My body shakes violently and I’m half-leaning against the couch for support. My vision blurs in and out as darkness begins creeping along the edges.
Much to my horror, my one arm is around my breasts, and the other cupped between my pajama covered thighs. Fuck. I quickly remove my hands, pressing the heels of my palm to my eyes.
God, why? I thought I’d left these panic attacks behind. Forcing myself to breathe through it, I blink rapidly. Expelling the visions, almost believing I could.
A few seconds pass by in a tense silence, my senses returning to me. Ruin doesn’t speak, but I can feel his eyes on me. I can hear the ragged pulls of his breath. I can see his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.
I cough, but it comes out as a wet sob. Fucking hell.
“Fine, I’ll go look,” I manage to croak, steeling myself for whatever is behind that damn door.
“No,” he urges desperately. “No, wait. You don’t have to. I changed everything but… it’s… God!” He paces away from me, running his shaky hands over his face. He’s muttering under his breath, but I can barely make out his words.
“…fucking Christ…”
“…the fuck have I done?”
“…shouldn’t have dragged her out like that…”
Even with the residual panic still burning my chest, I can’t resist the urge to roll my eyes. I’ll get through this—I know I will. But he seems to have suddenly borrowed my panic.
“…stupid, stupid, stupid idea…”
“Ruin,” I snap, my voice hoarse.
He doesn’t listen.
Three steps forward.
“Ruin,” I repeat, a little louder.
Two steps back.
Jesus.
“RUIN!”
He jumps at my voice.
This man is apparently on a mission to make me compensate for not uttering his stupid road name for the past two years.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, almost panting.
“Show me the damn room,” I say, my voice clipped.
He hesitates again. “I don’t think you should see it, Charlotte. You… you just disappeared. You looked the same when—” He drags a hand through his buzzed head. “Please, baby, you don’t need to see it. I’ll seal it up, I promise.”
I stare at him, deadpan.Baby.
Scoffing, I sidestep him. I still can’t quite suppress the painful whimper caught in my throat, but I force it down.
Even though I wasn’t expecting the exact same room that held my humiliation preserved like some kind of shrine, I definitely wasn’t expectingthis.
The room is exactly like mine. My apartment bedroom, down to the layout and the damn sheets. The bed frame is similar—but not exact. Ruin even painted the walls the same eggshell color as my bedroom.
I huff sharply in disbelief. Looks like he even got my vanity in here as well.
Ruin hovers a few feet behind me like a man standing too close to the edge of a cliff. I can feel him tracking my every move. “Charlotte?” he asks cautiously.
