Read Online These Gentle Wounds by Helene Dunbar - Free Book Online
Authors: Helene Dunbar
Tags: Fiction, YA), Young Adult Fiction, Young Adult, teen, teen fiction, ya fiction, ya novel, young adult novel, teen novel, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, ptsd, teen lit, teenlit
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harder into the grate, but not even the pain is helping. My breath is coming in little gasps. I want to float off to someplace else, but Iâm just stuck here with this painful laughter in my head.
Something tugs on the back of my shirt and I struggle because Iâm sure itâs the vulture, coming to carry me back to the house. Kevin would understand, but Iâm here alone and the birdâs claws are deep in my skin and pulling at me. Iâm not sure Iâm strong enough to fight it off, but Iâm trying, trying, trying. Scratching at whatever I can reach. Kicking with my eyes closed at anything I can hit.
And suddenly Iâm slammed back against the wall. âDamn it, stop.â
From out of nowhere Kevin is there and Iâm breathing so hard I think I might pass out.
âWhat the fuck?â he asks, and then runs his hand down my cheek. I reach up and feel the creases from the grate in my skin. In one place I feel sticky wet. I bring my fingers away and see blood.
âAre you an idiot?â he asks. âOr just trying to torture yourself?â
I donât have an answer for him.
âRoom. Now,â he says and stalks off. I follow, resting a hand on the wall to steady myself.
I fall into my chair and bend over with my head between my knees, trying to catch my breath. A drop of blood falls onto my jeans and I drag the bottom of my shirt across my cheek to catch the rest.
âLook,â he lectures as he stalks back and forth in front of the closed door. âWhat the hell do you want me to do? I canât be in two places at once. I can either be downstairs with them trying to make sure your worst nightmare doesnât happen, or I can sit up here babysitting you. Whatâs it going to be? Youâre really getting on my last nerve.â
I look up just as he grabs the box of Kleenex and throws it at me harder than he needs to. I take one and press it against my cheek.
Kevin sits down on his bed and says, âMaybe you should come down and deal with him. Maybe thatâs just what both of you need.â
âNo way.â My fatherâs face isnât one I ever want to see again.
âSo what do you want me to do?â Kevin asks, leaning toward me.
âGo,â I say. âIâm fine.â But the words hurt as they come out of my mouth, all spiky and pointy edges.
âReally?â he asks, like it couldnât possibly be true. With every step he takes toward the door I feel the room getting bigger and bigger, and emptier and emptier, and I can feel myself start to panic. But no, I know he needs to be down there even if it kills me.
I canât say that, so I nod. He comes back and squeezes my shoulder. His voice is softer now. âJust stay here and try to hold it together. Iâll be back up as soon as heâs gone, okay?â
I nod again.
He leaves and I toss the bloodied tissues into the garbage. I pull out the first book I can find on the shelf, some old science fiction novel of Kevinâs, and wrap myself in a blanket and try to read. The words swim upside down like dying fish in front of my eyes. I push on my temples. My head hurts and my stomach is starting to churn again. I can feel a spin coming on. Itâs so hard to stop the cycle once they start coming.
Iâm really, really tired of the past. I just want it to leave me alone and stay where it belongs. But itâs like that joke. You know, the one that says, âDonât think about elephantsâ and as soon as someone says that, all you think about is not thinking about elephants, which is really thinking about elephants?
Kevin is out playing, which means I get Mom to myself. She pulls out the book of poetry and gestures for me to sit next to her. I crawl up onto the chaise lounge, nestle my head under her arm and stick my thumb in my mouth. Iâm five. Kevin would make fun of me if he was here, but Mom wonât; this is our special time.
She
Something tugs on the back of my shirt and I struggle because Iâm sure itâs the vulture, coming to carry me back to the house. Kevin would understand, but Iâm here alone and the birdâs claws are deep in my skin and pulling at me. Iâm not sure Iâm strong enough to fight it off, but Iâm trying, trying, trying. Scratching at whatever I can reach. Kicking with my eyes closed at anything I can hit.
And suddenly Iâm slammed back against the wall. âDamn it, stop.â
From out of nowhere Kevin is there and Iâm breathing so hard I think I might pass out.
âWhat the fuck?â he asks, and then runs his hand down my cheek. I reach up and feel the creases from the grate in my skin. In one place I feel sticky wet. I bring my fingers away and see blood.
âAre you an idiot?â he asks. âOr just trying to torture yourself?â
I donât have an answer for him.
âRoom. Now,â he says and stalks off. I follow, resting a hand on the wall to steady myself.
I fall into my chair and bend over with my head between my knees, trying to catch my breath. A drop of blood falls onto my jeans and I drag the bottom of my shirt across my cheek to catch the rest.
âLook,â he lectures as he stalks back and forth in front of the closed door. âWhat the hell do you want me to do? I canât be in two places at once. I can either be downstairs with them trying to make sure your worst nightmare doesnât happen, or I can sit up here babysitting you. Whatâs it going to be? Youâre really getting on my last nerve.â
I look up just as he grabs the box of Kleenex and throws it at me harder than he needs to. I take one and press it against my cheek.
Kevin sits down on his bed and says, âMaybe you should come down and deal with him. Maybe thatâs just what both of you need.â
âNo way.â My fatherâs face isnât one I ever want to see again.
âSo what do you want me to do?â Kevin asks, leaning toward me.
âGo,â I say. âIâm fine.â But the words hurt as they come out of my mouth, all spiky and pointy edges.
âReally?â he asks, like it couldnât possibly be true. With every step he takes toward the door I feel the room getting bigger and bigger, and emptier and emptier, and I can feel myself start to panic. But no, I know he needs to be down there even if it kills me.
I canât say that, so I nod. He comes back and squeezes my shoulder. His voice is softer now. âJust stay here and try to hold it together. Iâll be back up as soon as heâs gone, okay?â
I nod again.
He leaves and I toss the bloodied tissues into the garbage. I pull out the first book I can find on the shelf, some old science fiction novel of Kevinâs, and wrap myself in a blanket and try to read. The words swim upside down like dying fish in front of my eyes. I push on my temples. My head hurts and my stomach is starting to churn again. I can feel a spin coming on. Itâs so hard to stop the cycle once they start coming.
Iâm really, really tired of the past. I just want it to leave me alone and stay where it belongs. But itâs like that joke. You know, the one that says, âDonât think about elephantsâ and as soon as someone says that, all you think about is not thinking about elephants, which is really thinking about elephants?
Kevin is out playing, which means I get Mom to myself. She pulls out the book of poetry and gestures for me to sit next to her. I crawl up onto the chaise lounge, nestle my head under her arm and stick my thumb in my mouth. Iâm five. Kevin would make fun of me if he was here, but Mom wonât; this is our special time.
She
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