Physical Therapy

The dreams, well, nightmares, started again on Wednesday night. I had a few flashbacks since the wedding but had been able to calm myself, I had decided to go off my medication, and was working on just using my coping skills

I picture him standing over me, watching me drown in the pool. I felt him beating me. Felt the strikes against me, felt the violation, as though all of it was happening in real time. I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night, and thankfully Jon was home around 9am.

“Holy shit.” He surveyed the living room, I had spent all night organizing the boxes, I had managed to integrate a lot of his things in with mine, putting up pictures that we both had and mixing some of the few personal things in with mine. I also managed to repack most of the other boxes. He has no idea how to pack and it showed, total guy. Everything was sorted into clear tubs, with labels; thank someone for 24 hour Wal-Mart.

“Is this okay?” I look around, realizing I had pretty much invaded his personal things without asking.

“How long have you been up doing this?” I was working on the last box, 12 clear tubs stacked neatly and the last one halfway done. I nervously bite my lip and pull open the last cardboard box, easily the oldest one.

“A while, I couldn’t sleep last night, too excited to see you.” I shoot him a sweet smile, determined not to worry him. His travel for the next few weeks is a lot, Colorado, Canada, Japan, and then the stint on the east coast prior to Battleground. When he got his schedule, we only had one date that lined up, Raw; otherwise I was traveling elsewhere or going to my recertification class.

“This is incredible, your-our place looks great.” He bends down and sits cross-legged beside me as I move old childhood wrestling memorabilia into the tub, gently moving tattered, well-read magazines over one at a time. He catches me moving the stuff after he continues gawking at everything in our place.

“Holy shit, I forgot about this box.” He starts picking up the magazines and looking at them with zeal that I can only describe as a little kid on Christmas day.

“You, good sir, are a pack rat.” I place a light kiss on his nose and he gives me a Dean Ambrose look, crazy eyes and snarled lip. “But I still love you anyway.” I whisper it, just knowing he is here makes me calm, gives me hope that the nightmares won’t come back.

I continue moving things over while he looks at the magazine, when I stumble upon a picture, a small 4x6 of a little blond boy with a blond lady, at what looks like Chuck E. Cheese.

“Is this your mom?” I say it gently, we have discussed her a few times, but with him I know it’s like walking around landmines, tiptoeing gently around the issue, coming close but not too close.

“Yeah.” He says tersely and his jaw clenches up, I can see the anger and resentment flaring in his eyes, so I run a hand down his arm and grab his hand, squeezing it gently to ground him, bring him back from the dark place he refuses to share with me.

I almost don’t say it, I know it’s wrong, but I do anyway. “Will I ever get to meet her?” He stares at me like I am crazy, none of the Dean Ambrose crazy but a genuine are you kidding me look.

“Why would you want to? Why would I let you?” He spits it out, and he’s angry, trying to keep himself in check.

“Because she’s part of you.” I can’t look at him, my mom is gone and I miss her. I know he won’t ever have that relationship with her but I can’t imagine never meeting the person who brought him into the world.

“It’s not happening.” His tone is resolute, final. I nod my head and hurridly rush the rest of the stuff into the bin. I feel myself beginning to cry and rush into the bedroom, closing the door behind me. I go into the closet, closing the door again and sit down against the wall. I feel myself slipping, and I start sobbing uncontrollably.

All of it. The nightmare. The flashbacks. Jon closing me out. Jon cheating. Everything comes crashing down on me and I feel the pain tear through me. I don’t hear myself screaming. I don’t feel myself shaking or rocking back and forth. I don’t feel the tears flowing down me face or my nails digging into my legs. But then I feel his arms, his arms around me

“Come back to me. Come back to me.” I feel the warmth of his chest and the strength of his arms around me. He whispers it over and over again, I loosen my grip on my legs and open my eyes, blurry at first but I see his, staring straight into me.

“There you are.” He says it softly again, a small smile tugging on his lips, trying to reassure me but I see the fear and sadness in his eyes. He gives me a few minutes of just silence, staring at me intently, with a look of love. “What is going on?”

“Nothing.” I try to brush it off, but I know he won’t let it go that easily.

“That’s bullshit.” He doesn’t say it harshly. “You ran in here like your ass was on fire and not a minute later I hear you screaming your head off and find you crying, not in your head, making yourself bleed by digging your nails into you. What is going on?”

“Nothing.” I say again, I am not bringing this up now, I have 48 hours before he leaves me and I am not going to let this ruin that time.

“Seriously? Don’t close me out.” He says it calmly but I detect warning in there.

“Isn’t that what you JUST did?” I spit it back, and narrow my eyes at him.

“That’s not the same thing, princess.” He looks at me, wounded, but understanding.

“That’s bullshit.” I mimic his previous tone, stand up and lock myself in the bathroom; I take the hottest shower I can take and will myself to get my shit together.

-----------------------

I had a nightmare last night, but by the time Jon started to wake up I was able to play it off and pretend to sleep. I stand at the BBQ on the rooftop, Jon manning the grill and Phil talking to some friends. He took it over for me when I told him I didn’t have the energy, he ended up inviting some of his friends from the Blackhawks, the party quickly growing from 5 to nearly 20.

I catch Jon looking over at me several times, concern etched all over his face. I hardly slept last night, and I look it. Oh and I am nearly drunk. As soon as I reached the deck, I popped the tequila and started doing shots with Saad.

“What’s his deal?” Brandon Saad asks me, nodding towards Jon.

“Dunno, don’t care. Shot?” He looks at me skeptically and pours us another one.

“How long you guys been together?” Saad and I had always flirted, and I was pushing my limit even more, running my hand on his shoulder and licking the salt from his hand. I knew I was walking a line but I didn’t care, I was mad at Jon. Mad at myself, at my brain, and had to take it out someway.

“Nearly six months, but a few weeks apart in the middle.” We each lick our hand and take the shot.

“He’s looking at me like he is going to kill me.” Saad says, with a laugh in his throat, a tinge of nervousness in his voice.

“He probably wants to right now.” I shake my ass a little, and toss my hair over my shoulder, I know I look hot in my oufit and am deliberately punishing him.

“Shall we give him another reason?” I see mischief flash through Saad’s eyes and before I can stop him he has me over his shoulder and jumps into the pool, throwing me from his shoulder directly into the pool. It takes no time for me to understand what is happening, the smell, the feeling, and the powerful force of hitting the water. I can’t breathe, my brain is running and my body locks up. I hear Saad and a few others laughing and within seconds I feel arms wrap around me and pull me up. I breathe again.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” I hear Phil yell and see him pull Saad out by his shirt. “She doesn’t fucking swim you asshole!” He is screaming in his face.

I look to the person holding me, it’s Jon and his face is full of worry. Before I can hear anymore of the argument he is running down the stairs back to our unit. Running two steps at a time. I just lay there, the anxiety rising, the tears flowing down my face, trying to force the bile back into my stomach. I remember the chlorine hitting my face, the smell of it, the feel; it was identical to that day. We hit the condo and I run from his arms, right to the bathroom, and let it all go into the toilet. His hand scoops my hair back and the other rubs circles on my back. I finish and sit back on my feet laying my head against his chest.

I start counting aloud, getting my breathing in check, trying to fit away the flashbacks I can feel rushing to me. And I lose it. I cry again. He reaches to me, and holds me tightly, rocking me slightly.

“I will take you to meet her.” He whispers in my hair, a sign of peace, a white flag of surrender. “I don’t like it, but I will. I’m sorry I did this to you.”

I shake my head. The guilt fills me, he didn’t do this to me, I did this to me, I let this come back.

“I love you.” I whisper it softly into him and he places a soft kiss on my forehead, wordlessly repeating the sentiment to me. I just hope I don’t bring him down whatever path I am going toward right now.