Текст книги "Affliction"
Автор книги: River Savage
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sy
I knock on her door, trying to juggle the bags in both hands before I drop it all. Fuck. Am I doing the right thing here?
“Hi,” she says, opening the door and looking down at the bags I brought with me. She’s wearing some sweater that normally would not be a turn-on, but with her wearing it, she manages to make it look sexy as fuck.
“Hey,” I respond, walking past her to the kitchen. “I brought dinner.”
“I can see that,” she replies, closing the door and following behind me.
“Have you eaten?” I pull out food and set it down in places I’m sure it doesn’t belong.
“Sy, it’s five o’clock; no one eats this early,” she points out, still standing at the threshold of the kitchen and living room.
“I know what time it is, Holly, but I want to know have you eaten today?”
“As a matter of fact, I had lunch with Kadence.” She raises her brows, waiting to see if I’ll push.
“Well, that’s a start,” I admit, going back to the groceries.
“What is all this?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest. She looks stuck between shock and annoyance. Shocked that I shopped, annoyance that I’m back here bossing her.
“It’s called food, Holly,” I joke and watch her fight a smile. I wish she would give it to me whole.
“I know what it is, smartass. Why is it all here?”
“Well you see, last time I was here I didn’t notice much in your fridge. Thought I might help you out.”
“You went into my fridge?” she chastises me, as if I committed a felony.
“No, I mean yes,” I admit, not really sure what the fuck to say. “Shit, is that like a fucking rule you’re not supposed to break?” I ask, wondering what the right answer is.
“No, it’s just rude.”
“You should know by now I’m rude,” I tell her what she sure as fuck should already know.
“So, you went into my fridge and thought you would buy me food?” she presses, not agreeing with my rudeness, but still fucking caught up on the damn fridge incident.
“Well, I was concerned for Sam,” I offer my first thought when I opened the damn fridge.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, Sam. How the fuck does he survive living here? The dude is a fucking big guy.” I remember the first time I met him at the hospital. Tall, broody and didn't even give a fuck he had a group of bikers standing around wanting to know about his sister.
“Sam doesn’t live here. He just stays when he needs a break from whatever screw he has going on that week.”
“So Sam isn’t living here? You’re living by yourself?” I question, my concern going from mild to intense. How the fuck did I miss this shit?
“I’m a grown woman, Sy. I can live by myself,” she reassures me, but I don’t agree with that right now.
“Well, you need to eat more. You’ve lost weight.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She gives me one of those fake laughs, pissing me off. When I met Holly almost six months ago, she was already tiny. Now standing across from me, the woman is all fucking bones.
“Believe me, it is.” I look her up and down, not at all satisfied with how she thinks she’s looking after herself.
“How much do I owe you then?” She clears her throat, obviously done with our argument.
“Nothing, it’s on me,” I tell her, placing some more food in the pantry. I don’t even know what the fuck I bought. I kind of just followed some housewife around copying her shop.
“Sy.”
“Holly,” I smirk, enjoying playing this little game with her. In the beginning, I fucking hated this shit, but now, the thought of getting a reaction from her just pushes me further to get one.
“Fine, at least let me show you where everything goes,” she grumbles as she pushes past me, and starts moving everything I’ve put away.
“Sounds good,” I say, relieved.
“So you didn’t work today?” I ask as we silently place all the groceries away.
“No, I only work part-time at the moment,” she lets me know as she walks around the kitchen placing everything where it’s meant to go. “Why do I get the feeling you already know this?”
“I don’t,” I lie, not letting on that Kadence fills me in on everything she does.
“Mmmm,” she says, not believing me. I don’t say anything. I just keep watching her as she pulls down some plates and starts serving up the takeout I bought. “Were you on ‘Holly Watch’ the other day?” she asks suspiciously. She looks up and catches me watching her.
“We’re just keeping an eye on everyone. I had the day off. Wanted to make sure you were okay after the party,” I stretch the truth a little. She doesn’t need to know the real reasons behind my following her, making sure she was dealing with everything okay.
“And tonight?” she pushes, coming around the counter to sit next to me.
Spinning on the kitchen stool, I face her. “Like I said, you have no food. You need to start looking after yourself, Holly.”
“I am looking after myself, Sy, but thank you,” she whispers down at her plate. “I might not have a kitchen full of food, but I’m trying hard to get my life back to what it was.” She looks up at me; her lost, broken eyes seeking out mine.
There is something about this woman, something that I can’t stop myself from wanting. It’s the same something that would break me if it were taken from me again, before I even had the chance to claim it.
“Eat,” I order, picking up my fork and starting. I don’t understand why I have this need to help her, why she’s constantly in my head. And what I don’t understand even more is why none of this freaks me out?
“When did you get so bossy?” she asks over a mouthful of food.
“Always have been,” I tell her, filling my own mouth. She doesn’t reply and we spend the rest of dinner in silence.
“Sy, are we going to discuss this strange night of dinner and silence?” she asks, following behind me as I take our plates to the kitchen.
“What do you want to discuss, Holly?”
“Oh, I don't know, Sy. These last few days have been very strange.”
“Why?” I turn back to her, watching her bite down on her lip with worry. She doesn’t want to ask, but I can see the need to know that flows through her.
“I don’t know why. It just has been.” She rests her hip against the kitchen counter.
“I already told you, Holly. I’m done with standing back and waiting for you to snap out of this state of denial.”
“You think hanging around my place of work, making me eat dinner and cleaning my kitchen is going to snap me out of this denial you seem to think I’m living in?”
“No.”
“No?” she fires back with that attitude hidden behind her eyes. We clearly have different views on what is happening here.
“No, the dinner the other night was because I stood outside your shop for six hours keeping watch, and I was fucking hungry. Today, I wanted to see you. Was it to bring you food? Most definitely, but you needed it. I’m cleaning our mess, because that’s what you do when you eat at someone’s house, not because I think it will get you to open up. That’s not what this is about, Holly. I’m not doing any of this hoping you snap out of it; I’m just being here for you and waiting for you do it.”
“And what if I can’t just snap out of it?”
“You will, Holly, and I’ll be here for as long as it takes. Even if that means days of standing outside your work and walking you home so you eat, then so be it. I won’t stop, no matter how much you push. I knew when I walked into that hospital room that you needed time, so I walked away, giving you the space you needed, but I can’t give you any more.”
“But I can’t do this,” she whispers. Her crystal blue eyes are fighting the tears that I know she won’t want to let fall. “It’s too hard to pretend when you’re so close.” Her head whips from side to side. “You make it so hard.” She steps back, but I don’t let her retreat.
“Make what hard, Holly? It’s just you and me here. You don’t have to be anything other than you.” I step into her space.
“You won’t like that person, Sy. I don’t even like that person.”
“You think I don’t see it, Holly? Think I haven’t watched you these past few months as you’ve become someone who slowly falls apart? I don’t like this person either. At least the person you’re hiding shows some emotion; this person standing here is trying to find a way out.” I reach for her hand. Her porcelain fingers, looking so clean, so pure against my inked ones.
“It’s okay to not be okay, Holly.”
“No, it’s not, Sy.” She pulls away, turning her back to me.
“What are you so afraid of?”
“I’m afraid of what you’ll see,” she admits. If she knew what I hid, what I’m so afraid of people seeing, she wouldn’t be so afraid.
Darkness has stolen her, and something in me needs to be the person to save her.
“I don’t want to fight anymore, Sy,” she whispers so faintly I strain to hear her words. But I do hear them, and allow them to give me permission to wrap her in my arms. To hold her and help conquer the demons she fights.
If only I knew what I was battling.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Holly
“Oh, my God. Don’t look now, but that sex on a fucking bike from last week is about to walk in the shop,” Gabrielle says from behind me. Instantly, my hands go to work of their own accord and smooth the front of my blue shift dress. “For all that is holy, you’ve had sex with him, haven’t you?” She elbows my side when she sees my reaction to spotting him.
“What? I have not,” I defend myself just as he walks in.
“Hey,” he greets me before nodding at Gabrielle.
“Hey,” I reply, the sight of him causing me to fumble with the pen I was using to fill out a client card.
“You free?” he asks, looking around the quiet salon.
“She was just about to take a break,” Gabrielle answers for me. If Sy wasn’t watching me carefully, I’d kick her.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I turn and ask her.
“No, I’m good,” she smiles.
I don’t push it further. Turning back to Sy, I decide my best bet would be to move away from her.
“Guess I’m free,” I say, filing the card away for later. “Let me get my bag.” I turn, leaving him alone with Gabrielle. Calming my nerves, I hang up my work apron, and fix my hair before heading back out.
“And you have other artists working there?” I hear her ask as I walk up to them.
“Yeah, we just put on another artist. Give the shop a call. They’ll fit you in,” he tells her, bringing his eyes to me. “You ready?” he asks and I nod. Am I ready?
“You don’t have anyone in for an hour, so take your time,” Gabrielle calls out. Gritting my teeth, I vow to kill her when I get back.
“I’ll have her back in time,” Sy answers for me. And I hear Gab laugh. Bitch.
“So, what’s up?” I ask when we walk down the sidewalk. I don’t know where we’re going, and I don’t find myself asking.
“Want to get some lunch?” he suggests, pointing over to one of my favorite diners, ‘Happy Chef.’
“Okay,” I agree. We walk over and get ourselves a booth toward the back.
“Sy, what’s up?” I ask again, wondering if I’ll get an actual answer this time. The waitress hands us our menus and leaves us to look them over.
“Not much. What’s up with you?” he asks, looking at me over his menu.
“No seriously, what’s going on?” I demand when he goes back to studying our meal options. I don’t know why he thinks I will just go along with this little charade. I’m not sure what has changed with him, but this new friend business is starting to freak me out. What’s worse, is every time I see him, he reminds me of the baby, but at the same time, he makes me forget. How’s that for a contradiction?
“I wanted to see you,” he says straight out. No games, no lies.
“Okay, why?”
“I don’t know why.” He places the menu down. “Fuck, Holly. I don’t know what you want me to say. I’ve tried not to want to see you, tried to go back to ignoring you, but I can’t.”
“Why?” I find myself asking. “What’s changed?”
“I don’t know,” he repeats like the thought annoys him. I don’t know what to say, how to respond. The two times we were together were intense; I’ll give him that. But he showed no sign of wanting anything more.
“Sy, I’m not ready for this. I’ve spent the last few months reliving that nightmare, and I’m getting there. I promise you I am. But this,” I gesture between us, “this isn’t going to happen,” I confirm, and I hate myself for it. I don’t know if he thinks he owes me something or what, but the last time we spoke before the shooting, we had no plans to start a relationship.
“Fuck, Holly, I’m not asking for anything. I just…” He takes a breath to gather himself. “I’m not labeling this. I’m not talking about what this is when I don’t even understand it myself. But when you walked out of that clubhouse that night of the barbecue, I knew I wanted more. I might not have admitted it, might not have showed you that, but you had gotten under my skin and nothing I did was getting you out. I was so close to following you, but I held off, and I wish I hadn't. Then that shit with Zane went down. I nearly fucking lost you before I ever had you. I can't even tell you what I was feeling then; it fucked with me, Holly. This, right now, is what this is about. I get that this is hard for you, but it’s the same for me. Don’t make me label it. Don’t make me explain it. Just let this be what it is,” he says, holding my gaze.
“You guys ready to order?” the waitress addresses us, breaking the moment before I can answer him.
“I’ll have a club sandwich and a diet soda, please,” I order and wait for Sy to place his.
Just let this be what it is. Can I do that?
“So, we’re not going to talk about what this is. I’m just going to put up with you randomly showing up at my workplace and being my friend?” I surmise when the waitress finally leaves us.
“Yes, and you’re going to do it with a smile,” he adds.
“And what happens when—”
“We’re not talking about when, why, or how,” he points out.
“You know that sounds ridiculous?” I ask.
“Don’t give a fuck,” he shrugs.
“Okay…” I tentatively agree, still not feeling okay with this situation at all. Whatever is going on between us can go one way, or another. I know that right now I’m not looking for anything more, but I can't help that feeling of knowing that whatever is going on between us could be destroyed with my secret. Part of me is telling myself I should tell him now before it’s too late. But then the other part is telling me I’m not ready to get into it. I just wish it wasn’t so hard. I wish I didn’t have this secret to keep. Maybe things would be a lot easier if I tried to forget about it.
***
“What the hell are you doing here?” Sy’s deep rumble comes from behind me as I check in for my daily workout.
“Wh…what are you doing here?” I stammer for a moment wondering why Sy just walked into the gym. My gym.
“Working out,” he says, checking in using his electronic card. Shit. Sy works out here?
“You work out here? I’ve never seen you here,” I accuse, thinking this is one of his setups.
“Been working out here for the last three years, Holly,” he informs me as he walks to the locker room. Well, shit, how did I miss that? I follow behind hesitantly, not looking forward to working out in front of him. After our two dinners last week and lunch this week, I’m not sure how I feel about what is happening, but at the same time, each moment I see him in this new light makes me want to be better. The whole situation is strange. Before the shooting, he wouldn’t give me the time of day. I knew he was struggling with something, and now all I can think about is what has changed. If I weren’t so worried it would bring up questions of what happened with us, I would ask.
I go about my business, storing my belongings in a locker and pull my hair up in a small ponytail. I started using the gym two weeks ago when Dr. Elliot suggested it would help with the anxiety. I had never stepped into one before. I’ve always been one of those people who could eat what I want and never pay the price. When she prescribed it one session, I never thought I would enjoy it as much as I do. I never knew actively going to the gym would help clear my mind and help center me for the day.
I warm up on the rowing machine, not interested in a treadmill or other machines I see the bimbos working out on while they make sure their makeup is perfect. I enjoy the continuous rhythm I can create with each row. I get lost in it. Each stroke pulls me deeper into a place that relaxes me. After twenty minutes of warming up, I move over to the free weights and try not to seek out Sy.
When I first joined, Andy, the gym's trainer, set me up with a beginners program. Light to start off and as I grow strength, we can alter my program. Choosing the twenty-two pound weights, I start with my chest workout. Placing my towel over the bench, I sit down and lower myself back. Bringing the weights above me, I slowly lower them down to my chest and then bring them up again. I repeat the action over and finish out my set.
“You’ve got some good form there,” Sy’s voice stirs from above me. I tilt back and find him standing at the head of the bench.
“Uh, thanks.” Sitting up, I place my weights down beside me. I look at him reflected in the large mirror in front of me. He stands, arms crossed over his chest. He looks sexy even if the sweat from his own workout shines under the overhead lights. Jesus, the man sweaty and tattooed is too much.
“Are you okay?” I question, unsure of what his problem is.
“Do you always wear this?” he swirls his finger at me, looking angry. Great, cranky Sy is back.
“Yeah, why?” I look down at my gym outfit, black yoga pants and grey gym top. It’s far from revealing, but the way Sy’s acting, you would expect to see me wearing what the bimbos over on the treadmills are wearing.
“It’s a little slutty, don’t you think?” he accuses. I’m so shocked at his words I turn to face him.
“Enlighten me how wearing this outfit, where you can barely see any skin at all, is slutty?” I stand, not comfortable having him looming over me.
“It’s so fucking tight, Holly. Every fucker in here can picture your fine ass naked,” he growls, looking over at some of the men standing around us. They don’t seem too interested in checking me out, more focused on themselves and correcting their form.
“Sy, you’ve lost it. I can’t even respond to that.” I turn back around and ignore him. I pick up my weights and begin my next set, pretending he isn’t standing over me like a formidable force.
“Go away,” I finally breathe when I get through my last set and sit back up.
“No,” he simply replies, still watching me.
“Whatever,” I mutter, walking past him to move onto the next machine. Setting up the seat, I catch him eyeing off the poor guy at the machine next to mine.
“You know you don’t own the gym. You can’t just try and scare everyone away,” I inform him, placing the rod in the thirty-pound weight slot. Leaning forward, I hold on to the bar and pull back.
“You need to keep your back straighter,” he states, stepping forward and placing his palm on the small of my back. “And keep your chin up,” he keeps instructing like I need his help. I follow the instructions nonetheless, pressing my chest further out and keeping my chin up.
“Fuck me, don’t stick your tits out like that,” he growls, stepping in closer.
“Sy,” I complain, letting go of the bar and looking up at him. “You’re disturbing me,” I snap.
“Yeah, well, you’re disturbing me with your fucking sexy outfit and now pushing your tits out,” he says, frustrated. I try to not let his words affect me—we’ve been there and done that—but hearing he is still affected by me, moves something in me. Something I should not be worrying about right now.
“If I’m disturbing you, Sy, then leave,” I suggest, starting up my second set. If he can’t handle me working out, then he needs to go. I keep my form solid, ignoring his grunts and growls throughout it. When I finish, I stand, stretching out my chest, ready to move on to the next machine.
“Jesus,” he mumbles behind me. Then taking my hand and towel, he pulls me off to the side room.
“What are you doing? I’m not done,” I say, beginning to feel like this workout is a bust. He walks over to the built-in storage room and pulls out a set of boxing gloves, and mitts.
“Suit up,” he bosses, throwing the gloves at me.
“I’m not boxing with you,” I scoff unimpressed. I came here for a workout, not a fight.
“Trust me, it will help both of us. You get to punch me and no fucker will be checking out that tight ass of yours,” he says, putting his fingers in the pads.
“Sy, no one was checking out my ass,” I argue, but it only falls on deaf ears.
“You get to hit me,” he repeats and I give up fighting.
“Fine,” I huff, making it sound like a hassle when it’s the best thing I’ll probably do today. I strap my hands into the padded gloves and get ready to unleash my anger on him.
“Have you ever boxed before?” he asks, moving over to the middle of the room.
“No, never,” I confirm, following behind him.
“Plant your feet into the ground and use your upper body with each strike.” He demonstrates the fluid movement. His body gracefully moves from side to side with each hard jab and punch. “Got it?” he asks, coming to stand in front of me.
“Yeah, I think so.” I nod and position myself.
“Okay, come at me for fifty jabs,” he insists and I nearly fall over.
“Fifty?” I gasp.
“Fifty is nothing. Quit your bitching and let's do this,” he says, pumping me up.
I ignore him and adjust my stance before starting. With the first hit of glove to pad, I feel a rush of excitement.
“Harder,” he commands. So I do just that, each strike intensifying with more power than the last. My abdomen starts to ache slightly. The power behind each hit is probably not helping the situation, but I can’t stop the need to keep going.
“That’s it, girl. Keep those feet planted,” he continues to instruct. My body takes over; the rush of hitting something hard and fast is like no other, and before I know it he calls, “Fifty.”
My arms drop to my sides, heavy from their actions. The familiar burn in my muscles set in.
“Shit, Holly. You’ve got a good arm on you,” he compliments, shaking out his hands.
“Thanks,” I grin, feeling lighter than I have in a long time.
“Let's do a combination this time,” he suggests, banging the pads together. “Left, right, left. You got it?” He demonstrates, and after the first go, I pick it up easily.
“Left, right, left,” he continues to instruct as we build the momentum. My body feels alive with each jab, each hook, and each connection to the pad in front of me. We continue to work out for another thirty minutes, only stopping when someone walks into the room to set up for their class.
“What are you doing now?” I find myself asking after we pack up our equipment and walk out. I’m not sure what that whole session has done to me, but I’m feeling fresh, alive, and for the first time, present in the moment.
“Day off today, so nothing planned,” he says, stopping out the front of the female locker rooms. “What about you?”
“Same, but I have to do some planning for Kadence’s bachelorette party.” I know I wasn’t excited about planning it to begin with, but now it’s happening, I can’t wait to throw her the best party ever. He nods and we both stand there waiting. For what I don’t know, but for me, it’s the fact that I don’t want to leave, which is confusing considering only a few weeks ago I didn’t even want to be around him. “I’m going to go and get a Gym Junkie juice after I shower. I always get one after a workout,” I mention. “Do you want to come with?” I ask. The invite doesn’t even feel awkward; the ease between us grows each time we see each other.
“Sounds good,” he agrees. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll meet you at the front?” he questions, walking the rest of the way to the male locker rooms.
“Okay,” I nod in agreement. I can shower and look half decent in that time. Pushing through the doors, I stop and call out to Sy, “Thanks for today. It helped,” I add, not sure if he understands how it helped, but just letting him know is enough.
“Anytime.” He gives me his signature head nod and leaves me standing like a goof. Gathering my wits, I get through my shower and meet him out the front in less than fifteen minutes.
“You ready?” he asks, looking up from a fitness magazine when I come to stand in front of him.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
The walk to the juice bar is silent. The quietness is settling, even taking us to a comfortable place again. I don’t know what this is with Sy and me. I can’t pick the exact moment everything changed, but nonchalance now flows easily between us.
“Have you ordered here before?” I wonder when we walk into the bright green juice shop.
“No, first time.” He raises his brows playfully before reading the board above the counter. I’m going to have to get used to this new side of Sy.
After ordering my new favorite, Raspberry Reflex and Sy choosing a post workout smoothie, we sit out in the morning sun.
“We should work out like that again,” he mentions, taking a sip of his Bone Crusher. “What the fuck is in this one again?” he queries, his face scrunched up in distaste.
“It can’t be that bad?” I smile, picking it up and sipping it. The chocolate and peanut butter smoothie is disgusting. “It’s all right.” I shrug, hiding my distaste and handing it back to him. “We should do this again. I had a good time. Who knew punching you could be so much fun,” I joke and he looks taken back for a moment. “What?” I ask when he keeps looking at me.
“Nothing,” he shakes his head. “I’m free tomorrow. Tell me what time and I’ll meet you here.”
“Okay,” I agree. I’m not sure what I’m getting into with him, but I did have a good morning; a good morning punching him that is.
“Great,” he states, taking another sip of his awful smoothie. I can tell he doesn’t like it by the pained expression on his face, but I don’t say anything. I just sit quietly, savoring the moment. Who knew enjoying a juice with Sy would be so relaxing?
“Oh, and if we’re going to work out again, you’re going to need some different clothes,” he adds, taking us right back to where we began. I swear the need to punch him again burns strong, but I don’t reply like he wants me to. If he thinks this is revealing, wait until tomorrow.
***
“Holly, I love it,” Kadence says from the cream sofa in front of the full-length, mirrored wall. We’re shopping for bridesmaid dresses, and I stopped caring what she chose twelve dresses ago. Our quest to find the perfect maid-of-honor dress wasn’t planned. Kadence sprang it on me as we were in town looking for bachelorette supplies. She lured me into the shop with promises of wedding gown samples, not bridesmaid’s gowns.
“It’s okay.” I don’t even try to fake my annoyance at it.
“You don’t like it?” she asks, looking sad again. It’s the same dance we’ve done after each dress I have tried on.
“I like the first one,” I tell her again for the eleventh time.
“You know, I think you’re right,” she says and I can feel my temper slowly rising. Of course I’m right. “Let's try that one on again.” She smiles up at me as she takes a sip of her coffee that the sales person fetched for her. I wasn’t allowed coffee since I’m the one trying the merchandise on.
I’m going to strangle someone soon.
“Sure,” I reply, pasting on my fake maid-of-honor smile, and march my ass back into the changing room to try on the first dress I tried on an hour ago.
“You know, I think the color is all wrong,” she calls through the curtain.
“The color is fine,” I say, stepping out of the dress, and hanging it back up. Handing it out to the shop assistant, I patiently wait for her to bring me back the first dress I tried on. Looking in the mirror, I take the time to look at myself. The harshness of the changing room lights are in full effect. Thinking back to Sy’s comment about my weight loss, I wonder how much my body has changed. The purple, four-inch scar left behind by the bullet, and the two surgeries to save my life has a long way to go before I can accept it. It’s not the ugliness of it that affects me. I know with time the scar will be faint and won’t mock me. No, now it’s just a harsh reminder of what I lost, what was horribly taken from me.
“You okay in there?” Kadence pulls me out of my thoughts and back into the ugliness of my reality.
“Yeah,” I wheeze out, not realizing that I was captive in a memory and had pushed myself into a small panic attack. At least it wasn’t a huge one.
“Holly, are you sure?” Kadence’s panicked voice asks again, but I can’t focus on her as the all-too-familiar feeling of panic claws up my back. The fear, the pain, all spiraling me out of control. Dropping to the floor, I lift my knees up and bring my head between my legs.
Just breathe through it, Holly. You can do this, I repeat over and over, trying to calm my panic.
“I’m coming in.” I hear her words, but they don’t register in my mind, falling short at the wall of anxiety currently building inside of me.
Memories and sounds coming at me only keep pushing me deeper into the ugliness of that night. The ugliness of what we experienced.
“Focus on my voice, Holly,” she says, kneeling down next to me. “You’re safe here,” she reassures me carefully. And while I know I’m not going to die, there is no controlling the feeling of fear and loss of control. We sit like this for a few more minutes; it could be longer. I don’t know. When I do eventually come back to the dressing room, I feel drained and ready to leave.
“Hey,” Kadence says, reaching out to touch my arm.
“Oh, my God,” I finally acknowledge her. “I’m sorry,” I whisper when she leans forward and embraces me.
“No, I am.” She squeezes me tighter. “You scared me,” she admits, pulling back and wiping her tears away.
“It just came on. I haven’t had one in the last few weeks,” I admit, wondering what the hell just happened.
“It’s okay,” she shushes me, not having any part of my apologies. I don’t know what I’m sorry for; the whole thing is embarrassing.
“Is everything okay in there?” the shop assistant queries through the curtain.
“We’re good,” Kadence calls back and I realize I’m sitting in my underwear on the floor of the changing room with my best friend. I let out a small giggle at how ridiculous we must look, followed by another and before I know it, I’m laughing. I don’t know if I’m laughing at the fact that it’s funny, or if laughing helps stop the tears. Whatever the reason, I continue and pray I don’t stop.
