Chapter 9: Trixie

She slowly opened her eyes and winced at the mid-morning sun. She closed them again and, stretching, tried to catalog the events of the night before: baseball, dinner, drinks, more drinks- too many drinks, ice cream brownies, a ride home. No, not home. Her eyes snapped open and she looked at the ceiling and walls in her peripheral vision. This was not her room. You idiot, she chastised herself. Slowly and cautiously, she stretched out a hand and found the bed next to her empty. She was alone.

She sat up and her head spun. Looking down, she saw crackers, water, and Advil sitting on the floor where a nightstand table should be. "Wow," she said to no one. Her heart fluttered at the care James took, not only to lay out post-drinking necessities, but even more to set her up alone in his bedroom.

She partook in a portion of each item of her care package before slowly standing and heading out of the bedroom. James was sprawled on the couch, a book open in his lap, his head back and to the side in what couldn't be a comfortable position. Trixie's heart fluttered again. He gave up his bed for her to sleep. She noticed the bathroom on her left and made a detour before going out into the living room. She thought it funny that he even slept in his jacket and gloves, and curious that when the sun came in at just the right angle, she thought she saw a metallic glint between his glove and his sleeve.

After using the restroom, she headed out to the bathroom and went to check on James. He was still asleep, so she checked the kitchen to see what she could make them for breakfast. His fridge was mostly empty, save for some eggs and butter, as was his freezer, and most of his pantry besides ramen. Though, he did have a large number of plums in a fruit basket.

Trixie decided to make scrambled eggs. She quietly opened and closed cabinet doors searching for a pan. When she found one, her grip slipped and it clattered to the stove.

James jumped off the couch, his eyes wild and distant. He looked lost, in another world. He grunted savagely and stalked towards her. Trixie tried to form the words "sorry for waking you" but all she could get out was a whispered, "James," before he was on her, then past her, looking out the window. "James," she tried again.

He froze. He turned slowly, his eyes became clear and present. His gaze, more sorrowful than she realized a human could be, met hers before he crumpled to the floor.

Broken, he thought.

Trixie knelt next to him and put her hands in his. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the differing densities of his hands, but pushed the thought away and focused on what was before her. She inched closer to him, nervous from his anger but also willing to be vulnerable for him. She took a deep breath and spoke softly to him.

"Feel my hands. Listen to my voice. Inhale. Exhale. Steady. Breathe easily."

He tensed more instead of relaxing, so she changed her tactics.

"Breath in. Feel my hands. Feel the hardness of the floor beneath you. Feel the coolness of the floor in your feet. Feel the soft leather on your hands. Listen to the birds outside. Listen to the cars drive by. Listen to your breath." She paused letting him relax. His posture and demeanor shifted more inward, but no less tense. She dropped his hands and inched her body closer, cupping his face in her hands. "James?" she asked looking down into his eyes. "I'm sorry I dropped the pan. I was trying to be quiet and surprise you with breakfast." He relaxed slightly, but didn't meet her eyes.

Trixie remembered an earlier conversation and rose from the floor. Sitting on the one small table in the living room was an incense set up with a box of sandalwood sticks and a lighter. Trixie placed a fresh stick in the holder and lit it. She then carried the stick back to where she was sitting moments ago, letting the sandalwood waft through the air. Trixie sat again, careful not to make physical contact with him this time.

James looked at the smoke swirling from the tip of the stick. Bit by bit, the tension left his body. After half the stick had burned away, he raised his eyes to Trixie. She patiently waited for him, not wanting to push his process. His eyes were clear, he knew who she was and where he was and what had passed between them. But they were also filled with shame. He looked back at the smoke, inhaled deeply, and spoke slowly.

"I try to keep that part of me hidden away." He paused. "Some triggers are easier to suppress than others. I didn't see you in the kitchen. If I had.... if I hurt you.... I could have...."

A sob overtook him and he melted into the cabinet behind him. Trixie guided his head into her lap and rubbed his back. After a few minutes, the body-shaking sobs relaxed into normal breathing patterns.

"I don't think that's true," she said when she felt he could listen again, "You easily could have hurt me last night. You didn't. Instead, you slept on the couch while I slept alone in your bed. And the hangover set up you left? Those conscious actions are you." She looked down at him, and he still stared into the smoke. "You weren't in control this morning. That wasn't you, James. You're a veteran and I knew that before I decided to go into this friendship. I can't imagine how hard it must be." She paused and contemplated her next words carefully, "This moment isn't enough to send me running."

James's tears came anew, and he noted a similar feeling when Ayo tested his codes, and announced "You are free".

They sat together on the kitchen floor as the incense stick burned down. Every time ash fell, James's body felt lighter. Every time ash fell, Trixie's heart beat stronger.