A quietness overtakes my mind as I continue to observe my surroundings. I saw them when I stumbled into the room, but I was still pretty out of it. Still trapped in my mind and its mental warfare.
I say those two words on repeat, making them my mantra for the rest of the night. For the rest of mylife.
I’m safe.
I’m safe.
I’m safe.
“Tell me what room you’re in,” Dawson says once I’ve had enough time for those words to sink in.
“I’m in my bathroom. There’s a toilet, a sink, and a bathtub. There’s a mirror and lights and…” I dispel a big breath, “there’s no water.”
Thank fucking god.
Dawson’s voice is scratchy, riddled with emotion and pride. “I knew you could do it.”
Those butterflies swarm my stomach more, pitching in that way that makes it dip when you kiss someone for the very first time. I didn’t know it was possible—to flip so quickly from one extreme to another, but my body switches gears, moving farther away from hysteria and closer to a curious serenity.
It isn’t lost on me how Dawson’s affirmations are the ones that make my heartbeats stutter. Or that he’s the one reassuring and comforting me instead of my fiancé.
“Dr. Cole?”
I know he told me to call him by his first name, but there are times—like this one—when calling him by his title feels more fitting.
“Yes, Miss Prescott?”
It isn’t lost on me how he mirrors the action. “Thank you,” I murmur, realizing now that I’m not panicking, I should probably hang up. Being on the phone with him any longer isn’t going to fall under our doctor-patient arrangement.
Then again, I don’t think these feelings I’m starting to feel do, either.
10
EMORY
Iset my mug down on the table on our back patio and try to level out the nerves that seem to be zipping through my body at breakneck speeds. Just beyond our yard is a rocky bluff that eventually transforms into water. My tablet is on my lap, my fingers clinging to its sides, but my eyes are focused on the blue at the horizon.
It wasn’t that long ago that I was down there begging the waters to spit me out as they tried to lay their claim on me. Just being out here and looking at it makes me want to retch. Makes my lungs feel like they’re filling with water—not air—all over again.
It’s part of my therapy homework to come out here and at least try to look at it to overcome the gnarly nerves that have had their hold on me. The reality is that this is my home. I live on the coast with the Atlantic Ocean as part of my backyard. I can’t keep being afraid of it, thinking it’s going to reach out and drag me under when, unless I venture into the open waters, it won’t.
Dawson told me it’d take time, but that incorporating it back into my daily routine would be beneficial in the long run. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. Because everytime I get even a little glimpse of it, the same emotions I get after my nightmares swirl through me.
It’s hard keeping them at bay. To tell myself that this is part of the process, and that it’ll get better.
Dr. Cole’s voice smooths over my thoughts, the deepness of it igniting a flurry of hopefulness through me.I want you to slowly become more acquainted with the sea so you can get back to living life at its fullest. This isn’t going to be forever, Emory,he told me during my last appointment. I didn’t tell him that it always feels like forever when you’re in the thick of it. Always feels like the end of the tunnel, while in sight, will never be close enough.
I glance over at my phone where it rests next to my mug. “Don’t do it,” I whisper to myself.Do not text him.Lance is at work, so it’s not like anyone is around to hear me. As usual, I’m alone. Both physically and emotionally. The feeling mounts on top of all the others, and it makes me crack.
I slouch down in my chair and hike my feet up after grabbing my phone. I switch off my tablet—and the photos I was looking over—and open my texts. There’s an unread message from Lance, and I click into it.
Lance: Mom and Dad invited us out to dinner tonight. I told them we’ll be there.
I chew on my lip, my brain automatically wanting to put a stop to these newfound plans.
Me:And what if I don’t want to?
It’s a childish thing to say, but I send it anyway. Lance messages me back almost immediately. I assume he has a break in between looking at listings or setting up potential open houses.
