Page 15 of Take My Hand

“I know you think I’m joking, but I’m actually being serious with you. How long has it been?”

I bite down the inside of my cheek as the needle scrapes over another sensitive spot. It’s been over six months, but he doesn’t need me to confirm what he already knows.

That it’s been too damn long.

But it’s not as simple as it used to be. I’ve been past the stage of sleeping with fans since the second album was released. And not leaving the house for a while after the shooting didn’t exactly bring a lot of prospects to the table.

I don’t crave sex the way I used to. Or the way Nikolai does right now. He’s just looking to have some fun, blow off some steam, and enjoy the moment.

It doesn’t work like that for me anymore. Sure, I still love getting off, who doesn’t? But that doesn’t satisfy me like it used to. That doesn’t allow me to turn my brain off and get lost in the sensations of it all. It doesn’t give me the true release I’m looking for.

What I need, what I crave, what I know will give me that complete and utter satisfaction and mind-numbing need that I’m chasing? I can’t find that with a random woman.

I don’t just want their body.

I want their mind.

I want their trust.

I want their submission.

I want them to hand over every ounce of control they cling to.

I want to dictate every movement, every moment. To shut off my mind from all the worries that plague me day in and day out and finally regain the sense of control that was stripped from me. Even if it’s just for a minute, an hour, however long the feeling lasts.

That’s what gets me off now.

And it also doesn’t help that my mind is currently being occupied by one woman in particular.

One who I was extremely fucking rude to yesterday and haven’t been able to stop kicking myself about since.

“Or am I reading you completely wrong?” Nikolai asks me, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Is this about the anniversary yesterday?”

“It’s a little of both, I guess.”

He watches me with a newfound sense of seriousness. “How are you feeling about it?”

“Eh, about how I figured I would be. I had a panic attack yesterday when I went out to grab lunch.”

I leave out the part about seeing Carter there. For one, I’m sure Vinnie would like it if I kept my mouth shut while he works around my vocal cords, but also because I’m embarrassed by how I blew Carter off and by my reaction. I’ve had panic attacks long enough now to know that they don’t wait around for convenience. And yesterday was a triggering anniversary for me. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when my chest started doing that familiar tightening thing and the back of my neck got tingly.

I was already having a bad morning, but I wanted to push myself. There are days to lay around and succumb to anxiety, and there are days to fight it. And I wanted to fight it.

It was supposed to be a short trip out and I’d be back home in no time to relish in my safe space once again.

But then Carter was there. And while it was great to see her, especially knowing that she found a place of her own here, I also didn’t want her to see me in the messy headspace I was in.

It felt as if the anxiety stirring inside was written all over my face and with just one look from her, she’d see how twisted and messy everything is inside.

Even though I know she would never judge me for it, seeing as she has had similar experiences with it, it’s still not how I want her to look at me.

In hindsight, I wish I would’ve just told her how I was feeling and that I needed to get back home. She likely wouldn’t have even asked me for an explanation as to why I was anxious and needed to get out of there. Deep down, I know that she would’ve accepted that, understood it, and let me go. Especially after the panic attack I helped talk her through only a few months ago…

But instead, the panic washed over me so quickly and so vigorously it clouded my judgment. And every second I stood there, a sense of impending doom rose higher and higher until I blew her off to end the conversation and get myself out of there.

When logic took its foothold back again, my phone burned a hole in my pocket to text her an apology and explain.

But I didn’t.

---