T Is For Trauma

Loud sobs wake me from my sleep. I open my eyes with a struggle, sighing deeply. I look around the dark room and try to remember where I am.

Another sob pulls me back to my room, Kate’s room, and I shoot up. The pain in my shoulder serves as a reminder of what happened. The tearing pain causes me to groan. Why did I not die?

“No, please.” Jake? I sit on my knees on the bed and search for him between the covers and blankets. My hands touch warmth and I grip his arm.

“Jake,” I whisper. He lets out another silent cry, followed by the rapid shaking of his head. I lean over him to reach my nightstand and switch on the small lamp.

When I sit back, I notice Jake’s tear-stained cheeks. Was he crying? He shakes his head again. He is having a nightmare.

“Jake, wake up,” I say, louder this time while tapping his arm. It looks like he is captured inside the nightmare, unable to escape. I tap his chest while calling his name, hoping he would wake up.

His hand shoots out to grab my arm and he