I bolted upright in bed, for the first time in the middle of the night, since Gigi arrived. It was a familiar feeling, panting out a series of short puffs of breath to gain control, rubbing my arms and looking around the dark bedroom to calm the perception that I was trapped in a nightmare without escape. An interminable bad dream in which I couldn’t save her.
As a teenager I’d been forced into trauma therapy, and during those compulsory sessions, Ms. Pierce warned, “Things that remind you of the event, the smell of smoke for example, might trigger or aggravate your mental wounds.” She was a nice woman, I was just too young and pissed at the time to show her proper gratitude.
Panic.
My heart hammered in my chest. It wouldn’t be far off to call me crazy, heating my home as I did with woo
