PTSD

(a challenge drabble that got away)

The second psychologist, Dr Bryant, helped. The first was a disaster but then Jenny was such a mess at the time that sticking a pin at random into the Yellow Pages seemed like a good idea.

When Jenny came up out with the phrase `my Freudian obsession with a father figure' at one of their weekly lunches, Lorraine Wickes quietly but firmly pointed her in the direction of someone else. Someone who was used to working with soldiers and special forces personnel and who knew not to ask questions she wasn't allowed to answer.

Dr Bryant was almost entirely uninterested in Jenny's father beyond assessing how able and willing he was to lend help and support. Indeed, she persuaded Jenny to co-opt what support she could from family and friends. They could help her feel secure in bad situations. They could do a hundred little things which meant Jenny didn't have to deal with quite so much, quite so quickly. She convinced Jenny there was no shame in placing yourself in a room with your back to the wall, so you knew exactly what was behind you, especially if that meant you could get through a social event without jumping in terror and spilling drinks on people.

Dr Bryant's professional exterior slipped when Jenny told her about "the incident". She was always careful never to pass opinion on Jenny's friends and family, she merely advised on coping strategies. On this occasion, however, she was provoked into saying "blithering idiots." Jenny tried to push her into telling Jenny these people weren't really Jenny's friends but the professional barriers had already fallen back into place.

"People can be friends in all sorts of ways," was all she said. "You need to decide for yourself when, what and how much you can expect of them."

Jenny had decided that a friend who knew you had a phobia about being crept up on wasn't really a friend if they told a perfectly nice man to "just tap her on the shoulder, would you?" because they thought it was funny. Roger Jenkins had thought it even funnier when Jenny's instant, unthinking, reaction was swing around, fists clenched and deck the man with a well-aimed right hook.

"Go on! Show the Hoi Polloi their place!" he brayed, while his friends laughed along. Then he ordered more champagne.

Jenny realised she had never liked him that much and wondered why on Earth she'd agreed to be plus one at his dreadful sister's wedding.

The man on the floor was one of the band. Jenny was speechless, her heart racing as adrenaline coursed through her system and the fight or flight response warred with her rational mind.

"Are you OK?" He scrambled to his feet, his face a mask of concern, his rapidly developing black eye apparently forgotten.

As she stammered and apologised and explained, he found her somewhere quiet to sit, ordered some tea (she didn't even see him do it, only noticed the tea when it was brought) and stuck by her until he was sure she had not only stopped trembling but had genuinely found some kind of self-control again. That was when she decided she simply couldn't cope with the wedding any more and announced she needed to go. He asked no questions but found a taxi.

Jenny took one of the band's flyers with her when she left though. She had a suspicion, even in her confused state, that she might have found a keeper.