Instead of answering, he goes to each of the windows, making sure they’re locked. Then he returns to me and gives me a deep kiss. “My job is to keep you safe,” he says, ignoring my question. “I’m going to do that, and I’ll be right back.”
“But what’s going on?” I insist harshly, anger growing inside me as I realize he’s shutting me out.
Literally.
Without answering, he locks the door and leaves me alone. I sit on the bed, a mix of emotions throttling me. Angry at being treated like a helpless child. Cold, despite the sunny weather. But most of all, foreboding that rises within me, telling me that he’s not in as much control of things as he’d like me to think.
I close my eyes, allowing my mind to wander, though I occasionally startle back to reality at the sound of a particularly loud blow or cry of pain. So, they’re beating up Vincent. I don’t know him that well, but I’ve always viewed him as a kid. Probably not much younger than me, but he has baby fat on his cheeks and sometimes his voice cracks, like it’s still changing.
And from the little I’ve seen of Damien’s interactions with him, I thought he liked him. He might have teased him, but he looked out for him. He was protective.
Just like he is with me.
And now he’s beating the shit out of him without a second thought. Just like he’s done to me in the past. Just like he’d do again, if I angered him enough.
It’s laughable to hear Damien say he loves me. How he wants to build a life with me. Take me to an idyllic farm and raise a family with me.
I may be falling into his trap, but I’m no idiot. I’m well aware this is all bullshit.
I’m just as disposable to him as Vincent is. For the moment, he’s being kind to me, but in a minute it could all turn. It has in the past.
Only now, I won’t let myself believe. Not entirely. I will steel myself, though it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
I lie down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, at its smooth whiteness. I hate it. I hate everything about it. The lack of shadows I can lose myself in feels stifling. It descends upon me, heavy against my throat.
The feeling that begins as an emotion turns into something physical. Iliterallycan’t breathe. My lungs feel crushed, as though a hand has reached into my chest and is squeezing the life out of me. I try to catch my breath, but it’s useless. I suck in air, a tiny bit at a time, breathing faster and faster, wheezing, my heart palpitating. A thick sheen of sweat forms on my skin. I can’t breathe. Fuck, fuck, fuck. My heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest. I’m going to die. I feel clammy, faint. I stand up, trying to get to the window for some fresh air, before remembering it’s locked. But I don’t make it back to the bed. The world spirals around me, then grows dark, and I crash to the floor.
__
I awake to the feel of a hand patting my cheek, softly at first, then hard. A slap that knocks the wind out of me.
My eyes open onto Damien. He’s bent over me, staring at me with anxiety.
“She’s awake,” he calls to someone I can’t see. “Thank God.”
He gathers me gently in his arms and strokes the side of my face.
“What happened?” I gasp.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
I pass a hand over my eyes, frowning. “I think… I think I couldn’t breathe. But now I can.”
“Sounds like a panic attack,” says the muffled voice of someone I can’t see. “I used to have them as a kid.”
The someone approaches and I recognize Vincent. At least, what was once Vincent. This bleeding, bruised person looks only vaguely like the cheerful, slightly nervous kid I saw a few times.
Damien holds me to him while glaring at Vincent. “Go get the doctor.”
Vincent stumbles off, wincing painfully, and returns a few minutes later with Doctor Farley, who kneels down to examine me.
“It does appear to be a panic episode,” he declares at last, removing his stethoscope. “Those symptoms are pretty classic. Damien, have you thought about contacting the therapist I recommended to you?”
He nods curtly. “I’ll set it up. Thank you.”
The doctor leaves, and Damien tilts my head back, studying me. “What was that all about?” he asks softly.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “It just… happened.”
