Two detectives walked into my path, but I slipped straight in between them with a quick apology. I immediately noted their guns too. Visible beneath their jackets.
A phantom ache pulled at my side and continued tugging as I stepped into the corridor. There seemed to be more detectives and police than I first noticed. And suddenly I was counting each gun I caught a glimpse of.
The corridor to the elevator seemed to stretch on and grow narrower, filled with people coming and going.
Fear quickly rooted itself into my chest and spread, tightening around my lungs and heart until I was suffocating unnoticed.
I needed somewhere quiet and empty, and it came in the form of a cleaning room. I quickly shoved my way inside it, shuttingthe door behind me and leaning into it with my palms as I looked at the ground.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale—Why am I panicking?
An image of Aiden and his gun flashed across my mind, but I shook my head and then backed away from the door, pulling my arms tightly around myself.
“He isn’t here,” I said, shaking my head once more, eyes closed. “He’s in rehab, learning how to use his leg again. With an ankle monitor.”
That doesn’t mean no one else wouldn’t use a gun on you.
Panic rose inside me like bile, making it harder to think clearly. Every thought was suddenly too loud, and the single light overhead was too bright. I pressed a hand to my chest and hunched forward, feeling completely helpless. Until I was hastily rolling up one sleeve of my knit sweater.
As a teenager, when everything my parents piled on me got to a boiling point, I used pain. Perfect grades, pressure to fit in and be good, be polite, learn the violin although I hated every second spent with that tutor… I shamefully used pain to cope, and after a while, the panic caused by the pressure grew numb.
Moving out of home made coping with my anxiety easier, but the panic I felt now was inescapable, and was bigger than any I’ve felt before.
I pinched the underside of my forearm between my nails, forcing down the urge to let go when it hurt too much. It was an anchor I needed and pulled my thoughts into clarity as I shut my eyes and breathed.
As the bad memories receded into their boxes, I slowly released my skin and looked hesitantly at my forearm.
And the blood on my fingernails.
The third-floor hallway was empty as I approached the apartment door. All I could think of, as I pushed the key into the lock and turned the handle, was the welcoming embrace of sleep. I planned to fall into bed and nap until dinner. Except, as I closed the door softly behind me and made my way into the apartment, I paused in the hallway.
Apparently, I had completely missed Seb’s bike outside. His helmet sat on the side table beside Kira’s bedroom door — herajarbedroom door where the sound of a creaking bed and soft but heavy breathing could be heard.
I quickly exited the apartment, slightly shocked and happily bemused as I stopped in the hallway.
My train of thought was completely derailed.
What do I do?
I started for the elevator and pulled out my phone.
Dean’s voice answering my call never failed to cause a faint flutter in my stomach.
“Hey, what’s up?” It was paired with a subtle breathlessness and the sounds of the garage in the background.
“I was wondering what time you planned on getting home?” I pressed the elevator button for the ground floor.
“I’ve gotta run some errands for Mom first, but I should get to yours at five-ish…” The sounds of the garage grew faint. I figured he had stepped outside. “Unless you had something else in mind for right now? Because I could tell the boss there was a family emergency.”
My face heated, and I smiled. “I was actually wondering if your mom would mind if I visited? And maybe stay over?”
“We’re talkin’ about my mother, Lily. She adores you.”
Sofia opened the front door with a huge grin on her face. Her long, wavy black hair was pulled away from her face with a claw clip, and her blue eyes sparkled. In her lap was Bella, the caramel chihuahua mix puppy she was gifted so many months ago. The puppy had grown a mere inch since then but was as bouncy as the first time I met her, wriggling from head to white-tipped tail.
“Dean told me you were on your way,” Sofia said warmly as I leaned in to hug her. “How are you?”
She knew what I went through, more so than anyone else. Not from retellings but from her own experience of how she came to be in a wheelchair. When I slowly pulled away from the hug, she watched me with a knowing look and a faint smile.
