"Can you sit next to me for a while?" he murmurs.
"Sure," I say, though I’m more uneasy than I was last night when I gave the same answer. After the incident today and my body's decision to act so outrageously, I'm not sure I should be so close to him. But what can I tell him? Sorry, Tristan, I have to back off helping you through your nightmares because my nipples decided to turn to pebbles today and my skin turns to burning coal when I am too close to you. Asides from it being ridiculous, it would be selfish of me to back off and unfair to him.
As I sit next to him and he gazes at me intensely with his endlessly dark eyes, his chest rising and falling in the same lightning-quick succession as mine, I remember the other times when my proximity seemed to have the same effect on him that his proximity now has on me. I try to stay just far enough from him that our bodies don’t touch. Feeling his hot breath on my skin is unavoidable though.
"You want to talk about the nightmare?" I ask.
"No, not tonight."
"Okay."
"When I was in the Army, I dreamed about being home, eating my omelette in the morning without worrying I might not make it to the next day." So that's why something as simple as an omelette is his favorite meal. That's why he notices details others don't. Like how I drink my coffee, or that I change my hair color often.
"When I got home I didn't dream anymore. I just got nightmares. I wish I could have a dream instead of a nightmare just once. I haven't dreamed about something peaceful in a long time."
"What would you like to dream about?"
"No idea. Never thought about it. I just don't want to be back in Afghanistan every time I close my eyes."
"Hmm, you should try visualizing what you want to dream instead of what you don't want to dream."
"That sounds like something a therapist would say."
"Umm… I read it in a bridal magazine. It was advice to avoid bad dreams about all the preparations."
A guffaw reverberates from his chest, like I suspected it would.
"Sounds shallow, doesn't it?"
"Nah, it's just funny how much women can stress themselves over weddings. Some of the native tribes in the Amazon used to have very simple ceremonies to celebrate weddings. They would just tattoo each other's name or symbols on their bodies."
"That can't be true," I say, shuddering. The thought of getting a tattoo always baffled me. It hurts and it's permanent. Why do it?
"Yeah it is. When we get back to a place with Internet, you can check it."
"You can bet; that'll be my first concern if we ever get back to civilization," I mock him.
"Did that magazine advice work?"
"No idea. I didn't have nightmares, I just read it. But a friend of mine who got married last year swore it helped her, though it took a bit of time until that happened."
"All right, I'll try it," he says, though by the tone of his voice I can tell he doesn't trust a technique for bridezillas to help him drive away nightmares of war bombs. I don't blame him.
"I suppose it takes training, just like me with the arrows. I hope you'll get better at it quicker than I am with the arrows."
"You will get better at that," he says with conviction. "Even if I have to stand behind you and correct you every day for hours. It's even more important now than it was before."
"Thanks. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you with… umm."
"You already are." He turns to me, coming closer. He takes so much time to form the next words that I almost think he will change his mind and say nothing at all. But when he speaks, I realize why it took him so long. "It's so much better when you're next to me. I first noticed it that night I had a fever." It's an admission that costs him. A lot. Because he can't take it back. During the day, it’s easy for him to say he can go back to sleeping alone in the cockpit. But at night, when the horrors he's trying so hard to forget torture him, he can't pretend.
"I noticed that you were still that night when I was close to you, but I wasn't sure if the fever had just knocked you out or not. Why didn't you say anything?"
"I was ashamed. Still am."
"Don't be."
"I'd hate to make you feel uncomfortable just so I can—”