I woke up at 3 am, screaming.

Clyde, stop! Don't!

The nightmare came back, and I felt it all over again. Face: shattered. Windshield: shattered. Clyde…

Cartman rushed in, flipped on the lights, and sat on my bed. I was sitting up, heaving. My throat burned so much. He held onto my wrists.

"Hey, hey, you're okay. You're home, Kyle. It was ten years ago, okay? You're not in that car anymore. You're home and you're safe."

I ripped away from him and grabbed my garbage can so I could vomit.

Kenny, still smelling of syrup and sweat, was at my side with a glass of water when I was done.

After drinking and back to breathing evenly, Cartman asked: "Do you want to sit outside for a while?"

I nodded. He put his arm under mine and lifted me out of bed. Kenny opened the door for us when we reached downstairs. He always stayed silent during my episodes. I think I was scary to him.

We stepped out into blackness. It was a sweet, summer mugginess drenched with the sound of cicadas. A few light raindrops trickled on the top of our heads. We sat down on the swinging bench by my garden until my personality came back.

Cartman eventually went back to bed. I stayed outside for a few hours.

When I went back inside to get ready for work, either Kenny or Cartman (or both) had taken away my bag of vomit and changed out my sweaty sheets. I might be a bad roommate.

Trauma is such a dangerous, formless thing, and it's different for everyone. I've been told that I'm very lucky, despite the horrors I've seen, but there are times where it gets so bad that I wish I was dead and done with it all.

We kept a fish tank in my room when I was growing up, and inside it was always two: an iridescent shark and a catfish - Fred and Catatafish, respectively.

Fred was always out and swimming around. Catatafish stayed inside a hollowed log and almost never came out except to eat. So many times we were concerned he died, but coming around to the side of the tank, we could see his eyes moving, his gills expanding. My episodes are like watching him. It hides for several weeks, sometimes months, and I start to think that maybe I'm better, or even cured, then something coos it out, whether it be stress, a certain sound, a certain smell, and I'm dead in the water, faces all around me checking to see if my eyes are still moving, my chest still rising and falling.

I must have looked like absolute shit when I walked in that morning (felt like it too) because Dr. Vince noticed right away.

"Oh no, are you sick?"

"Nah, just didn't sleep well," I answered, holding up a latte from South Perk (Tweek jammed in so many questions while he made it). "Hence the coffee."

"I feel you."

Right after we let ourselves in, Craig walked in, also looking sleepless and shitty. Which made me feel great. He passed in front of the sink, looked me over. I prepared myself for whatever snarky thing he might say: "Too much partying last night?"

But no.

"Are you okay?"

Okay? OK. OK, sure.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just didn't sleep well."

"Oh. Me neither," he said, then moved on.

After that, he started asking me questions. Nothing chummy, strictly work-related. I thought he was easing up on me with his scattered "Hey, I would use another pair of eyes on this water sample," "Do you think I should mess with the variable in this solution?" "Does the viscosity of this oil seem a little off to you?"

When I spoke, he kept that cold stare, but it was losing its effect on me. I've been through worse.

Our lunch schedule was up to us. We could go whenever we chose, as long as we came back in an hour. At 1, he yawned, then went and leaned against the door frame where a small adjoining office with a singular desk was. Dr. Vince was there doing data entry all morning.

"I think I'm going to get a coffee with my lunch. Do you want me to bring you back anything?"

"Ooh, strawberry chai," she chirped.

"Now that's the gay agenda," Craig said. They both laughed.

I was jealous. And shocked. Here they had this special bond I was outside of, a bond so comfortable that they could speak in such a way that would either out them or make them sound bigoted. I knew Dr. Vince had a wife, so it had to be teasing. But Craig? Did he just out himself in a sideswipe manner to see if I was listening? Or was he so cozy with his sexuality that he could casually brandish it like a small pocket knife? He's older. He's had more time to think about it.

I suddenly became insecure, wishing I could know myself like how he seemingly knew himself. I was formless.

Then his voice turned low, almost a whisper. All I heard were his murmurs and then Dr. Vince say "I don't know. Ask him."

It had to be me they were talking about. I leaned into a microscope, digging my knee into the cabinet.

Like an apparition, he floated in front of me.

"You seem like you could use another coffee. Want to come with?"

Oh, fuck.

"To where?"

"There's a Starbucks across the street we could walk to."

My first instinct was to say no, but I realized I left my lunchbox at home, and there was never an occasion where I would turn down an opportunity for a bagel and cream cheese.

"That would be swell."

Why the fuck did I just say that? Is it 1955?

A small smile, just the corner of his lip, barely baring a tooth. "Well golly gee, let's go then."

Even the traffic was lenient as we jaywalked across the two one-way streets. The shadow of the overtly large American flag loomed over us at half-mast in the mid-afternoon sun. I wondered who died that day.

He ordered a mocha first, then the strawberry chai to pick up for later. I stood aways away in line, quietly stealing ideas for my store until he gestured for me to come stand by him at the register.

"What do you want? It's on me."

"No."

"I insist."

"You sure?"

"Yes!"

"Okay…" I looked at the cashier. "Double espresso, please." There was no way I'd order food now. The thought of eating in front of him made me uncomfortable too.

"Wow, cheap date," he said.

My cheeks burned so I politely laughed and pretended to focus on a ceiling light.

"Thanks, Craig," I said when we reached the end of the bar.

Again, that split-second of eyes wide open when I said his name.

"No problem. I owe you."

"What do you mean?"

"I feel bad about yesterday."

Ah, yes. Consolation Coffee. Whatever, I liked the gesture. Coffee is one of my love languages.

The barista set down our cups and we crossed to one of the tall dark tables directly in sunlight.

"I do too," I said, though none of it was really my fault.

"I was very cold to you, and it wasn't warranted. I'm sorry."

Now that I saw him more closely in the sunlight, I noticed that Craig was kind of pretty. I've never met someone who had such light gray eyes and such dark black hair. When he spoke, I could see a hint of the gap between his two front teeth. It suited him. But I wasn't about to say "Hey, man to man, I think you're kind of pretty."

"It's alright."

"Thank you. I was just thrown off a bit."

So, Cartman was right. Craig had been nervous. But I wanted to dig deeper.

"Thrown off?"

"Yeah. I doubt you remember, but we've actually met before."

"What? Really?"

"It wasn't official, I guess. More like, I've seen you."

It was a small department, but I had never seen him before in my life. How could he have noticed me? "...seen me how? When?"

"It was about a year ago."

"You remember seeing me that long ago?"

"You made quite an impression."

"I don't understand…"

He popped the lid off his mocha first, sipped up the whipped cream. "I saw you at the vending machines way after classes ended - and I'm pretty sure it was a Friday night too - you were standing in front of one, saw me standing close by. You turned to me and said, dude, this one has king size Kit-Kat bars."

I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. "There's no way that was me. It had to be someone else."

"Don't think so." He pointed at my tattoos.

How much of me was he looking at? "Fair. Go on."

"I just nodded at you, and when you put the money in, you said come to daddy."

"Oh… oh my fuck."

"And I was like, okay, this guy is high as fuck. And I left you to do whatever you were going to do to that Kit-Kat bar."

"I'm really sorry you had to see me like that. I, uh, keep it at home now."

"That's good. But you can imagine that when I saw you yesterday, I got scared you'd smoke up everything in the greenhouse."

Our university has a little student-run greenhouse next to the Arts and Sciences building. I've made this joke myself when I volunteered for a few shifts.

"I've worked in there before. It's pretty fun." I drank my espresso. So comfortably bitter.

"That's really cool."

"Thanks."

"Anyway, Dr. Vince is right, you're totally capable. I'm sorry I misjudged you."

"I appreciate you saying that. Apology accepted."

A small, corner smile again. "To be honest, the reason I couldn't get to sleep is that I felt so bad about how I acted. It really seemed to bother you."

"Oh… I didn't think you would notice."

"I noticed." He reached out and shook my hand, warmer this time. "So, I'd like to say now that I'm excited to work with you too, Kyle."

I hoped he couldn't feel my heart through my palm when he said my name.

He then asked a barista to make that strawberry chai, and we left. He ate lunch somewhere else in the building, and I ate vending machine Fritos on the basement stairs.

After lunch, it began to storm.

I love storms. It's a generic thing to claim, I've been told ("oh, you like getting caught in the rain, Kahl? Do you also like piña coladas and making love at midnight?")

You would think that someone with my levels of anxiety might be terrified of thunder, but I find it exciting. When I was a kid, I fostered a phase of being obsessed with the movie Twister and being fascinated by tornados, tsunamis, typhoons… I loved how frightening yet how beautiful they could be. Who knows, maybe I'll change career paths and be a storm chaser one day. It could be fatal, but it would be a badass way to go.

I was a bit of a storm chaser for Craig. Him being the eye, the center surrounded by damage and chaos, but never letting it touch his own tranquil space, and me watching from afar, worried if I got too close, I would be sucked in and pieces of me would scatter all over Colorado.

After Dr. Vince left, the lightning and thunder dwindled away but continued to rain steady and hard. By 5:05, we were standing in the foyer, looking out, watching a couple of people run, holding a jacket over their heads.

"Damn, that's pretty gnarly," Craig observed. "How far away did you park?"

"Oh, I live close, so I walked here."

I could feel him watching the side of my face.

"It doesn't seem like it'll let up for a while," he said.

"Not really."

"You're not going to try and walk home in this, are you?"

"Nah, I can get an Uber or something."

"Oh, stop."

"Stop what?"

"I live close too. I don't mind taking you home."

"Oh, no, that's okay… you've already been so kind to me today. I couldn't do that to you."

Craig laughed. Not cruel, but genuinely gushing with warmth. "You're not doing anything to me. Really, I can take you."

"It's okay."

"You could get sick."

"I'm indestructible."

"Let me rephrase this: Kyle, I want to drive you home, okay?"

"I…"

"Come on," he opened the door and ran out, the smell of fresh rain rushed in, and I ran after him to the parking lot, to a compact black car. When I got inside, I was glad he wanted to take me home. The rain was so heavy I could hardly see where I was running.

His hair was soaked, sticking to the sides of his face, his white dress shirt clung to his chest. Fuck, I need to stop looking. Fuck, fuck, fuck… I pointed my knees toward the door, rested my elbow on the door, leaning away as far as I could.

"I'm a bit directionally challenged, just to warn you," he turned on the ignition, heat, and wipers and drove us off-campus.

"It's just up the street and to the left here," I said when we stopped at a corner light.

"'Aight."

Thunder came back. Then a cut of purple lightning in the distance.

"So do you leave your car at home a lot?"

"I don't have a car. I don't drive."

"Oh?"

I knew this lift would lead to this conversation. Never fails. "I got into a bad accident when I was 16. Haven't driven since."

"Oh."

I felt what he was thinking. So that's why his face is like that. All the pieces come together. More like all the scars come together.

"Well, I'm glad you're still around," he said as we made that left turn.

"Thank you. I guess I am too - oh, it's right here. Marsh Tattoo."

"You live in a tattoo parlor?"

"Yeah, my roomies and I have an apartment upstairs. They're artists."

"Is that who did all your tattoos?"

"Pretty much."

"That's so dope."

He slowed down into a stop in front of the place.

"Thank you so much." I reached for the door handle.

"It's no problem. Thanks for today."

"You're welcome?" I didn't understand his thankfulness. It seemed like he did all of the emotional leg work today.

"See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

12