Dominik. Shit.
“I’m fine. It’s just anxiety.” I breathe out.
Struggling against his frigid touch, I try to break free, only to encounter an immovable obstruction.
“You’re not fine. Look at me.”
“You can leave now.”
“Look. At. Me,” he growls.
My eyes open slowly, revealing his face just inches from mine. He appears genuinely worried, a bit stunned and uncertain about what to do.
“Let me go,” I whisper.
Dominik slowly shakes his head. “Not until you calm your breathing. Just focus on me.”
Except I can’t focus. I’m drowning, feeling the distance growing wider between my brother and me. Feeling like even Via can’t see me. Like everyone hates me. Nothing even happened. This reaction is completely unjustified.
Fuck this anxiety and my stupid asshole brain.
My breathing becomes more erratic, and I can’t control the panic attack heading directly my way.
“Zoe.”
“I…can’t…breathe.” I force out each word in between sharp breaths.
“Tell me what to do,” he begs.
“Make…it…stop...”
“How?”
I can only shake my head.
I’m not even sure what I’m asking for because I don’t even know how to make it stop. Once the thoughts flood me, I lose myself to the anxiety and the vicious cycle until it passes and I realize it’s not the end of the world. I hate that I’m exposed right now, dealing with this at work. In front of Dominik.
I don’t like anyone seeing this uncontrolled side of me.
Just that realization alone intensifies the discomfort of breathing.
I’m not sure if I’m imagining it or if Dominik’s fingers are tightening around my neck. I think I’m imagining his lips on mine as he kisses me with an intensity that has my mind doing a complete 180. One second, I’m falling into the pits of anxious thought, the next, I’m being brought back up. An equal blend of desire and anger has taken the place of sadness.
I pound my fist against his chest, but it only seems to invigorate him. Dominik lifts my leg and securely wraps it around his waist. My treacherous body succumbs to him, melting against his touch. I trace my fingers up his neck, scratching him with my nails as our lips meet in a passionate kiss. Our tongues clash fervently, as if we both crave each other’s touch. It’s as if we’re underwater, relying solely on each other to survive.
Fuck, he feels good, and I hate that more than the panic attack. I’m starved for him, and I hate myself for wanting him like this.
“I hate you,” I breathe against his mouth before biting his upper lip.
His grip around my throat tightens, eliciting a moan from me.
“It doesn’t feel like you hate me right now, little butterfly.” He fists my hair, exposing my neck right as he bends down and licks up to my jaw. Shivers cascade down my body as fresh desire pools in between my legs.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I’ll call you whatever I want, brat.”
As I stare up at the bleak stairwell ceiling, listening to the sounds of our breaths, I realize my panic attack is gone and I’m back in my body. Feeling everything right now, aside from dread.
