“Shh. I got you.”
Easton. It’s Easton. He’s the best stalker.
The last thought to enter my mind before the blackness swallows me whole is ...
He’s coming.
He’s coming for me.
Eva
Gentle fingers slide through my hair, a low whisper in my ear.
A warm shiver scatters across my body as I force my heavy eyes open. It takes a few attempts before they stop fighting me.
A dresser and a photo frame slowly take shape. The figures in the picture blur around the edges, but I can tell it’s a young Easton and Isaac. Relief floods me. I’m in Easton’s room. I try to sit up, but nothing happens. I try again, this time while I stare down at my body, but when my fingers only twitch, nausea rolls through me.
My lips part, shallow breaths escape, but I can’t—my voice—it’s not working.
“Hey.” The word floats somewhere above my head, and I realize Easton’s hand is in my hair, my head on his lap. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re safe.”
The words sink into my pores with déjà vu. An echo of our past. Tears sting my eyes.
Safe.
Safe.
I’m safe.
Then why can’t I move? Why can’t I speak?
I try to shake my head, but it only rolls lazily to the side, as if my neck is a noodle supporting the weight of a brick.
“Breathe, Eva.” He brushes my hair from my face. “Slow, steady.”
I inhale and wait for oxygen to fill my lungs, but instead it catches in my throat. I try again and again, with desperation climbing—
“It’s okay. Take your time. When you’re ready, relax your throat, and inhale slowly through your nose.”
I take a moment to allow calmness to wash over me. Focusing on Easton’s steady breathing helps. Each exhale deep and slow. I listen toone.Two.Three.
Three.
I counted to three without realizing it. Just like Mom. Her soft smile floats into view, and an unshed tear spills past my lashes. I fucking hate crying. I already do it so much, but at least my throat relaxes while thoughts of her pour in. Slowly, I inhale. Oxygen flows into my lungs, and a sob bubbles up.
An actual sob.
I made asound.
“Easton ...” It’s a slurred whisper, but he hears it.
“Eva.” He says my name like it’s a secret he’s been waiting to share. His thumb traces my cheek, warm lips on my forehead, and I shut my eyes briefly.
“I can’t ... I can’t move.”
“I know.” The words are hard, rough. A beat passes, then another. “Eva ... can you remember noticing anything unusual before you started feeling off? Anyone?”
I start another useless attempt at shaking my head when red hair flickers into my mind. Green eyes honed in on my water bottle. “Wh—” I swallow before I try again. “Whitney.”
