But I wished I felt lucky. Wished I were a better person who could trick my brain into optimism instead of anxiety.
Maybe I was just a pessimist. Or a narcissist. Maybe it was selfish of me to say these things aloud, the things in my brain.
It probably was.
I needed to do better.
“But I do want to let you know that you’re making me want to burst through your mother’s front door to check on you,” Sully added.
“Don’t do that,” I said. Weakly, because part of me wanted him to.
My mom had brought me to Rosewood when we left the hospital, insisted I take some time off from school until I was feeling better. I’d stayed at the Londons’ the first night because she had a closing shift, but then she wanted me home. Which was a good thought. In theory, it might have been nice. If she hadn’t filled my room since I’d left, making it unrecognizable, making the bed hard to find.
I didn’t really want Sully in here, didn’t want him to see it. Didn’t want to watch his hulking form try to fit through the boxes and fail. He’d only been inside my house once or twice, and that was years ago. When it hadn’t been so bad.
“Talk to me, El,” Sully said softly.
“I’m okay,” I said—trying to convince the both of us.
“You are,” he agreed. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay. Are you taking deep breaths?”
“Yes.”
“Does anything hurt worse? Is it hard to get air?”
“No.”
“Good, baby.” He inhaled and exhaled, like maybe he’d forgotten he needed to breathe, too. “You’re okay.”
I nodded.
You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.
“Do you want to tell me five things yousee?”
No, I didn’t.
That was part of the problem. There was so much visual clutter, I didn’t dare open my eyes.
“I’m looking at the inside of my eyelids.”
“Four things you can hear, then.”
I nodded. “Your voice, your breathing, someone’s lawn mower, the jingle of Honey’s collar through the phone.”
“Good,” he said softly, and I could hear his smile. “Three things you can feel, El.”
“My mattress. The stitching in the quilt on top of it.” I breathed deeply. “My hand on my stomach.”
“Taking deep breaths, yeah?” he asked.
“Mhm.”
“Two things you can smell,” Sully prompted.
“Freshly cut grass.” Another breath. “Your cologne. I’m wearing your shirt.”
“I bet you look good in it.”
