Page 129 of A Sweet Destruction

Patient also shows signs of severe dehydration. Patient was sweating blood and upon inspection, most blood vessels in the eyes were popped.

The most pressing concern is the patient’s mental state. She remained conscious through the examination, despite obvious pain. Patient likely worsened her injuries fighting restraints. Sedatives were administered and were ineffective.

Patient ultimately fell unconscious when placed in the same room as her paranima.

Another entry, notated as a day later. I didn’t know how I was even still reading. My chest felt like it was cracking open.

The Bond was screaming.

Patient has reached a full physical recovery. As stated, patient’s mental state remains the most pressing concern. Patient will not leave her paranima’s bedside and becomes combative when people try to move her.

Patient is in a catatonic state and refuses food and water. At this stage, the doctors have spoken with General Bello about other treatments.

Last one, another day later.

With the addition of medication, patient appears fully recovered. They voluntarily left their paranima’s side.

Surely, it wouldn’t be dramatic if I took a match to that file. To the entire office. Peter would forgive me.

There was a fissure cutting down the middle of my sanity, sending tremors out in its wake that were making my hands shake so violently, they started to blur before my eyes.

Maybe those were tears, could well have been.

Something was trying to ground me, pulling at the edges of my consciousness with a warm touch that felt more familiar than the feel of my skin pulling across my own body.

I reached for it, begging for an anchor against the terrifying trajectory of my own thoughts. It felt like the photos in front of me were coming to life, taunting me with my failures.

How I’d let the most important person in my life push herself to the brink of death…

I felt like an animal on the edge of starvation.

That distant warmth spread across my shoulders before the object of my disdain disappeared behind a figure coming into my line of sight.

A deep snarl left my throat.

“Hey,” a soft, melodic voice cooed in my ears. “Hey, look at me. Please look at me. You’re scaring me.”

Something broke, allowing my mind to clear enough to see Esme in front of me.

Esme, alive. Esme, safe. Esme, with smooth skin free of bruises.

I wasn’t proud of the sound that fell out of my mouth as I crushed her to me.

My face tucked into the crook of her neck, chanting I’m sorry against her skin over and over and over again. All the while, my arms wrapped around her midsection, grabbing opposite hips with a punishing pressure.

Esme’s grip on me was just as secure, one hand threading in my hair and the other tucking under my shirt to rest over my shoulder. She was murmuring something to me, but I couldn’t hear it over the sound of my own heartbeat.

I’d had a few panic attacks in the past, especially when I’d pushed away my emotional reactions to things until the point where they came rushing out all at once. I could feel those symptoms coming on again—the shortness of breath, the wayward trajectory of my thoughts, the overwhelming feeling of doom.

I knew I was probably scaring Esme—she’d just said as much—reduced to some mumbling version of myself who was leaking tears against the warmth of her neck. The urge was there, to just shove it down and act like my chest didn’t feel shredded.

It was the image of her lying in that hospital bed, face covered in bruises and eyes blurry with a sort of crazed intensity, that kept me in focus. Esme had done the same thing—maybe I’d even made her feel like she had to, taking a page out of my book—and it had almost killed her.

I’d be damned if I introduced that habit into our dynamic now, not when I finally had her.

I lightened my grip, though the Bond expressed its disgust at that prospect. I wasn’t that keen on it either, but I pulled back just enough to slide my forehead up to Esme’s.

“How we doing?” she asked, her voice clear and light.