The Anatomy of Perception by AJ Rose

Author:AJ Rose [Rose, AJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-03-07T23:00:00+00:00

Present Day

“Hello?” I said sleepily into my phone, not even attempting to disguise that I’d been nearly unconscious. Peering at the clock, I saw it was just after six in the morning.

“Aw, shit. I was hoping to catch you on shift.”

“Craig?” His voice made me want to put in the effort to wake up. I swallowed, trying to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “It’s okay. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you.”

I fought the covers to free a hand so I could knuckle my eyes to get the sleep crust from the corners. “I’m awake, Craig. For you, I’ll wake up. What is it?”

There was a spate of silence, then his voice crawled timidly from the phone speaker into my ear to curl up and snuggle in, like it belonged.

“I haven’t seen you for a week.”

Suppressing a yawn, I scratched my chest, my morning wood pitching a tent in the sheet. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I picked up a couple new patients and they had scheduling difficulties, so I’ve worked after hours to help them out. Plus, I had some extra sessions with my therapist. I didn’t intend for a whole week to go by.”

It was the truth, though I’d known the extra work would put our schedules at odds. As much as I wanted to be around him, after the dinner with Holly and telling him about my dad killing my brother, I wanted him to have a few days for it all to sink in. I’d discussed it with Dr. Rodriguez, and she agreed, but not for the reasons I had. She said making myself vulnerable would compel me to latch onto the nearest thing that would comfort me, relieve my insecurities, and make me feel better. Vulnerability was the quickest way to end up in a hypervigilant state. Her opinion was that I needed practice controlling my reactions to my surroundings rather than using something or someone not always readily available to combat those moments when my PTSD flared. I needed to rely on my own coping mechanisms. She didn’t discourage outside help or the obvious benefits of a support system, but if I was alone, I’d need to help myself rather than count on a savior.

She was, however, proud of me for having kept myself in check at the restaurant after becoming the focus of everyone’s attention. In retrospect, even though I’d fled prying eyes for the safety of the bathroom, I’d been too focused on how I felt about Craig and what he might have been thinking after my little speech to spiral the way I normally would have. The irrational fear of having made a spectacle of myself didn’t begin the cycle of paranoid thinking it usually did. Then, Craig’s appearance in the bathroom had further distracted me. After I’d gotten home, the full import of the scene struck me, and I’d spent the rest of the night and all of the next day in my bedroom, mulling over the ramifications.

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