“Just in and out, that’s all. In and out.”
I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to fill my chest with the breath my body’s desperate for, begging for with each pant that rushes out of me.
I can’t.
I can’t.
“Emmett.”
My throat burns. My tongue dries. My chest aches.
This is my own doing.
I did this.
It’s my fault.
“Em—I’m sorry.” I barely hear it before the world tilts, and the center of my chest explodes in a pain that leaks a choked cry. Something hard hits my forehead and it hurts but not more than my ribs that feel like they’re caved in.
I’m shit.
I’mshitI’mshitI’mshit.
Pressure on the back of my neck has tears springing to my eyes.
Not again.
“No. No. No,” I chant, and it’s cracked. Clogged. Coated in tears that run down my cheeks as I claw at the air, fight against the hold.
“I know. I know, Em. I’m so sorry.”
The restraint keeping me bowed over lessens and I grab my knees, holding them tightly.
“You’re okay. I promise you’re okay.”
I’m not. I’m nowhere near okay, but there’s a swipe of something behind my ear. It’s rough and hot and though I want to cringe at it, I don’t. I want to hate it. To leer back from it. To fight it off.
I can’t.
“You’re okay,” Tristen whispers.
The touch behind my ear morphs into a band across my shoulders that makes me cry harder.
“No, please don’t.”
“I’m not gonna hurt you, bub. I’m not.”
There’s a tug.
At first, I stiffen. Fight against it. Pull away from it.
He tugs harder.
“You’re safe with me, I promise.”
I promise …
“I’m not gonna hurt you.”
