Page 48 of Control (Everyday Heroes 3.50)
As we reach the middle of the room, a zombie—that looks like he is plastic—jumps to life and scares the shit out of us. Then and only then that I get a clue what we are doing here.
Reznor’s screech at the top of his lungs when the character lunges at us is deafening. His body is fraught with tension, and he takes me by total surprise when he pushes me ahead of him and buries his forehead against my shoulder to hide his eyes.
“Walk, Des. Just please fucking walk,” he orders as his hands shake and his body pushes against mine to go faster.
My own adrenaline is charging through me, so I don’t question why he is throwing me into the fire when he’s supposed to be the tough guy. But with each and every room we enter, his reaction is so extreme I can’t help but laugh at some of them. Jumping behind me. Screaming at the character to get the fuck away from him. The grip of his hands on my body. The command in his voice as he tells me what to do.
And just when I think the poor guy is going to have a heart attack, we push into the last room to find that we have successfully made it through the haunted house.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he swears harshly as he all but jogs as far as he can from the exit, hands behind his head, feet moving one way and then the other as he tries to shake off the rush of fear that’s coursing through him.
As I stand to the side and give him the space he needs, I wonder what the point of this whole exercise was. And what it is he’s trying to tell me with it.
He blows out a huge breath and looks back at me—there’s a line of sweat on his brow and his face is pale.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I’ll be fine. In a few minutes.” A pace one way, then the other. “I hate those fucking things.”
This time when he strides toward me, he grabs my hand without asking, forcing me to follow him.
“What—?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Whoa—okay.”
He’s silent as he proceeds to buy what appears to be one of each item from the concession stand, much to the teenage girl’s chagrin who is making googly eyes at him as she waits on him. It’s not until we’re seated at a picnic table on the far end of the lot, where the light is dim and the crowd is sparse, that he finally looks at me.
“Have you figured it out yet?” he asks as he takes a bite of nachos.
“Yes, but…”
“But what? I’m a big, bad cop who most days deals with monsters for a living, but put me in a haunted house and I scream like a little girl?”
I laugh and take a chip of my own. “Something like that.”
He smiles and then it fades as his eyes grow serious. “We all have fears, Desi. Even the strongest of us have fears. It’s okay to have one—or many. It doesn’t make you weaker...it makes you human.”
His words hit home. The compassion in his voice more so as I open my mouth to respond and then shut it, fearful that the tears burning in my eyes will fall.
“Do you know what it’s like to feel like you’re one hundred percent vulnerable? To wake up in your own bed and know you are at the complete mercy of someone else? Then the utter terror of that person leaving and knowing they are still out there, and might possibly still come back? The jumping at every shadow and being suspicious of every new person you meet who seems overly friendly? And more than anything, questioning yourself: your judgment, whether you brought this on yourself...and how you reacted nowhere near how you thought you would in that situation?” The words fall out in a rush as thoughts, feelings, doubts I’ve had for weeks finally materialize.
“Feels good to finally say it, doesn’t it?” he asks with his head angled to the side and a finger tracing lightly over the top of my hand.
I avert my eyes, suddenly shy, even though I’m never shy, and allow the smile to slide on my lips. “Yeah, it does.”
The carnival-like atmosphere carries on around us but for the moment, it just feels like it’s him and me—no one else matters.
And there go the flutters again.
Crap.
“It’s normal, you know,” he says.
“Not for me, it isn’t,” I respond, referring to the aftereffects of the prowler and the damn fluttering.
“Let me guess—tough girl, life of the party who loves the limelight and has no problem being the one who makes people at ease, the one everyone depends on when things go to shit.”
