“Sounds like he’s a waste of my fabulous flirting,” I said. “Since I basically asked him to help me hang signs.”
“Oh, I bet that went over great,” she said sarcastically.
“Yeah, he gave me a set-down about I should be capable of handling that.”
“Well, to be honest, Layla, if he had offered to help you would’ve ripped him a new ass for suggesting you couldn’t do it on your own,” she pointed out.
“Okay, thanks for that,” I said. “I’ve got to go. I have some prep work to do for the meeting.”
“Good luck, babe,” she said.
When I had the room set up, chairs arranged for fifteen people in a circle, I paced around, checking the cookies, the coffee, the sweet tea carafe. I rearranged the chairs, took three out for a total of twelve, worried that fifteen was too ambitious to hope for the first night of the group. I wandered around, checked my phone a few times. At five minutes before the start time, I went to the door to welcome people. The hall was empty. Not one single person. I put on my best smile and waited.
It felt like forever, like having no one show up for my birthday party or something. Finally, right on the dot of six o’clock, a woman came in, followed by a couple of more people. When we had a total of five and they all filled out paperwork, I gathered their clipboards, and we sat down.
I glanced over their paperwork and then reminded them that the group meeting was confidential and intended to be a safe and positive space for them.
“I want to welcome you here tonight. This is a very special project for me, and something I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve worked in trauma groups before both as a participant in counseling and as a group leader and therapist. I can tell you my credentials if you want to hear them, but we’re not here about me. This is about you and the brave choice you’ve made to address the way trauma affects your life and to learn strategies to cope with that and improve your mental and physical health,” I said, knowing that I talked too fast and smiled too big. I was excited.
“I’m Layla, and I’d like to go around the circle and have you introduce yourselves.”
A woman with dark hair and pained features cleared her throat. “I’ll start. I’m Cassie, and I walked here. It took me almost an hour, but I won’t drive. My son Jacob died in a car accident two years ago. I can’t stand to drive or even ride in a car. It makes me sick. I’m—I’m sweating just talking about it.” I reached for her hand and patted it. She squeezed my hand and gave me a watery smile.
“Thank you, Cassie. I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said.
“I’m Dave, I’m 44 years old. I’m on administrative leave from the Pendleton PD after being shot in the line of duty six months ago. My doctor says I’m clear to return to work, but I’m not sure that’s something I want,” he said carefully.
“Thanks, Dave. We’re all grateful you’ve come here and shared that with us.”
“I’m Ben. I’m fifteen. We moved here in May, so I finished my freshman year here. We moved because we were living in Georgia, lived there all my life. And there was a shooting at my school. I was in the greenhouse down in the Ag department. It happened in the science building, but we were on lockdown for hours, and I’m sure you heard about it on the news. It’s just—it’s not easy being in a new place, but it was worse being there where it happened.”
“I read about that, Ben. It was a terrible thing to experience. I want you to know you’re safe here,” I said.
“Am I late?” a voice said from the doorway. The low timbre reverberated in my chest, and I clasped my hands to stop them from shaking. I knew it was him.
“Tyler,” I said. “You’re welcome to join us. We just started. Please, come in,” I said as pleasantly as I could.
He took the seat beside me. Because of course he did. There were literally five seats that weren’t next to me and that’s the one he chose. He could’ve sat by the old guy at the end, but, no. He was so close to me I could smell his soap. His freaking cheap Irish Spring soap that somehow made me want to lick every inch of his skin. The ends of his hair were damp like he just got out of the shower. And now I was thinking about him in the shower, about me trailing a dripping bar of soap across his abs and down his thigh while hot water cascaded down my back and he fingered my nipples. I cleared my throat, sure my face was flushed.