Home of a mother, wife, writer

Writing has been fairly steady this week. At least on my main project. Not so much on the other ones. And it’s raining today, which makes me just want to curl up on the couch and read. Trying to get some other stuff done before I succumb to that. So, here’s the first part of Chapter 8 from Come Back Down:

I settled on one of the steps of the porch, waiting. We were doing a lot of waiting lately. Waiting for the Crows to make another move. Waiting for more information about what they were doing. Waiting to see if Henry added to our troubles.

And, like right now, waiting for Trace to get out of his session with Raven. Unlike what I’d been afraid of, she didn’t try to dig all the way back to my childhood. That didn’t have anything to do with now. We only talked about Henry, what he’d done to me, and how it left me feeling. She never let me get away with saying I was fine.

I don’t know what Trace talked to her about. He wouldn’t tell me. He always seemed so drained after his sessions. He never wanted to do much for the rest of the day, but I didn’t want to leave him during those times either. I figured he needed me more then than at any other time, even if he barely spoke for hours afterward. The time it took him to process whatever happened during the session diminished every time. That was only after a week and three sessions.

I was already having less nightmares and feeling more like myself. For me, it was only a couple months of issues. For Trace, it was a lifetime. I told Raven I’d keep coming, even if we both felt I didn’t need much more than someone to talk to. I could have that with a good friend. As long as it kept Trace going, I’d go as well.

The door opened behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder. Trace stood, his hand still on the door, and drew in a long breath. I got slowly to my feet, studying his face, searching for any sign of how his session had gone.

He looked tired, I could tell that right away. There was something else under it. Maybe dragging all of this up wasn’t helping him. What if it made things worse for him? No. Facing a problem never made things worse. Maybe at first, but it always got better in the end.

“This isn’t working,” he said when he reached me.

“It will. You have to give it more time.”

“It’s only making me hear his voice in my head even more. For hours.” Probably those same hours where he barely spoke. My heart clenched tight at the thought. I wish he would have told me. I would have done my best to drown that asshole’s voice out.

“You have to give it some time,” I told him again. “You’ve spent your whole life with the things he’s said. A few sessions isn’t going to change that.”

He wrapped an arm around my waist, almost like he clung to me. After a moment, he stepped back. “I need to get out of here,” he said.

If you want to read the rest of the chapter, it’s up on Wattpad now.

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