“I don’t know.” I didn’t want to say yes because then he would stop touching me.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t—I wouldn’t have pulled you in here if I’d known. I’m so sorry, Dakota.”
When had anyone ever apologized to me before? I couldn’t remember.
I felt his pulse in his wrist and brushed my thumb across his skin. Why washetrembling?
“It’s okay. I didn’t know either.”
It wasn’t a lie; I really didn’t know I’d have such a severe reaction to being stuck in a small, dark space because I’d spent so long making sure thatneverhappened again.
As close as Reese was to me, I wanted to pull him even closer. The nights he sleepwalked had quickly become my favorite, because then I had an excuse to drag him into my arms and hold onto him without any resistance. I knew come morning he’d be pissed to wake up with me wrapped around him, so I always left before that could happen.
I was starting to look forward to those quiet hours where time stood still and, just for a little while, things felt okay. Then I wasn’t Dakota, the unwanted son that never did anything right. I was…just someone who could help.
Someone who could helphim.
I liked that. I liked that more than anything, because as much as he snapped back at me, he needed help. Was that selfish? Was doing a kindness for another person because it mademefeel better selfish? Or did the fact that I wanted to do it because it made him feel better, too, negate that?
“Do you still need me to…um…” Reese shifted on his knees, his hand pressing into my chest to help him balance. I slid my other hand to his waist. He flinched away from me, and the sting of hurt was quick and deep.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I had to remember that while I might be slightly obsessed with him, the feeling wasn’t mutual. I couldn’t fucking help myself, though.
“Dakota,” he said. His voice sounded thicker. Deeper.
“Yeah?”
There was a pause, and I imagined him licking his lips. Then I imaginedmelicking his lips, and god I wanted that. Would he like it if I bit him? Just a little? Gently? Would he like it if?—
“Why were you scared?” he asked.
He slowly pulled away from me, taking his hands with him, and the immediate return of adrenaline laced with fear made it feel like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
But this felt like panic of a different kind, like losing his touch was even worse than the heavy dread that long-forgotten memories brought with them.
Each panting breath ramped up the speed of my heart, and an all-consuming terror slithered into the space he’d created between us.
“Goddammit,” he muttered, framing my face with his hands again. He held me tight as he tilted my head up. “Hey. Breathe, okay? You’re okay. Nothing’s gonna happen to you in here. What do you need me to do? Should we call somebody?” He started to pull one of his hands away, and I grabbed onto it in desperation, squeezing his fingers so hard he yelped.
“Sorry,” I panted, loosening my grip but not letting go. “I just—please don’t let go of me. Just keep—keep touching me, okay?”
“Fine, just—can we call someone, though? Like don’t you know someone who could come get us out of here? We need to get out.”
“But you’ll stop touching me if we get out.”
Fuck. I said that out loud.
“…and you’ll be fine,” Reese said slowly after a long pause. “Right? You’re only scared right now because you’re in the middle of it. Aren’t panic attacks just…you’re not in any real physical danger, it just feels like it? Right?”
I wished I could see his eyes, because I had no idea what was going through his head right now. I wanted to tell him that Imight die if he stopped touching me, but something told me that wouldn’t go over well. It felt like the truth, but not reality.
“I don’t know, this has never happened to me before.”
Reese sighed, and it was full of heavy exhaustion. But when he slid his hand down my face to the side of my neck and started rubbing, I could have melted from how good it felt.
“I don’t understand why you need me to touch you. I still feel like you’re messing with me.”
I shook my head. “I’m not.”
