Sorry.
Sorry.
Chapter
Twelve
BLAIRE
Screw the time machine. I would have traded that dream in for my own mattress.
My back ached in places I didn’t know existed as I rolled out of Winder’s bed. His makeshift floor bed was empty, a lone bird trilled a cheerful song, and sun streamed in through the window. A beautiful day, yet I was absolutely miserable.
I grimaced, rubbing the worst of the spots, just as Winder popped in through the door, a box in his hands.
He frowned. “Everything okay?”
“Your mattress is just a bit stiffer than I’m used to. I’ll be fine when I get to go back to my own.” I got to my feet. “How long do you think I’ll have to stay here for?”
“I’m not sure at the moment. Hopefully not too much longer.” A look I couldn’t define crossed his face. “I brought you some food.”
He held out the box of cereal, and I realized how hungry I was, snatching it out of his hand. I stuffed a handful in my mouth, a little stale, but I wasn’t about to be picky. “Thanks. We do have a small problem, though.”
Winder’s frown deepened, and he looked over his shoulder to the still quiet living room. “Did someone come in here? Did they touch you?”
My eyes widened, and I shook my head. “Whoa, let’s slow down a bit. Nothing like that. I only meant that it’s Monday. I have to go to work today. As grateful as I am for the clothes, I’m not sure this really screams businesswear.”
I looked down at the oversized outfit that covered me. I didn’t really want to take Winder’s clothes off, but I was already very late, and didn’t want to push my luck more than I had to.
“Oh. That.” Winder’s shoulders dropped, relaxed. “I already called in to your work and told them you were sick and would be out for the rest of the week.”
My mouth dropped open, and I fumbled for words. Panic was the first emotion that came to mind, imagining my promotion I worked so hard for disappearing before my eyes. How did he even know where I worked? I’m sure he had his ways, an underground network of connections, butstill. Anger replaced my confusion, realizing what Winder had taken it upon himself to do without even asking me. “You didwhat?”
He raised a brow, daring me to contradict him. “Did you really think it would be a good idea for you to go to work, alone, when there’s someone out there who is obviously looking for you? If they knew where your apartment was, they’re going to know where you work.”
“Yes, but…” I fumbled for words. My promotion. Duke was going to get my promotion. The air escaped my lungs, leaving me gasping for oxygen. Out of everything, losing my promotion was going to be my breaking point. “I have to go to work. I told my boss everything was better, and I’m up for a massive role change, and if I don’t even show up, I’m not going to get it.”
“Blaire.” The look he gave me would’ve shriveled me on the spot if my anxiety wasn’t currently in control, imagining gettingfired from work, homeless on the streets, where even Winder’s bed would be more comfortable than the piece of cardboard that was going to be my home soon. “Is a promotion really the priority when your life's on the line?”
“Um…” My chest was so tight I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think straight. I knew what the right answer to Winder’s question was, but at the moment, all I could think was, “What if I get fired?”
“Blaire!” Winder’s voice brought me down a notch. “You’re not going to lose your job from being sick. Okay? I promise you. But I need you to focus for a minute. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.” I tried to focus on Winder’s voice, on the way his black shirt stretched across his chest. My heart was still beating a thousand miles a minute.
“Breathe, Blaire. Focus.” Winder was in front of me, sitting me back down on the bed. “Five things. Give me five things you can see.”
I nodded, gulping in a breath. “Door. Black shirt. Um.” I squeezed my hands together. I could do this. My job wouldn’t be the thing that broke me. I wouldn’t let it. “Door. Black shirt. Broken lamp. Dresser. Your tattoo?”
“Good girl.” He squeezed my knee, and I clung to the small touch.
My breath was coming a bit easier now, my heartbeat slowing down to a manageable level. Panic attacks weren’t new to me, not by a long shot, but having one over work was different.Good girl,I thought. He called me his good girl. I liked the idea of that more than I should have.
“I’m okay,” I murmured, shifting back so I could cross my legs. “I’ve just been working for that position for a really long time, so the idea that it could be ripped away from me just like that is…”
“I get it.” He stood up, even though I wanted to pull him back down with me. I didn’t want to be alone with this feeling. “I’ve lost things for seemingly meaningless reasons, too. But I need you to do me a favor, okay? I need you to think about your safety first. I need you to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”
I scoffed. “You’re preaching to the choir. I’m prepared for basically anything.”Thank you, anxiety.
