“When you woke up in the jail cell, how did that make you feel?”
Cam scowled and gritted his teeth, tracing his finger along the piping of the gray upholstered armchair. It’d taken a few days to get a meeting with human resources and then another week or so before the UN-approved therapist had availability. He’d managed to stay away from alcohol during that time, and some small part of him hoped the UN would leave it at that. But no luck. He’d already promised Izzy, Ty, and Teresa that he would see someone, so he was seeing someone, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Like shit.”
From her matching armchair across a low coffee table, Dr. Jacqueline Brown smiled politely at his curt response. She probably got a lot of those. “And what does ‘shit’ feel like, exactly?”
Cam sighed. It was going to be one hell of a long hour if she kept asking him to elaborate when he didn’t know what answer she was looking for. He glanced around the room, as if the answer might be written on the pale-gray walls, or the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, or the fake plant in the corner. For a place purported to help those with mental health issues, the therapist’s office looked kind of bleak.
“Like everything hurt: my head, my body. Everything.”
“And what about your emotions?” Dr. Brown was calm and casual, as if this were nothing but small talk over a cup of coffee rather than digging through Cam’s psyche.
“What about my emotions?”
She clicked her pen open and wrote something on her notepad, the tilt of her head sending her braids cascading over her shoulder. “Mr. Donnelly.” She regarded him with her big brown eyes and wide, friendly smile, hands folded neatly over the notepad. “I know it can be hard to talk to someone about these things, especially someone you’ve only recently met. So, let me lay out some ground rules before we go any further. I can only help you as much as you want to be helped. And if you want help, that means talking about your feelings. I know, I know.” She raised her hand to preempt any protests. “Feelings can be difficult to talk about. But that’s what we’re here for. I want to know what you’re feeling—your emotions—and how those feelings are informing your decision making and behavior.”
She paused, and Cam waited for her to continue.
“Do you think that’s something you can do?”
He certainly didn’t want to do it. But could he do it? Cam thought back to waking up in the jail cell, Ty finding him on the floor of the shower, the way Izzy’s eyes had teared up when she made it over to Ty’s apartment later that night. His brain couldn’t fully comprehend why they cared, but they wanted him to do this. So, perhaps . . . perhaps for them, he could do it.
The words caught in his throat. He reached for the water sitting on the table next to him. The cool liquid helped, but he couldn’t stop the thought that the stinging bite of alcohol would have been more effective. He held the cup in his lap, gripping it with both hands, and studied the way the edge of the water tilted up as it made contact with the side of the glass.
“I felt scared.” He sounded raw and broken in a way he didn’t recognize.
Dr. Brown nodded. “Scared of what?”
“I don’t . . . feel like me, anymore.” The darkness called out to him with a prickling sensation rippling across his skin. His fingers ached from their grip on the glass.
“How do you feel right now?”
It was daunting to admit out loud what had been slowly driving him insane from the inside. The words resisted him. “I feel . . . the darkness. It’s getting closer.”
“The darkness? Tell me more about the darkness.”
“It’s . . .” Cam squeezed his eyes shut. “It’s a safe place. No demands, no pressure. I can just be.”
“Hm, demands and pressures. Can you elaborate? What do you mean by that?”
“It’s . . .” Cam blinked, and when he reopened his eyes, Dr. Brown was scribbling on her notebook. “A lot rides on me being able to do my job well.”
She lifted her head, hands folded across her notepad. “Such as?”
“Lives.” He hadn’t known he was going to say the word, but the moment it slipped out, he felt a physical blow at that raw spot deep inside, past where his darkness lurked. “If I don’t do my job, people die.” Cam said it like it was a revelation, like puzzle pieces clicking into place. Sucking air into lungs that had momentarily forgotten how to work, he lifted his gaze to find Dr. Brown with that same pleasantly stoic expression on her face.
“Does that apply to both your job here and the job you had in the field?”
“Yeah, yes, of course.” His heart beat a rapid thump in his chest.
“And when did you start experiencing this darkness?”
“A while ago.”
“Days? Months? Years?”
“Years. Many years.”
Dr. Brown scribbled some more before continuing. “Do you remember the first time you experienced the darkness?”
Cam frowned into his glass. It was a part of his life one day, like a freckle that he never noticed developing, and it didn’t matter because he had a million freckles, so what was one more? “I don’t know.”
“How about your earliest memory of the darkness?” she asked. “Close your eyes and think back. Last year? The year before? Keep moving backward until you arrive at the first time you remember encountering the darkness.”
Silence settled over them as Cam scrolled back through years and years of memories. He’d been in the Congo, and his team had been held up at gunpoint for a couple of days; afterward he’d gone drinking at a local expat bar and woken up in his bunk with no clear recollection of how he’d gotten there.
Then in Chad, the situation on the ground had been rough, and someone returning from an R&R trip had brought back some decent whiskey; they’d finished the entire bottle over the course of an evening. Uganda was emergency after emergency, and half his staff had caught some weird bug and had to be evacuated—his first R&R trip in almost a year had been spent in a drunken haze, and he’d returned to work more drained than when he’d left.
And then, of course, there was Nigeria.
Cam opened his eyes. He didn’t want to remember Nigeria. Already his heart was racing and his lungs were empty of air.
“What is it?” Dr. Brown asked. “Mr. Donnelly?”
He sucked in oxygen with a shaking breath. “Listen, I’ve seen a lot of shit out there. So if we’re talking traumatic experiences, I’ve got plenty to choose from. When did this whole darkness thing start? I honestly couldn’t tell you. Maybe between the third and fourth funeral I went to for kids who died because of malnutrition or inadequate health care? Maybe the first gun fight I got caught in? Who knows.”
“Okay, you’ve seen a lot of shit, as you say.” Dr. Brown was infuriatingly calm. “Take me back to the first one, and we’ll go from there.”
Cam gritted his teeth. “Seriously? You want to go through all of them?”
She cocked her head. “If that’s what it takes.”
He released his death grip on the glass to run a hand over his face, only to find that the glass trembled dangerously.
“Mr. Donnelly?” She was patient but stern.
He didn’t want to talk about the first one. He could talk about every single one after that, but he didn’t want to talk about that one.
“I know this is hard, Mr. Donnelly. But if you don’t talk about it, it’s going to fester. Isn’t that how you got to be in the situation you’re in now?”
Fuck Dr. Brown and her logic.
With shaking hands, he put the glass back down on the table and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, fingers rubbing his temples. He wasn’t sure his voice would cooperate, even if he wanted to talk.
“I . . .” He cleared his throat. “I was, uh, based in Nigeria.” In his mind, he could see the UN office, picture the guard by the entrance. “About eight years ago, I think.” Images of all the people he’d worked with floated by, like old pictures in a photo album, until he landed on the one. A young man with a shy smile. He’d been earnest, friendly, and inquisitive. “He was a local volunteer. His name was . . .”
It hovered at the tip of his tongue but fizzled out before the memory could be formed into a sound. He went back to it, digging around for the young man’s name, testing random vowels to see if they fit the empty space the name once occupied. No—he had to remember the name, he couldn’t have forgotten it. Guilt settled on him, thick and heavy, and he buried his face in his hands.
“Don’t worry about the name for now,” Dr. Brown said. “It’ll come back to you. Tell me what happened to this man.”
Pieces of memories, dusty with age, materialized on the pages of the photo album; snippets of places and conversations flitted past as he flipped through. “He was gay. It was dangerous to be gay in Nigeria. We talked about that a lot. He confided in me.”
He turned the page. “I was very vocal about being gay back then. I’d gotten some warnings.” Cam remembered the looks he got sometimes from random people he didn’t know, and that tingle of fear that ran down his spine. He remembered the conversations with his country director, which he’d dismissed as backward and old-fashioned.
“I went looking for him one day.” He paused and searched through the pieces of memories. “I don’t remember why I was looking for him. There was a group of men crowded together on the street. That’s not too unusual, but something felt wrong.”
The next pages of the album were blank, black holes where no memories existed. Then a few pages later, the memories came back. “I don’t know what happened.” Cam pushed himself upright, hands gripping his knees. He was still in Dr. Brown’s office, but he didn’t see the shelves of books or the gray couch along the wall. He didn’t see her sitting opposite him, observing him, with a slight frown creasing her forehead.
The darkness called to him, wanting to pull him away from the memory and leave it where it was buried. It would be easy to give in, to let the darkness wash it all away. But then he’d forever be the disgraced alcoholic aid worker getting picked up by the police because he passed out on a park bench somewhere.
He held it off. “I remember my pants were wet at my knees from where I was kneeling beside him. His fingers were bent out of shape. I was afraid to touch him, in case I injured him more. Not that it made a difference in the end.”
He remembered the soul-deep anger and how he wanted to take a baseball bat to the men who’d done this. He might as well have been the one wielding the weapons that had killed the young man who had confided in him. He remembered the conversations about coming out and how every word he’d spoken was essentially a death sentence.
Cam collapsed back into the armchair, heels of his hands over his eyes.
“Aduba Okeke.”
“Excuse me?”
“The man’s name was Aduba Okeke.” How could he ever have forgotten? Aduba, racked with nerves when he approached Cam to talk about his sexuality. His eagerness to volunteer, to help in whatever way he could. His dream of becoming a UN aid worker one day.
Cam gave up the fight and let himself sink into the darkness. His skin crawled and tremors shook his limbs. He needed a glass of whiskey and a cigarette in his hands.
“Mr. Donnelly.” Dr. Brown’s sounded far-off and muffled. “Mr. Donnelly. Cameron, listen to my voice.”
Did he want to listen to her voice? Maybe he wanted to stay here, where it was safe and dark and insulated.
“Cameron, focus on the sound of my voice and follow it back to me.”
He turned toward it warily, but took a tiny, tentative step in its direction.
“I’m right here. We’re in my office, in Midtown, New York.” She was a little closer now, a little clearer. “We’re talking through some things, and I know it’s difficult, but we’re going to get you through this, okay?”
Cam took a breath and the darkness slipped off him to wait in the curtains. He blinked, and when everything finally came back into focus, the office suddenly looked a lot brighter than it had moments ago.
“Cameron, are you with me?” Dr. Brown leaned forward in her chair, notepad discarded.
His hands still shook and his skin still crawled, but he was here. He nodded.
“Good. We’re going to get you through this.”
Ty was early to the restaurant and asked for the table next to the kitchen door. He took the seat with his back to the front door, then turned sideways to watch for Cam over his shoulder.
It had been more than two weeks since he’d brought Cam home from the police station only to find him huddled on the floor of the shower, rocking back and forth. His eyes had been haunted and filled with so much emotion Ty couldn’t understand it all. The image played over and over in his mind, and no matter how many times he pushed it aside, it kept coming back.
And every time it played, he’d get the feeling again, the one he’d had in Cam’s apartment that reminded him of times he didn’t want to dwell on. The feeling got stronger with each replay of Cam on his shower floor, and with it, random snippets of memories of his mom: the way she tucked him under her arm as she read to him; the smell of burning in the kitchen which meant they’d be ordering pizza for dinner; the look in her eyes as she tried to smile through the pain.
The bell on top of the restaurant’s door jingled and pulled Ty from his thoughts. Cam scanned the room, eyes darting from table to table before finally returning to settle on him. He looked so much better than the last time Ty had seen him. He still had bags under his eyes, but they weren’t as dark as before; his cheeks didn’t look sunken in, but maybe that was because of the short, neatly trimmed beard.
Ty tilted his head as he pondered the new look. The beard wasn’t bad; the man bun Cam had had in Kenya was a deal breaker, but Ty could get behind a nice beard.
As Cam made his way to their table, he unzipped his winter coat, revealing a pair of snug-fitting jeans and a graphic tee with a picture of a bulldog and the caption I bite.
“Nice T-shirt,” Ty said as Cam slid into the empty chair.
“Huh?” Confusion crossed Cam’s face, and he looked down at his chest. “Oh, Izzy. She threw out all my old clothes when I moved back. I didn’t really have a say in any of the new stuff.”
“She’s got good taste.”
Cam leaned both elbows on the small table between them, hands clasped. “Better than me.”
Questions about the last two weeks lined up to roll off Ty’s tongue, but he ignored their poking and let the silence stretch between them. In the past, the silence had at times been awkward, full of uncertainty and apprehension, but it seemed different now, and Ty had never quite experienced anything like it before. A comfortable silence, one he was loath to break. How strange.
“Thanks for meeting me.” Cam’s gaze dropped to his hands.
“No problem.” Ty dragged his chair closer to the table, and his knees bumped against Cam’s. “Sorry,” he said as he felt Cam pull his legs back.
Cam let out a short breath and smiled—it wasn’t quite forced, but not quite natural, either. “It’s okay.”
The waitress approached. “Hi, guys. Welcome to the Anchor. Is this your first time here?” She set down glasses of water as she rattled off the special brunch items. “I’ll give you a moment to look at the menu.”
As the waitress walked away, the tension eased noticeably from Cam’s shoulders.
“How are you doing?” Ty asked.
Cam cocked his head to the side and paused before answering. “I’ve been worse.”
Ty turned in his seat so he could cross his legs at the knees out from under the table. “That’s not very encouraging.” He rested one elbow on the table.
“Yeah, well . . .” Cam trailed off as his eyes shifted around the restaurant.
A beat passed in silence. “Izzy said you went to see a therapist.”
Cam’s eyes shot back to him. “You’ve been talking to Izzy?”
Ty half winced. “More like she sends me messages randomly without any prompting. She’s honestly the best source I’ve ever come across—valuable information and I never even have to ask for it.”
Cam shut his eyes with a sigh and shook his head. “Goddamn Izzy. She can never keep her mouth shut.”
“She’s worried about you.”
“I know.” Cam glared at him, but there was no anger. “Yeah, I’ve been seeing someone; got referred to a therapist through the UN.”
“They didn’t issue any disciplinary action, did they?”
“Well, there’s the therapy. That feels disciplinary.” The wry little smile on Cam’s lips told Ty that was supposed to be a joke. “They’re calling it a ‘workplace injury,’ so I guess I got off easy. HR gets progress reports from the therapist, and I have to go to these status check-ins every month.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
Cam shrugged. “Could have been a lot worse. My coworkers all stare at me like I’m a crazy man.”
They locked eyes for a moment before both breaking out into grins. It was surprising to see a bit of Cam’s humor, self-deprecating though it was. But it felt a little fragile around the edges, as if Cam wasn’t sure how to embrace that side of himself, or if he was allowed to.
The waitress came back with two coffees and took their brunch order: French toast with fruit for Cam, eggs Benedict for Ty. When the waitress left, Cam did that open-and-close thing with his mouth. With fingers tracing the handle of his coffee mug, Ty waited for Cam to form the words he wanted to speak.
“Thank you.” His voice was thick when he finally spoke. “For bailing me out at the police station.”
Cam’s eyes met his, and Ty noticed that they were once again the bright clear color he remembered from their first few meetings. Green eyes that were defensive and vulnerable in turn, a window into a complex soul that had caught Ty’s imagination and wouldn’t let go.
Behind all of Ty’s time-toughened defenses, his personal space was shifting, changing shape to accommodate Cam inside. It felt weird, having someone inside, but it also felt nice—a little too nice.
“You’re welcome.”
Cam smiled at him, the same one he had for the kids in Kenya, for his family on the flight home. And now . . . for Ty? He swallowed around the weird lump in his throat and broke eye contact before taking a sip of his rich, hot coffee.
“So, how’s the therapy going?”
Cam dropped his gaze to his coffee before he also took a sip. “It’s fine. It’s . . . hard.” He leaned away from the table. “It’s a lot of talking about feelings. But I got a dog. He’s called Busker.”
“You got a dog? From therapy?”
That smile again, the one that lit up his eyes. “Yeah, some old mutt from the Humane Society. He’s about as messed up as I am. Half-blind and slobbers everywhere.”
Ty grimaced at the description. “He sounds horrible.”
“Yeah.” Cam cocked his head. “He’d drive you insane.”
Ty suppressed a shudder at the thought of dog slobber all over his apartment.
“Anyway, Busker was a homework assignment.” Cam paused as the waitress returned with their food.
The aroma of freshly fried ham mixed with the acidity of hollandaise wafted up from his plate, and Ty’s mouth watered at the beautiful presentation before him. He picked up his cutlery and immediately sliced a neat slit into his poached egg, the yolk running out and soaking through the English muffin underneath.
It took him a moment to notice that Cam was frowning at his plate. “Is it okay?” Ty asked, nodding at the French toast.
Cam’s gaze shot up quickly, then back down. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” He picked up a fork and poked at the artfully piled fruit.
Ty cut off a piece of English muffin, ham, and egg; piled it all on his fork; and placed the entire thing in his mouth. Across from him, Cam cut his French toast into different-sized chunks, selected the smallest one, and nibbled at it.
“So, homework?” Ty asked as he compiled another forkful of food. “Tell me more about that.”
Cam gave a half shrug with one shoulder. “Not much to tell, really. I have to keep a journal.” He scrunched up his face and directed it at his plate. “And write down what I feel every day.”
“Does it help?”
Cam pushed his food around a little more before giving another half shrug. “I don’t know. It’s exhausting, though.” He dropped his fork and reached for his coffee.
“And the dog? How is he homework?” Ty placed his cutlery down, each balanced symmetrically on either side of his plate.
“He’s supposed to make me feel better.” Cam’s lips curled at the corners. The mention of the dog seemed to help lighten his mood. He sat up straighter, as if shaking off invisible weights.
“Looks like he’s doing his job.”
Cam glanced at him, eyes wide with a hint of surprise. “Yeah, I guess he is.” The look on his face was a little dreamy, and Ty felt a sudden pang of jealousy of the dog.
He took a sip of his coffee and picked up his cutlery. Jealous of a dog, how ridiculous. Assembling the various components of his food, he took a bite and chewed with a little more aggression than was necessary for poached eggs.
On Cam’s fork was a piece of strawberry, and he pushed it around in the pools of maple syrup. Once it was fully coated, he slipped it off the fork onto the edge of the plate and stabbed a ball of cantaloupe to repeat the process.
Ty watched for a moment. “You don’t have to pretend to eat if you’re not hungry.”
Tension rippled across Cam’s shoulders, and the fork clanged where it dropped onto the plate. Cam looked around the restaurant, eyes once again darting from the door to each table and then back to the door.
Ty lowered his fork and followed Cam’s gaze. There was nothing out of the ordinary: casual diners and harried waitstaff. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Sorry.” Cam shifted, scraping his chair across the floor, and then put an elbow on the table to cradle his temple on his fingers. His eyes slid shut, and he let out his breath in a huff.
Ty said nothing. He held his coffee between both hands, elbows braced lightly on the tabletop, and waited. It was a couple of moments before Cam came back to him, and when he opened his eyes, they held that vulnerability that had so drawn Ty to him.
“Sorry, it comes and goes, and I haven’t figured out what triggers it yet.” Cam sat up straight again and stared at his food as if it had done something to offend him.
“What do you mean?”
“This reaction.” Cam waved a hand in the air, then dropped it on the table. “And my appetite. Or rather, my lack of appetite. It’s fine one day and I’m eating full meals, and then the next I can’t even swallow one bite. Dr. Brown says it’s part of my whole . . .” He waved his hand around again.
PTSD? The journalist in Ty wanted specifics, but he stopped himself. “And what does he say you’re supposed to do about it?” Ty put his coffee back down but didn’t pick up his fork.
“She’s a she. She said I should try to eat at least something every day.” Cam rubbed his hand over his face. “If I can maintain my weight, she’d rather focus on other things first.”
“So, do you want to try to finish your food?” Ty braced his hands on his thighs.
Cam stared at his plate for a moment longer before looking away, a little sad and defeated. “Not really.”
Ty grabbed the cloth napkin from off his lap, dabbed his lips, and dropped it on the table next to his plate. “Then let’s get out of here.” He waved to the waitress and asked for the bill.
When he turned back, Cam was staring at him incredulously. “Seriously? But you’re not finished, either.”
“That’s fine.” Ty smiled as Cam eyed him suspiciously. “Really, it’s fine. Why don’t you go wait for me outside?”
“But the bill—”
“I’ve got it.” Ty waved him off.
“But you didn’t get to finish your food.”
Ty surprised himself, reaching across the table and grasping Cam’s hand. “I ate about ten more bites than you did. I’ve got it.” He nodded toward the door. “Go wait for me outside. You probably need a smoke, anyway, don’t you?”
Cam narrowed his eyes at him but didn’t argue. Then his gaze dropped to where their hands lay on the table. Right when Ty moved to pull his hand back, Cam flipped his around and held on. It was a simple gesture, but Ty’s personal space shifted again and locked into a new formation with Cam firmly on the inside. When Cam peered up at him, the bustle and hum of the restaurant faded to nothing.
“Here you go, sir. You can pay up at the counter.” The waitress broke through their moment, and Ty dragged in a breath.
“Thanks.” He took the little clipboard and then gave Cam’s hand one last squeeze. “Go, I’ll be out in a minute.” He waited as Cam weaved his way through the tables and exited the door before he went to pay for their uneaten meal.
He was in uncharted territory. Letting Cam inside his personal space was one thing—new and terrifying but something he could deal with—but that look they’d shared was about more than personal space. Cam was moving way beyond that and rubbing up against the walls of his heart.
Cam at his worst had been difficult to turn down. But Cam all sobered up and actively trying to work through his PTSD was damn near irresistible.
Ty didn’t step outside immediately after paying. Instead, he paused inside the door where he could see Cam with a cigarette in hand, blowing smoke into the chilly near-winter air.
Ty swallowed against his dry mouth. His personal space was precious, but his heart was off-limits. The problem was, he didn’t know how to keep Cam out. Only one thing was certain: he was fucking terrified.
Outside, Cam glanced over his shoulder and spotted him through the glass window. Ty forced himself to grin and pushed open the door.
“You good?” he asked as he joined Cam outside, grin firmly in place.
“Yeah.” Cam put his smoke out with the heel of his shoe. “Thanks for brunch.”
“No problem.”
They fell into step, walking along the sidewalk. “Listen,” Ty started, his stomach churning with the ten bites of food he’d eaten. “Something came up at work, and I’ve got to pop in for a bit.”
“Oh?” Cam peered over at him.
How had he missed the hint of auburn in those long lashes after all this time? Ty stopped himself before he swayed closer.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry. But I’ve got to go.” Ty’s heart skipped a beat at the confusion on Cam’s face.
“Okay. Um, before you go, though.” Cam dropped his head, his hands stuffed into his coat pockets. “I know it’s a bit early, but I wanted to ask if you were doing anything for Thanksgiving.”
“Thanksgiving?” Ty did a quick mental inventory; he was off for Thanksgiving, but he had to work Christmas. That is, if he still had a job.
“Yeah, uh, Izzy and I are going up to our parents and, um, would you like to come?” Cam nibbled at his lip and shifted from foot to foot.
The walls of his heart gave a little as Cam brushed up against them hard. “Um, wow, um, thanks. I, uh, I’ll need to check my schedule to see if I’m working.” The lie felt like ash on his tongue.
Cam nodded. “Yeah, sure, let me know.”
“Yeah, I will. Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll be in touch, okay?”
“Yeah.” Cam leaned forward an inch, and Ty took an involuntary step backward, half turning to scan for a cab coming down the street.
As one rolled to a stop, Ty called out over his shoulder. “Thanks again.”
Cam nodded at him and Ty ignored the way his eyes had narrowed, the beard-covered jaw clenched tight, and tension lined the shoulders. As he slid into the back seat of the cab, Ty forced himself to focus on his hands in his lap rather than peek out the window at Cam as he receded into the distance.