When James emerged from the shower, he looked better- physically, at least. Sitting next to the stove, I narrowed my pupils to get a clearer look at the swirling darkness that flashed in his eyes. He was silent, sauntering to the kitchen table with tiny droplets of water falling from his ear-length hair and onto broad shoulders. My heart squeezed when he sat stiffly, staring in front of himself with an almost blank expression painted on his face.

“… I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, Caroline.” James slurred slightly, as if his mind and mouth were moving slower than they should’ve. He refused to look at me as he stretched his legs under the table, and I wheeled myself over to his side before he parted his lips again. “I just- really… really don’t want to talk about that. This house… I-“

“Hey- hey… James. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain or apologize.” My soft coo was accompanied by the pop of oil and juices from the steaks on the stove, but I didn’t tear my gaze from James. Reaching for his hand, I held as much of it as I could and squeezed hard. “I’m not going to begrudge you for your secrets. We don’t even know each other, after all… but- you know, sometimes the best people to talk to are strangers. Strangers are unbiased. Whatever happened, I probably won’t understand it, but I can try to help you through it.”

“I want to change the house. Will you help? With that?” Finally, James glanced at me, and I went a little wide eyed at the helplessness he displayed. Without thought I nodded dumbly, and he let out a shaky breath before copying me. “You were right- it’s going to drive me fucking insane.”

“You want to remodel because of what happened here?” What the fuck kind of crazy was he thinking of in the shower? In those ten minutes it was as if his hardened exterior had swirled down the drain with the water.

His vulnerability was honestly pretty charming.

“Yeah-“ Bringing me out of my thoughts, James leaned back to release a harsh sigh. He seemed so pleased that I understood what he wanted, the wrinkles thinning around his mouth and nose. “I’ve been through a lot of shit, Caroline… but that- I can’t get over that. It’s fucked up that you came here for my help and now I need yours.”

“It’s not fucked up at all, James. I’d be glad to help you.” I wasn’t blind enough to see that my being here had knocked a few gears off kilter for James. Squeezing my hand, he cracked a ghost of a smile before I pulled away to roll myself back to the stove. Behind me, I could almost hear him putting the pieces of himself back together, and I knew he’d built himself up again when he cleared his throat roughly.

Carefully flipping the steaks, I set down the fork to glance down at my feet. If it wasn’t for James, I wouldn’t have them- or at least one of them. I’d be stuck in a chair like this, never able to do my passion again. Just thinking about it tightened my chest and made it hard to breathe.

“I wasn’t like this a year ago. Frank really fucked with my head…” Mumbling almost to himself, James pulled my attention as he frowned into space. Folding my hands in my lap, I scanned the softened contours of his face before opening my mouth.

“No one is the same as they were even yesterday. Just like no one knows who they’ll be tomorrow.” Jerking slightly, James lolled his head to look at me through narrowed eyes, and I shrugged absently. “A therapist told me that once when I was 15 and dealing with teenager crap. She said that things that happened even a fraction of a second ago weren’t real- they were just memories. It’s up to me to figure out how to deal with those memories and what they make me feel. You can let it control you, or you can accept that the only way it exists is because you let it.”

“Do you really believe that ‘time is an illusion’ bullshit?” Once again, I shrugged, but happiness flooded my chest at the incredulous tone in James’ voice. He sounded almost affronted that I would ever even suggest such a thing, and I knew in that second that his little episode had passed.

“No. Just like I don’t believe that changing is so easy- especially with trauma. I still have times when I get this overwhelming hatred for my mother for abandoning me- for being who she is and not someone better. Just like whatever you experienced isn’t going to just disappear because you want it to.” Exposing myself to James was becoming increasingly easy and thoughtless, and I ran my fingers through my hair as his low grunt reached my ears. “I’m not saying you have to talk to me, but you should resolve some of these issues, James. They’re not going to go away.”

“… I’ll think about it.” That answer was enough for me, and I nodded firmly before turning to the stove. James didn’t have much in his kitchen, but by some miracle I managed to find a package of instant mashed potatoes. Steak and potatoes was a great way to end just a heavy conversation, and I reached over the sizzling meat to check the pot of water on the back burner.

“Imagine what I could do if I could stand and you had proper food in your cabinets…” Officially changing the subject, I smiled into the steam that billowed from the cast iron pan on the front burner. Behind me, James’ chair creaked slightly when he shuffled, and I glanced around for a can of corn sitting on the counter.

“Do you cook a lot?” Fondness struck my heart, and I set the can in my lap to grab a waiting can opener.

“Yeah. I like it. Sheila taught me a lot. She always said that I would die if I ate my dad’s cooking. He lived on Big Man microwaveable meals unless she cooked for him, and when she retired, I just kind of took over. I don’t do her any justice, though.” I could still remember the first time I’d set the kitchen on fire; I was only 6 years old and had tried to use the toaster by myself. Chuckling lightly at the memory, I gazed out over the stove top before James spoke up.

“My mom never cooked. They were pretty wealthy even before Nick started hauling in cash, so we always had someone do that for us. I don’t even remember if it was a guy or a woman… And going into the military didn’t help. All our shit comes in bags- just add water. It doesn’t even have to be hot water. After I got out, I learned to make a few things, but even then, it’s mostly take out.” There wasn’t the thinnest thread of guilt in James’ voice, and I laughed in earnest. Swiveling my chair around, I grinned at the smirk on his face; he clearly wasn’t proud of not knowing how to cook, but he wasn’t going to admit he was full of shit, either.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m here. If I had to eat another ration I would wheel my ass right out of this place. You’ve obviously tricked yourself into thinking they have flavor…- And what’s better is that I know how to cook game. My 28 years on this Earth are coming in handy.” The banter was almost playful, and James’ smirk grew wide as he twisted in his seat. His hair was dry and somewhat frizzy, and when he moved his shirt strained against his muscles. The display was almost distracting until I met his eye, and for once there wasn’t darkness there. Instead, the abyss had been replaced with a sparkle.

“I assume your dad taught you how to shoot, right?” Humming affirmative, I leaned against the cloth that stretched along the back of the wheelchair to clasp my hands in my lap. My corn and can opener were forgotten, and James cocked his head with mischief on his face. “Kiki’s usually the one that goes for the kill shot, though. Do you not like that kind of stuff?”

“Not really. I’m fine skinning and butchering, but actually killing an animal… I just don’t like to. Besides, Kiki got really good at understanding ‘only kill what we’re going to eat’. I’m always afraid I’ll miss and kill something that’s too big for us alone- especially since there’s no refrigerator in my tent.” Smiling at my dog as she laid against the back of the couch, I absently took hold of the objects in my lap to work them. “It’s difficult to remember what I did before I had her. It’s weird when I say it out loud, but she really changed my life in ways I never thought a dog could.”