[ The look on her face mirrors his, because he's thinking about something similar, even though it's something he doesn't like to remember. His memories of what happened in the days and weeks after his return are shifty at best, but he can still recall bits and pieces of things. He remembers having moments of sheer terror and accidentally lashing out because of fear, and he remembers needles and injections with medications to sedate him. He remembers wanting to just be allowed to leave, to be let go, recoiling from the idea of being monitored and looked at and poked and prodded.
But the whole time, he was told he wasn't stable enough, that he needed to stay until he'd recovered enough from his ordeal. If he could have, he would have scoffed at that word, because it hardly described the hell that he'd gone through over the last thirteen years.
But he doesn't want to think about that now; he doesn't want to remember feeling helplessly afraid when the sedating medication began pulling him under. He fought so long to be awake and stay awake, so when he felt the medication dragging him down, he fought against that too, but it was only a losing battle.
Stop, I don't want to think about this anymore.
He rolls over immediately when Jesse asks him to, partly so he can try and hide his face from her in case any of his uneasiness from his memories shows. A sigh escapes him as she begins touching his neck, his shoulders, anywhere the knots of tension appear. Of course, there's so much of it that it doesn't go away that quickly, and his mind's tendency to drag up memories he'd rather not think about ever again doesn't help. ]
When you're done, I want to do this for you too. [ She deserves to be cared for too, and he intends to do that as best as he can. ] Yeah, the bed is great. It- It's great.
[ Sometimes he finds it difficult to put into words what he's thinking or feeling, which feels wrong at the same time, because he remembers times when he did nothing but talk about how he felt or what he thought, but maybe it's simply because talking about such normal things as a bed or a couch is unfamiliar territory to him now. Maybe it'll become normal again with time. He hopes it does. ]
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But the whole time, he was told he wasn't stable enough, that he needed to stay until he'd recovered enough from his ordeal. If he could have, he would have scoffed at that word, because it hardly described the hell that he'd gone through over the last thirteen years.
But he doesn't want to think about that now; he doesn't want to remember feeling helplessly afraid when the sedating medication began pulling him under. He fought so long to be awake and stay awake, so when he felt the medication dragging him down, he fought against that too, but it was only a losing battle.
Stop, I don't want to think about this anymore.
He rolls over immediately when Jesse asks him to, partly so he can try and hide his face from her in case any of his uneasiness from his memories shows. A sigh escapes him as she begins touching his neck, his shoulders, anywhere the knots of tension appear. Of course, there's so much of it that it doesn't go away that quickly, and his mind's tendency to drag up memories he'd rather not think about ever again doesn't help. ]
When you're done, I want to do this for you too. [ She deserves to be cared for too, and he intends to do that as best as he can. ] Yeah, the bed is great. It- It's great.
[ Sometimes he finds it difficult to put into words what he's thinking or feeling, which feels wrong at the same time, because he remembers times when he did nothing but talk about how he felt or what he thought, but maybe it's simply because talking about such normal things as a bed or a couch is unfamiliar territory to him now. Maybe it'll become normal again with time. He hopes it does. ]