(Present time)

"Aaron! You'll be late for group if you don't get up soon!"

Group. That's what everybody calls my bi-weekly support group meetings for the traumatized & bewildered. Of course, I hadn't attended a single one of those meetings in the month that I've been "in therapy". I've been present at the organ transplant adjustment group sessions instead. I justify my attendance to myself by continuously reminding myself of all the blood transfusions I've received and how there should be no segregation between receiving the blood of others & receiving the organs of others.

Yet the essential reason I kept going was Adrienne. She was a fascinating, unreadable mystery that I wanted to know, wanted to solve, wanted to immerse myself into. She challenged and enthralled me. I'll admit that Esme is still the hotter of the two but she's become only a good friend of mine. Truly, it's Adrienne that I want. She permits me to forget about that disastrous night all those months ago with just a flick of her thick auburn hair. And those eyes. Still as intimidating and intoxicating as the first time I laid my own feeble-by-comparison eyes on her. I know I'd probably be called a pussy for raving on about a girl like this but I don't care. She has me wrapped around her finger & I hope she never allows me to let go.

∞

Another reason for attending group was the recurring nightmares, flashbacks & emotions I've been plagued with ever since the accident. At random they came. Just about as soon as I awoke in the hospital I've had constant dreams of being a young girl that is frequently attacked by a stocky, balding middle-aged pervert. I also endured sporadic flashback-like events, almost like LSD-trip flashbacks. Yet these displays that would appear in my mind were through no prompting of my own & I've never taken any hallucinogens before.

I can't help but wonder if these are my subconscious creations of what I'd imagine the mother or even the child would look & be like. The mother & child I'd slain, of course. I was granted no information about either of them whatsoever so my mind was at liberty to conjure up whatever it wished to regarding their lives. I wonder if these nightmares, flashbacks & feelings bear any substance or if they're merely manifestations of my guilt & desire to punish myself. Perhaps they're haunting me from beyond the grave. Lord knows I deserve to be plagued after what I did to them. I suppose that I do still harbor immense guilt over what occurred, rightfully so.

My pity party had yet to cease although I didn't exactly want it to. I suppose I'm masochistic like that. I've learnt through time & experience that the best way to cope with grief & other crippling, debilitating & corrosive emotions is to merely let them be. To allow oneself to be awash in angst & pain is the first & most fundamental step in the path to healing. In the first week or so after I returned home from the hospital I did all I could to shield myself from these feelings that attempted to maim me. I took too many Percocet pills. I drank too much vile-tasting vodka. I slept as much as I could. I was in a perpetual narcotic daze. While these measures provided a safety net for me at the time, their relief was temporary & short-lived. I soon became sober far too easily & for far too long. When my parents discovered I'd just about overdosed on the kitchen floor they threatened to throw me out onto the streets, they've done more than enough for me, they said. I agree. None of this was their doing & I couldn't have gotten this far without them helping me far more than I'm willing to admit.

After my falling-out I came to realise that however clichéd this is, I can run from my emotions but I certainly can't hide from them. They pounced when I was unsuspecting & haven't terminated their relentless assault since. Since it hasn't been very long since the trauma I am still experiencing raw grief & occasional denial & deep lows. My emotions have been incredibly vivid lately. I've always been extroverted & full of vitality but this was more than I'd ever experienced. I attributed my intense feelings to my reaction towards the crash. Fellow group members reassure me that this is a perfectly common response to trauma. They also agree in my new-found belief in allowing my emotions to drown & overwhelm me, as it has been said, "the best way to go out is to go through." All of this is then completely normal & I'm glad that I've come to terms with the fact that these feelings are unavoidable. They are a part of me now. It is naturally unfortunate nonetheless I feel that those two are my cross to bear.

I'm still alive, they aren't. I shouldn't be complaining, I have an exceptional life. I have a caring family, a great best friend, interesting people to interact with at group, enough money to live comfortably, full mobility in my body despite all of my previous stunts, I completed high school with desirable grades & am due to begin my belated college course next year. I also have an incredible girl to see at group meetings. She isn't technically mine yet but she will be. I know I shouldn't be thinking about love & romance & finding a girlfriend right now, the accident's wounds are still raw & we're both rather young. Moreover she appears to hide a significant amount of baggage behind those piercing chocolate eyes. Should I really be pursuing a riddle like her when I could go for an uncomplicated, straightforward lay like Esme? My fuckboy self says no but he's the one with the ego that convinced me to ride my motorcycle backwards that night. Therefore it's safe to say that I don't take his opinion into consideration anymore. To conclude, I must have Adrienne. I must have her. We stay up to text all night long. We hang out as much as possible outside of group, which isn't always simple as she's forever preoccupied with school or volleyball & I'm on a tight parental leash. Still, we make do. I help her with math sometimes when we're together but other than that she's an outstanding student & athlete. I often marvel at the amount of dedication she has for her academics & sport, she has endless drive & persistence to succeed. I have a suspicion that she pushes herself to her limit in order to better herself sufficiently to get her out of what she's only ever described as "a warzone with regular air raids" home life. She won't tell me what goes on at home which irks me but I know I need to be patient with her. I have all the time in the world to explore her & the mysteries she contains.

∞

"Hi you," Adrienne calls as I rush into group, slightly over time.

"Hey sexy."

She rolls her eyes & grins while she embraces me. She doesn't believe me. She never believes anyone's compliments. I want to prove to her how sexy I know she is by trailing my tongue over every sensitive spot on & in her body but that will have to wait, I believe.

"You're late."

"Gee, I hope I'll never have to tell a girl that one."

She laughs. Bares her pristine, white teeth. I want her to graze my dick with those teeth...

"Where were you? You're never tardy with regards to these sessions."

She's right, I'm always punctual when Adrienne is involved. This time though, I had something occur that was unsettling enough to make me late.

"Shut it, you two! You come late & then you want to disrupt my patients' healing?" Esme barks at me incredulously.

"I thought it was virtuous for a man to come late?" I ask her with a wink.

She laughs, as does the rest of the group. I suppose I've established a bit of a reputation for myself as the joker of the pack, the funny guy everyone likes & no-one tries to get too close to.

"I was about to ask Aaron why he arrived late today, I'm sure we're all curious," says Adrienne. At this everyone perks up a degree, even they all know I make a point of being one of the first to arrive.

"Well, my nightmares have returned with a vengeance this week. I had one last night; couldn't go back to sleep until about five am, I then awoke saturated with cold sweat at seven-thirty after an even worse dream. I was exhausted but apprehensive of another night terror happening so I took like four of my mom's insomnia pills and crashed in my brother's room until around nine-thirty. That's why I'm late, I apologise to whoever I interrupted when I came in."

"It's all good," was Craig's-one of the member's-response.

"Wanna talk about these recent night terrors?" Esme asked.

"I don't wanna waste anyone else's time, this is an organ transplant recovery group after all."

"Who cares? We're all grateful for our organs as it is. The emotional acceptance of somebody else's body part within us can wait until we've discussed the more pertinent issue of your recurrent nightmares. I know they're common for you, for me too, but I'm worried about how heavily you've been drugging yourself recently. You also have bruises residing underneath your eyes. Not bags, bruises." This from Adrienne as she stared at me concerned. She hardly ever blinks when she's concentrating on something. It's marvelous but also unnerving. I loved how much she evidently cared about me, we've known each other for less than two months & already she's one of the closest & most important people to me.

"That is true," was the general response.

"Alright, if none of you mind me talking about my dreams here, I will." I inhale deeply & prepare to unearth the gloom. "Flashbacks have been rare lately but as you know the nightmares have been pretty recurrent. Adrienne will tell you, I text her at all hours after I've had a bad one."

Adrienne nods. "He does. I'm not always awake to talk him down but I usually try to be." She leans forward to rub my arm & give me a reassuring smile. She really is a sweet thing. "This last week has involved bad dreams just about daily."

"She's right, it has been tumultuous. I try to ignore and forget them usually but some of them are so dark and evil that they stick. They stick in my mind and play endlessly on a loop. I can't stop them, they force their way into my head and refuse to die. It's particularly jarring when I see some fat fuck on top of me thinking I'm his to rape whenever and whenever. I hear this girl's screams echoing on forever. That shouldn't happen, in theory they should perish over time as the sound loses energy and whatever but these don't end. Ever. To get-"

"Excuse me, is there a Miss Fernandes in here?" A custodian poked his head around the door, scanning the room.

"Me? Adrienne Fernandes?" Adrienne asked.

"Yes. Could you come down to the front gardens, someone is here to see you, a woman, she says it's very urgent."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Adrienne grumbles as she gets up to leave. "I want to hear about your dreams when I return, okay?" She says to me.

"Sure Adri," I affirm.

"As I was saying earlier, for him to get her to shut up last night while he assaulted her he slammed her in the face with a brick. She was out cold but somehow I was still in her head. I saw nothing but blackness and felt nothing but numbness for a while. I then noticed my perspective had abruptly changed, I was now floating above the room, outside the window. I saw the sick fucker quite clearly but her, the girl, I never see very well. She's always vague and almost blurred out. Maybe it's symbolic of a sense of lost identity or whatever. Anyway, her face is drenched in blood and the bloody brick lies on her beige blanket beside her as her attacker gets himself off on her unresponsive form. Her face seems to be swelling. Her nose was noticeably bent out of shape and she just lay motionless. Initially I thought he had killed her but after what appeared to be hours that I was hovering outside her window - I could tell by the arrival of the sunset - she rose. She cradled her dismantled face and let out these horrible, low animal groans of pain. I wanted to float back in to help her but I myself was immobilized. I watched her heave on her bed for a while before she crawled over to her bathroom to clean herself up. I was back inside her room by now, those blue walls surrounding me, the beige-covered queen-size bed, the white desk with her open laptop, numerous stacks of books all over the floor and nightstand. The clothing piled on her desk and chair. The crumpling musician posters adorning the walls. I was simultaneously too close and too far from this girl to ever really help her." I take a water break. "After she's cleaned her face a little she unleashes another blood-boiling screech. I just about have a heart attack as she passes out again from the pain. That was the first dream." There is a collective gasp that punctuates the silence in the room as I finish my narrative.

"God Aaron, I'm so sorry you had to go through that. I hope you know that you don't deserve it. I know you want to punish yourself for the crash but that does not mean you should have to endure these dreams." Esme's customary reassurance to me ever since I mentioned the full extent of the crash to her in passing. There was a murmur of agreement throughout the group & I couldn't help but be overwhelmed once again by the support & solidarity I always received at these sessions. I may not know everyone else here very well but we're all supportive of each other regardless.

"Should we ask about the second dream?" Inquired Christopher.

"It comprised of her chugging a handful of painkillers and even snorting some Xanax by crushing it. Who knows if that's a more effective way to take in medication? Probably not. Anyway, after a bit she's rather faded so she thinks it's a good idea to wander downstairs with her blood-masked face and naked body. Her attacker is there. I can see him even though it's incredibly dark. I'm then suddenly back in her body. Her vision is blurred and I feel how slow and sluggish she is after all her drugs. I can tell that she wants to head to the kitchen. Some guy stops her on the way to ask what she's doing and if she'd like to join him and the guys. "In what?" She slurs. "Just some fun," he smirks at her. Before she can respond he grabs her around the waist and throws her onto the couch. She screams and the rest of the guys surround her. Oh yeah, all of these guys are middle-aged and in the nude. It's fucking disgusting that they would be eyeing a teenager like that. She tried to get up; even in her drug-induced stupor she knew that this was no place to be. The guys all jump her though, taking turns between raping her and pinning her down. She's screaming and crying the whole time, I swear I could feel her pain as they all mauled her." I need some time to compose myself after reliving this all over again. I run my hands through my hair and try to breathe. Esme walks over to rub my back with a sympathetic smile.

After a few minutes I resume my account of what happened. "I counted six men. Six sick fucks that raped this poor girl incessantly. For no goddamn reason they just attacked her." Adrienne stormed in then, murder in her posture. Yet when she saw me she softened considerably. She immediately knelt on the floor & hugged me for a solid ten minutes. During that time nothing was said. I eventually untangled myself from Adrienne & guided her to her seat. I leaned back & asked nobody in particular, "do you think this is stuff that used to happen to the mom? To the kid? Did I inadvertently save them from abuse?"

"You very well could have but it's unlikely that they're haunting you from the grave. If you had somehow saved them from sexual abuse, don't you think they would have been grateful? Not angry or resentful," this from Sabrina, the small, quiet Mexican girl that hardly ever utters a single sentence. "I don't think this is a haunting or any other apparition. Probably your own inner guilt at unintentionally killing them. Maybe you wouldn't have this problem if you'd just gone to prison for a while."

"You do make some solid points. I am feeling extremely remorseful about what happened, it probably just is my subconscious punishing me. Prison wouldn't have eased my guilt necessarily but it would have probably lessened my desire to punish myself."

"Man, you need to be in the trauma and PTSD counselling session, not this one," Christopher jeers at me.

"Shut the hell up or I'll extract your larynx with my fingernails," Adrienne growls at Christopher, causing him to scowl at her.

"Calm down, children-" Esme begins.

"You're my age!" Interrupts Sabrina. Guess she's talkative today.

"Enough! All of you! Aaron may be better suited to the trauma recovery sessions in theory but in reality he has chosen us. He seems happy to be here and none of us have any right to expel a group member unless he has made any of you feel uneasy or uncomfortable. Now, has he?"

"No Esme," was the unanimous reply.

"Good then."

"Listen, I agree. This isn't the group I was supposed to be in, I've never even had an organ transplant. But you've all accepted me when the rest of the world just thinks of me as a reckless, murdering idiot."

"Oh, we think of you as a reckless, murdering idiot," Adrienne clarifies.

"But one that we love anyway," Sabrina responds with a disarming smile. I grin back.

"Thanks guys, I appreciate all your support, it's been a privilege knowing you all."

"Shut your fuckin' mouth, you're not dying or leaving," Christopher says as we man-hug.

And that's how group goes; banter, friendly insults & further transplant experiences.

∞

After the session Adrienne & I walk to her rusty old banger of a car; neither of us have been able to discern its original colour as of yet.

"Sure you wanna be driving this thing? It could implode at any second," I caution her.

"I could implode at any second," she winks. "Aaron, you do this every time. Yes, I like your family, yes, they have safe cars and yes, I feel as though I'm an imposition."

"Adri-"

"No Aaron, I know you love me but I'll be alright. I like driving anyway."

"It's not your safety I'm worried about, I'm just jealous that you can drive and I can't," a half lie.

She giggles. I must kiss her goodbye. I lean to give her a big hug but she retreats far too soon.

"Bye, you. Text me if you have any more bad dreams," she squeezes my shoulder as she climbs into the wreckage of her vehicle.

"Text me when you get home safely, okay?" I implore her as she begins to reverse.

"I will, Grandma," she grins at me and blows a kiss as her car exits the lot, blaring her terrible indie funeral music. I mean, if you're going to blast music let it be something upbeat that people can dance & sing along to, not instrumental laments about lost love & fragmented self-identity.