I knocked harder. “Skye, I need to know that you’re okay in there, and then I’ll leave you alone.”
I waited. Seconds turned into a minute, and then I slammed my fist on the door so hard it vibrated in the frame.
“Skye, I need to know that you’re okay. Answer me.”
When she didn’t, the panic set in. I tried the knob, but it was locked.
I cursed and spun around, scanning the room for anything that might help me get through.
My eyes landed on my backpack—my go-bag.
Rushing over, I yanked it open and pulled out the small toolkit I always kept inside. It was a set of interchangeable screwdrivers meant for electronics and small repairs—but it would do.
I grabbed the tool I needed and dropped to my knees in front of the bathroom door. My hands worked fast, tearing apart the handle without a care for what I might break.
It probably only took seconds, but it felt like forever before the knob finally came free and I could shove inside.
My heart lurched the moment I saw her.
The bathroom was fairly small, with nothing but white tile everywhere. She was curled up in a ball next to the sink. Her forehead was pressed against the wall as she gripped her knees to her chest.
She was shaking, her breaths heavy and labored.
I dropped the screwdriver. It clattered to the floor as I ran to her.
21
Skye
Iwasn’tdying.Iwasn’tdying. I wasn’t dying.
I’m dying.
I pressed my forehead harder into the cold tile as unbidden panic pulled me down into a depth I couldn’t rise from. My gasping breaths made me feel like I was suffocating, but I couldn’t control them.
Nothing was in my control. Not my heart rate. Not my escalating blood pressure. Not even my thoughts as a war raged inside me.
My head pounded as my inner monologue spiraled.
I was going to stroke out if I couldn’t control this panic. My heart was going to explode if I didn’t calm its chaotic beating. Maybe I was bleeding internally from the accident and I didn’t know.
I’m dying.
Tears gushed down my face, and I let out a sob. I’d been desperately holding back, trying to be quiet, but I couldn’t anymore. I couldn’t stop this feeling of being crushed under the weight of anxiety.
I thought I heard my name, but I couldn’t respond. I could barely breathe.
Another pathetic, tragic sob left my mouth, and I hugged my legs tighter against me.
This would pass. It would wane. It always did…eventually.
A hand gripped my shoulder, but I was barely aware of it. Someone brushed back my hair, and I flinched away.
This was embarrassing. This was ridiculous.
This is torture.
I was physically pulled away from the wall and into a warm, strong body. I didn’t uncurl myself as Fox’s cedar and soap scent wrapped around me. He pulled me into his lap, saying my name again. It sounded desperate. Panicked.
