My pulse races and my breaths are fast.
I’mhere,I’mnow.
“I am safe. I am in my home. I am safe.”
I try to forestall the panic attack before it starts, but between suddenly seeing the man in the mask and the reality of not going home for Christmas, it’s no use. My chest tightens. Even my cozy cabin doesn’t feel safe.
“I amsafe.I am in my home and I. AM. SAFE!” I’m spiraling, I can feel it.
I abandon my cocoa on my side table by the couch and throw a few logs into the wood stove—I imagine I’ll not be out here again for a while to refill it. Luckily, it seemsreallyefficient, so it can often go all night without me needing to refuel.
Henry’s collar automatically opens and closes the dog door for him, and his food and water are on dispensers. I only needed to deal with one accident after I couldn’t let him out during a panic attack to make sure he’d have what he needed. I might struggle, but I need to be sure he’ll be taken care of.
I’m sweating up a storm as I stumble to my room and abandon my clothes—they all feel too tight anyhow—and climb into bed. Grasping beneath the sheets, I find my sleep pod, a jersey sleeping bag contraption that gives me compression. I stuff myself into it like a sausage and hope that between that and the weighted blanket I can head off my attack before itreallystarts.
Unfortunately, now that I’ve done everything I need to do to prep for said attack, I’ve got nothing else to do but sit here and ruminate. My room is dark because the lights would bother me, but I don’t have the blinds shut since I’d forgotten to shut them between talking to Mom and Dad and getting started on Fae’s presents.
Now, there’s only the palest sliver of a moon left, and it barely outlines the furniture in my room. It’s all light tones, beiges with earthy accents, even though I personally love deep colors. I went to the Utah mom school of decor, and so a chic beige house is what I know best. Plus, I think it’s hilarious to see all of my dark-colored fantasy, dark romance, and monster romance books lined up on my shelves against the paleness of everything else. Right now, though, all of those light colors reflect light from the moon, outlining their edges and deepening their shadows.
Out the window, the last oak leaves shiver in the wind, making a horrible chattering sound that riles my frayed nerves. I pull in deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heart.
I’m not in Boston. I’m in the middle of nowhere, and anyone would be hard pressed to find me here. Not that theywantto. The only people who know I live here are my mailman, my nearest neighbor Tom, who gets my groceries, and my friends and family.
My attackercouldhave my address, but the police assured me that it was highly unlikely, as I’d had my license in my pocket from flying, instead ofin my purse. I’m fairly certain that nothing else in my bag had my address on it, but I have never been entirely sure.
During times like these, I remind myself: he was probably just some punk kid. He just needed the money. He hadn’twantedto harm me. He would never seek me out.
Also, even if he did, I have ahugescary dog to protect me. Henry hops onto the bed, though I can tell that his joints are bugging him when he does so. Sure, Ada, Henry istotallygoing to be able to protect you in an emergency. Really, though, in an emergency, I’d want him to stay safe instead of getting hurt trying to protect me, which only makes me feel worse, because now I’m thinking about him getting hurt and if I could work up the courage to get him to the vet.
Or worse, if I died, how he’d be all alone for days before nosy Tom came to check on me.
The tightness in my chest escalates to pain, the feeling that causes a lot of people to go to the ER thinking they are having a heart attack, but I know better. I’ve called the paramedics enough times since my attack to know that I’m losing my shit again. Well, I guess that means the paramedics also know I’m here—hell, they know me by name at this point. I’m not about to call them; I know that I just need to ride this out.
My thoughts swirl in my head, warring back and forth between “I’m in the middle of nowhere, I’m safe,” and “I’m in the middle of nowhere… no one could hear me scream.”
My pulse races, my chest aches, and time slows to a crawl. If I were in a video game, I’d be stuck. I can hear the boss music, even see him maybe, but I can’t start the fight. Because this is real life, and even though I am waiting on the precipice, there is no boss. There’s only me, fighting things that I know aren’t real, scenarios that are definitely not going to happen. Until I fall asleep, and inevitably return to them in my nightmares.
CHAPTER
TWO
Snow crunches under my boots, the only sound in the silent night. The biting wind pricks at the exposed skin of my throat and lips, but I barely feel it. All my senses are dulled, save one.
The ever-present pull ofher. Dragging me over and over to her side. Filling my mind with twisted, dark need until that’s all that’s left of me.
A snowy driveway stretches out ahead of me, disappearing into the void of the forest. Each step closer to my goal has my heart beating harder, a drumbeat to march to as I follow her command.
The faintest whisper in my mind tells me I could change this if I tried hard enough. If I could just clear her from my mind for a moment, and think of something,anything,other than this sick compulsion, maybe it could be different. We could meet at a cafe and exchange shy glances until one of us works up the courage to say hello. We could stumble into each other at the grocery store, our hands accidentally touching as we both try to pick up the same box at the same time.
We could do literally anything other than this, but that’snot the way things work. There’s no version of me that exists where this woman doesn’t consume every fiber of my being.
In the blink of an eye, I’ve reached my destination. The two-story brick-front home is out of place in the middle of a forest, shining like a beacon with its twinkling display of warm white lights. A small wreath adorns each window, and there’s still a glow of light behind most of them, despite the late hour.
Usually I find her at her lonely cabin, and the difference intrigues me.
Are others at home with her? I thought she’d be alone. She’s always alone.
Some of the tension eases out of my spine. If others are here, maybe I don’t have to…
