Seven
Mabel
Ican’t breathe.
Fuck.
I can’t feel my hand on my chest, but I know it’s there.
Maverick is at my door.
What the fucking hell is he doing here?
Thirteen years.
Thirteen damn years since he walked away and completely ripped my soul from my body. I shut the door and do the only thing I could do in the moment.
I let out a pained, horror filled scream, that’s when the thud from the front door snaps me out my potentialhyperventilation, knocking me back to where I am in the moment. I grip tightly onto my shirt, holding my chest.
“Breathe, Mabel, you’re okay.” I repeat to myself, trying to pull myself together.
I’m no stranger to a panic attack or many. Had plenty over the years. Sliding down the locked door, I do the only thing I can think of doing in my panic filled state; I crumble on a heap on the floor in front of the door.
Thirteen fucking years!
I feel the wetness on my cheeks and pull my tongue out my mouth and steer it right, the salt that comes from my tears resting on my tongue.
I try to breathe.
My chest feeling like it’s about to explode.
As I try to calm my panic attack, I hear a truck door slam. Peering out the window behind the linen curtain, I watch a black Ranger spin around in mama and daddy’s driveway.
My driveway.
It speeds off with recklessness.
“Holy shit,” I mutter to myself as I get up from the floor. I run straight for the wine glass that I abandoned before the knock on the door.
I hold the glass to my mouth and take a large gulp of my drink, so large the glass finishes. I reach for the bottle and frantically pour myselfanother before repeating the downing of my glass yet again.
I wipe the tears away from my face with my left arm for a second time. I stare into the glass, to stunned to move until I hear my phone ringing.
Fuck.
Seeing the time I already know that I’m late.
“Hey,” I choke out, trying my best to act calm and normal.
“Don’t hey me! Where are you?” Iris shouts down the phone. I hear the usual rowdiness of McCoy’s crowd behind her phone.
“I know, I know, I... uh… got a bit side tracked. On my way now,” I splutter out. Abandoning my well needed wine I bolt towards my bedroom door.
“You better hurry up, Jakes on soon,” I hear Hope in the background. “Give me fifteen!” I say, as I put the phone down.
I don’t have the time to dwell on Mr Asshat finally making an appearance. I yank out my Mama’s rollers with such force, the pain in my scalp becoming more unbearable with every yank. I throw the rollers onto my dressing table one by one with each one landing with a thud. I run a comb through my hair, taking the hairspray and sprayingthe shit out of my head. I glance back in the mirror and see my eyes are already puffy from crying.
Perfect, just perfect.
