He ends up pulling me into his lap as he sits down on the seat. Every single layer of my skin’s tissue vibrates, and I’m fighting against getting lost in the grasps of a panic attack.
It’s been a while since I got an unwelcome flashback.
When I take out a mark, I only think of my aftermath. My mind is prepped for that; I’m able to check the foundations before I step back into it.
I know it isn’t happening again. I survived it.
I worked on myself to turn my life around.
But this?
This is a trigger I thought I’d be strong enough to face.
Saint’s hands cup my face. “Indie, talk to me?”
It isn’t until his wet thumbs caress under my eyes that I realise I’m crying.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I rush out. The words come out scratchy and croaked, as if I took a lifetime vow of silence, the oxygen my lungs are starved of swooshing back in as they eventually expand.
The fear is threatening to consume me whole, fragments of that night still stabbing at my mind, preparing to swallow me back into its time warp like it did the first time I had one.
Saint snatches the earpiece out of my ear, and then his.
He takes the pin off his jacket and stuffs the devices deep into his pocket. “I don’t want your apologies, Indie. I want you here with me. Listen to my voice. I’ve got you. You’re not in the Archives. You willneverexperience that again, do you hear me? I’d give my life if it meant you’d never come to harm again.”
I hang on to each and every one of Saint’s words with desperate hands, his voice lulling my personal demons.
He holds me tight, hands drawing circles on my forearms, riding out the flashback with me, until it subsides.
I don’t know how much time has passed, the heaviness of the cloak easing as my mind stumbles out of the storm, worn and battered, shaken up, but not completely destroyed.
My heart is still thundering in my chest, the glaze over my eyes has subdued, and I look up to find those intense grey eyes assessing me, searching for my clarity.
The same pair of eyes that holds every one of my dreams, and my nightmares.
The ones I’ve craved to look into when times got hard, and they’re here with me, in the now.
Saint’s voice drops dangerously low. The air in the room takes a drastic turn. “They don’t cause your fear, Indie. I do.”
My breathing stutters, but it’s nothing to do with the aftermath I’m still bathing in.
“I’m not scared of you,” I whisper.
“No?”
I silently shake my head, my eyes locked onto his. “Never.”
His dark laugh rumbles against my chest, raising the hairs along the back of my exposed neck. “That, baby, might be the biggest mistake you’ve ever made.”
My mouth opens, but he cuts through my words, placing his forehead against mine and forcefully cupping the back of my neck.
“The things I would do for you? To anyone who ever caused you harm? Made you cry? If you knew the thoughts that run through my head on how each of them will meet their end, you’d never look at me the same way again.”
I close my eyes at his devotion, my pulse drumming through my ears. Even though his words are corroded in evil methods, they also bring me a sombre feeling.
“Tell me,” I whisper, truly wanting to know.
Needingto know.
