Page 6 of Derecho

“Well, yes. So far it has been. But that doesn’t mean it can’t or won’t change as we dive deeper into therapy.”

I shrugged, my right leg bouncing up and down underneath my dining room table. “I hope it does. I can’t really keep going like this. If it’s not the physical pain in my left leg, it’s the goddamn mental scars etched in my brain.”

Sloane nodded. “How did you handle the dream?”

“Like I usually do. I woke up sweating, my leg was throbbing, and I felt like I was going to throw up.”

“The same sensations you’ve described when we’ve talked about leaving the house.”

I nodded. Shit. I thought we’d have more time before she brought that up.

“Do you think the nightmare is happening again because of the progress you are making with your agoraphobia?”

“Isn’t that something that you should be telling me, Doc?”

Sloane smiled. “I like to poll the audience every once in a while. Therapy is all about introspection, after all.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It could be. I made it farther yesterday, before I felt like I was going to throw up.”

“That’s great. Were you able to get onto the porch like we discussed?”

I nodded. “I haven’t made it beyond the porch, though.” I could hear the disgust laced in my words. It didn’t take a genius to see the connection. I was trapped in my brain by anxiety, and because I couldn’t let go of it, I was now physically trapped in my own house.

“Lach, can I ask you something?” Sloane’s eyes had crinkled around the edges, and she tipped her head slightly to the left as she looked at me.

“Yeah, Doc. Shoot.”

“What is it about the edge of the porch that feels so monumental to you?”

If I knew, I’d be better by now.

“I don’t know. I guess…maybe it’s because I know that as soon as I step off the porch, then the goal post moves. And where does it end? Because, it’s not so terrible to think about being able to walk around the ranch. To visit Colt and Vi, or stop in to see Beckett with Jessie and Hawk any time I want. But if the ultimate goal is to get into town again? No. Fuck no. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to go to my shop and see how it’s sitting there, waiting for me to return. I don’t want to have to answer questions about how I’m doing, or see people’s faces fill up with sympathy when they realize I have to use a cane now. I don’t want questions about the accident, or where my fucking best friend who did this to me is now, or any of it.”

Through the screen, Sloane nodded.

“Okay, let’s take a second to digest all that. Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like we’re compounding our goals. It’s okay to not be ready to go back into town. You don’t have to. No one is saying the second you step off the porch, you have to head to your truck and drive down Ford Avenue in your own personal parade.”

I chuckled, even if there wasn’t much humor behind it.

“But what was exciting for me to hear, was your desire to be able to go outside and be an active part of the ranch. To move around the property and see your siblings.”

I shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. They all come here to see me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Because the Lachlan who sat in our session two weeks ago couldn’t even make it through the idea of standing on his porch without breaking out into a sweat and telling me all the reasons why it was never going to happen. And how many days have you stepped out onto your porch since then?”

“Every day.”

She smiled. “Every. Day. That’s not nothing, Lach. You’re putting in the hard work. I’d say the goal is, and will remain, integrating back into life on the ranch with your family. They know what you’ve been through. They know what this new normal is like. And they are cheering you on.”

“So how do I…” I closed my eyes and tipped my face up to the ceiling. “How do I tell my brain I’m not going to be hurt, and something bad isn’t going to happen when I leave here?”

“Exactly how you did it just now.” Sloane cleared her throat. “Say it out loud. Shout it, if you need to. Let your brain know that you are safe, and the overactive part that is taking so much from you right now, needs to stand down.”

Okay. I could do this. It was two feet on the ground. The real ground. Dirt, grass, and sun on my face. It was going to be good.

Sloane was right. I wanted to be able to get around the ranch. To spend more time with my family. To not feel like such a burden to them. And it started with putting my goddamn feet on the fucking ground.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.