivity were muddled, but that was crystal clear.

“Oh, Rainbow. You are never going to be anything but amazing to me. That you could see that I’m tired? Your heart is incredible. So big and strong.”

I wasn’t sure about any of that, but I knew that he needed to rest. I touched his temple again before my arm fell back to its side.

“I am tired,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’ve slept for more than a couple of hours at a time since you were taken. Even once you were back, I haven’t been able to rest. Maybe now that you’re here, I’ll be able to.”

I nodded. Maybe we both would be able to.

“The last rule,” he said, still perched there at my feet, “is that I’m bringing in your painting supplies and easels.”

I tensed. “I can’t.”

I wanted to say so much more than that. I wanted to tell him that my colors were gone, never coming back. I was never going to paint like I had before.

“You can,” he said. “It might not be the same, but it’s an important part of you that you can’t give up without a fight. If you want to gain two hundred pounds, that’s fine. Hell, if you want to drink yourself into oblivion every day, I’ll help you do that too. But I’m not going to allow you to give up painting. I’m asking that once a day you go in there and put at least one stroke on a canvas. If that’s all, that’s fine. Will you do that for me?”

I nodded. I would do it for him.

“It doesn’t have to be the same as before. But you can still paint your emotions, whatever they are. The anger, the fear, the bleakness, the despair, you take it, and you put it on a canvas. If you do that, at least try every day, I’ll show you what I did as part of my recovery. Deal?” He reached out his hand to shake.

I took it, tilting my head, intrigued by the thought.

He gave me another smile. “Believe me. It’s not nearly as creative an outlet as yours, and I’m pretty sure I’d get teased if my team knew about it, but it helped me get through.”

I shook his hand. Painting would be worth knowing what he’d done. Some sort of sword fighting? Tae kwon do?

He pointed at the blanket in my lap. “That was one of my recovery pieces.”

I stared down at it, then back at him, befuddled. He smiled.

“Knitting. Mostly blankets, but some potholders here and there, especially during therapy sessions. Having something that kept my hands busy allowed my mind to work through a lot of my trauma. Maybe painting will do the same for you.”

I pulled the blanket closer. Ian, with his brilliant mind and trained warrior instincts, had knitted this. And it had helped him. That, somehow, gave me more hope than anything else he’d said tonight. I brought the blanket up and rubbed it against my cheek.

His smile broke out again. “Welcome home for however long you want it to be yours.”