Page 4 of Forced Bratva Wife

The pound of my heart was a jackhammer behind my sternum. I was nearly there. Just a few steps, and I’d be able to reach the half-open doors sticking out from their pockets and slam them shut. He would still be mad, but I could run. Get out of the house, maybe. Through a window?

“Parker!”

My feet slammed into the floor, speed abruptly there, and I grabbed for either of the sliding doors. I pulled, using every bit of strength I had. They moved so slowly—too slowly.

“Parker!” Shaking; my fingers were shaking. “Little bird!”

Just as the doors finally budged, stout fingers stuck through the remaining few inches, flinging them back open. I tumbled back, falling to the floor. I needed to get away, so I scrambled across the floor backward, my butt sore from the fall.

“Where have you been?”

I looked up. He was here. My father.

The wreak of vodka and smoke clung to him. I gagged, flinching back from the stench. He hadn’t showered, and I could see stains dotting his cheap checkered shirt. The sting of tears burned my eyes, but I couldn’t let them fall. It was always so much worse when I cried.

Trying to speak, nothing came out but a tiny squeak. My father lunged forward, towering over me as he shouted down.

“Answer me! I needed you to fetch my drink! Where were you!?”

My voice was gone, and I sunk back, trying to slip into the floor. My hands started to melt into the ground, but it wasn’t fast enough.

“You good-for-nothing brat!”

“Dad, no!” The scream tore from me, but it was too late.

His arm was rearing back, and I watched, frozen in abject horror, as it came down right over my face. Just as the bloom of pain was about to start up, my eyes flew open.

“No!”

I blinked, seeing my apartment around me, the lights still on. It had been a nightmare, nothing new; I'd had countless similar dreams before.. My pulse raced, and I reached for the bottle of water I kept on my nightstand. I fumbled with it, my fingers shaking. A voice sounded from outside, and I jumped, the panic only just backing off in my chest, doubling down.

Boom, boom, boom.

My heart rate wasn’t slowing. I could feel the adrenaline spike, and my chest pinched tight as I tried to breathe.

“It’s okay, Parker. It’s just a panic attack. You…You,” my words faltered, and I had to shake my head to refocus, “You know what to do. Come on. Breathe and slow down.”

I pulled up the app on my phone that I used to time my breaths. Clicking on the “I’m having a panic attack” button, the window changed, and a soft gradient-colored circle appeared on my screen. It started with red and orange, expanding and shrinking to show me when to inhale and exhale.

Sucking in a breath, I turned up the muted volume and listened to the prerecorded voice.

“Breathe in and hold it until the circle begins to shrink. Just focus on your breath. Nothing else.”

The circle began to contract, and I exhaled slowly as it got smaller and smaller. When it started up with another round, I just followed along, trying to only look at the phone and think about that colored circle growing and shrinking.

I followed along for five minutes, letting my body recalibrate before I finally put my phone and the bottle of water back on the nightstand.

“You’re okay.” A lingering desire to spiral again sat in the background of my mind, and I looked around the room, trying another trick.

“A chair, my bed, my books, a box of tissues, the door.” I sucked in another shaky breath. “My breath. Umm…a person talking outside. The heat coming on. Me swallowing.”

The edge further receded, and I finished up with the five senses exercise.

“My blanket on my lap, the bed underneath me…” I dragged a hand up my arm. “My hand on my skin.”

The last two were always the hardest, but I assumed that was the point and why they were kept small. “Umm, the heat coming on. I know I used it twice, but I can smell it. Umm…”

I turned my nose into my shoulder, breathing deeply. “My perfume. Lavender.”

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