Page 166 of Tell Me Something True

Miles shut his eyes, her promise like a lifeline. One he was going to hold on to.

“On a scale of one to ten,” she said, tone quiet and soothing, “with ten being the worst, where are you at right now?”

Keeping his eyes closed, he focused on the sensations in his body. The twisting and turning in his gut. The muted whooshing sound in his head. The sense that each breath was too short. Too shallow.

But it wasn’t the worst he’d experienced. Not even close.

“Four.”

“Okay, good. We’ll try the 5-4-3-2-1 method. It’s to help you focus on neutral things to regulate your nervous system. Are you ready to start?” Eyes still closed, he nodded. “Tell me five things you can see.”

He opened his eyes, noting the rain dotting the windshield. The bright pink of Mrs. Johnson’s umbrella as she loaded her groceries into her car. That the green Ford exiting the parking lot had a rear brake light out.

It didn’t help.

He jiggled his leg. Shifted in his seat because he couldn’t sit still, not when it felt like he’d explode if he didn’t move. But there wasn’t enough room in the car, the warm, humid space was closing in on him, pressing against skin that already felt too tight. Too suffocating.

And through the roaring in his ears, he heard his name being called, as if the person calling for him was drifting away, farther and farther, until they disappeared.

It was just like his nightmare. The reoccurring one where his mother called and called for him.

Cold sweat prickled along his nape. His stomach turned and he breathed through his mouth so he didn’t throw up. Took short, choppy breaths that made him feel lightheaded.

He was drowning, drowning in panic and regrets and guilt. Being pulled under by his mistakes when all he wanted was to make things right.

But then he felt something warm and soft press against his arm. Breathed in something sweet and floral, and realized Tabitha was leaning across him.

A moment later, he heard the soft whir of his window going down. Cool, damp air washed over his heated skin. He inhaled, long and deep and slow. Held it until his lungs felt like they would burst, then slowly, slowly exhaled.

And when Tabitha started to ease back, he wrapped his hand around her upper arm, stopping her. She pressed her hand against his chest to maintain her balance, but she didn’t pull away.

He skimmed his gaze over her face, taking his time, lingering on the arch of her eyebrows, the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips.

“You,” he murmured gruffly. “The first thing I see is you.”

She gave his chest a soft, encouraging pat. “Good. What else?”

“I see you,” he said again. “Your beauty. Your innate kindness. Your courage and resilience.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide and wary, her jaw slack.

Yeah, he’d really fucked up with her if his telling her some of the positive ways he saw her stunned her into silence.

But that was all part of him doing what was right. Fixing the mistakes he’d made.

And maybe, someday, he’d be able to forgive himself for them.

She cleared her throat, but when she spoke her voice was husky with some unnamed emotion. “Maybe I didn’t explain it correctly. You’re supposed to name five physical things you can see. The store or that tree across the street or the steering wheel.”

He took another slow, deep breath. Nodded. “I see your hair, the gold of it sparkling with rain.”

“That’s not—”

“I see the green of your dress,” he continued, the grip his panic had on him only moments before relaxing more and more with each word he spoke, “and the rosy blush in your cheeks. I see the blue of your eyes and the pink of your mouth.”

“Again, this isn’t exactly the way this technique is supposed to work. It might not be the best idea for you to focus entirely on me.”

“I disagree,” he told her quietly. “In this moment, it’s imperative I focus entirely on you. You are what’s keeping me steady. You are why I’m able to breathe.”

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