Iwant to go outside. I mean, duh, that’s pretty much a given, but Ireally want to. I want to be able to do it for me. It’s not about proving something anymore. There’s no bandage to just tear off. I just want to step outside, tilt my face up, and look at the stars overhead. I want the cool night air on my skin. I want to take a single breath without choking and know that I finally can. I want to be completelyfree. I used to think that there’d be a backslide if I tried and failed, and maybe there was. Maybe there was self-recrimination and more fear, but not now. If I have a panic attack outside, I need to just do what Lockwood advised and say,so what?So fucking what, and try again and again until I can do it.
Maverick is sleeping beside me. Not soundly, but at least deep enough that I can slip out of the bed. He’s on top of the covers, fully dressed, lashes resting thickly on his cheeks and a lock of hair fallen to frame his face.
He’s warm, magic, magnetic, and beautiful, but I still find my sweater and slip it on over my t-shirt. The pajama bottoms will be warm enough.
It’s been two days since we met with Dravin and Wizard. I explained everything I could, including a full description of height, age, and face. I remembered exactly, but of course those details would only be approximate. I gave them the location of the attack and the time, the date and year. I don’t know how it will even be close to enough. I understand why Fawnie seemedso skeptical and awed when she asked how on earth anyone could possibly locate someone with just the barest of details.
This is the fourth night in a row that Scythe told Maverick he’d be working late and sleeping at the clubhouse. I’m starting to think that he’s taken up a room there just to give us privacy. I know if I told him that I’m sorry he’s being put out of his own house, he’d only pass it off and tell me it’s not just his house anymore, and he’s not put out at all.
I tiptoe upstairs and stand at the door by the basement stairs. There’s a thin white curtain over the window. I push it aside and stare out.
The night is quiet. Still in a way that the city never is. It’s virtually soundless.
The yard is fenced, so at least if I step outside and have a panic attack, hopefully the neighbors won’t see and get alarmed. I won’t disturb anyone but Maverick in the house, and while I hate to do that, I know that he’d rather I woke him up so he could be right here with me.
I love that, I truly do, and I’ll appreciate it forever, but I woke up with his idea on my mind and something stirring deep inside that tells me I have to do this alone. Not every time, but this time.
I’m so resolute in this that my hand falls to the deadbolt and I flick it off before I can even coax myself or get my body ready. My usual panicked breathing at the thought of even stepping foot past a doorjamb hasn’t hit me yet. My heart isn’t racing. I’m still breathing soft and steady.
Maybe my body hasn’t caught up with my mind yet and thinks that there’s no way I’m going to do this. Maybe it’s thehour I just spent staring at the ceiling in the basement, all the while with the insane urge to race up the stairs, fling open the door, and dance under the stars stampeding through me like a real herd of wild horses.
I don’t know about being possessed, but I’m possessed to dothis.
I twist the doorknob and pull open the door. It opens soundlessly, the cool air rushing up to meet my skin immediately.
I step out in bare feet. It’s probably forty-nine degrees out, but at least it didn’t rain today. The small concrete sidewalk at the back is cold, but not unbearable. I focus on the sensation against my skin, the texture, the feel, the temperature. It’s not windy tonight, but the air still feels good against my face. I fill my lungs with it, dragging it deep down inside of me and holding onto the clean, fresh smell.
I try one more step and then another and another.
I keep walking until my feet hit the grass.
I can breathe. I can walk. I’ve made it seven steps.
Tears flood my eyes. They overflow, running hot down my cold cheeks. A soft breeze tugs at my hair. I drink it in. I’m here. I’m alive. Nothing has happened to me. I’m going to be okay. I know I’m not cured, but in this moment, whatever was telling me to get up and come out here wasright. I throw my arms overhead, let out a joyouswhoop, and tilt my face up to the sky.
The blackness rushes at me. It bears down, the ink stain spreading, coating me. The stars are there, blurred and wild. Not ominous, but suddenly, my lungs squeeze, my legs turn to jelly, and I collapse on the grass, struggling for breath. Panic hitsme hard, closing its tightly clawed fingers around my heart and internal organs.
I don’t know why I expected it would be different, or why I could take those few steps and then have it happen. I’d scream if I could draw any air. As it is, all I can do is scrabble at my throat, trying to open it up. The tears on my face are like acid now, bitter and toxic.
Why?
It’s the one question I stopped asking so long ago because it’s senseless. There’s no answer for it.
None at all.
Why, why, why, fuck why?
I pound the grass with a closed fist. I should start crawling back, dragging myself to the safety of the door, but I’m too… angry. Too devastated. I just want to curl into a ball and wither away to nothing. It would be better than retreating, better than thinking I could do this and getting further than I ever have, then it all crashing down on me.
“Loreena!”
My head snaps around, the panic centers in my brain jarred for just long enough to see Maverick silhouetted in his black t-shirt and jeans in the doorway. He charges out, races across the sidewalk and lawn, and throws himself over me. He’s my human shield against a sky that isn’t going to come crashing down. Against twinkling stars that wish me no ill and won’t harm me. Nothing was coming for me. Not a fucking thing.
“Why?” I gasp out, my tears turning to sobs as I try to suck in breath and start hiccupping instead. “I was s-so c-close. W- why c-can’t I just d-do it?”
He tries to scoop me into his arms, but I struggle, grasping handfuls of the crisp grass. He releases me immediately and just goes back to shielding me. He doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move, giving me time to get my breathing under control enough that I can tell him what it is that I want.
“Just leave me out here,” I whimper. “I’m not going to die. I’ll just pass out, worst case scenario. Just fuckingleaveme.”
