Page 139 of Oathbreaker

I turn back to him. “I really missed you, H.” And goddamn it, I’m close to crying again.

I spent seventy-five percent of my session with Genevieve crying. It wasn’t until the last thirty minutes that I was able to dry up my tear ducts.

I shouldn’t have stopped going to therapy. I need it. I likely will always need it as part of my treatment—even when my mental health struggles are in remission.

I’ve gotten better—gotten through—much of what happened on the surface.

But as Genevieve told me today, the body remembers.

“I missed you too, baby. I hate being away from you,” he says. He walks closer to me.

When I’m in his arms, I inhale and exhale deeply.

This was a major part of the problem. I just needed H. Without him, I feel untethered.

He’s silent, letting me guide what we talk about and how much we talk. I appreciate it.

“I had a panic attack,” I say into his chest. He rubs soothing circles on my back, and I feel major muscle groups unclench.

“Do you want to talk about what happened to set you off?”

Circle.

Circle.

Circle.

“Yes. No.I don’t know.” His chest vibrates beneath my ear as he chuckles.

More silence.

“Well, first, we went to the convenience store, where I had the shock of my life when I pulled out my credit card.” I look up at him, and he has the good sense to look chagrined.

I raise an eyebrow.

“I like calling you Mrs. Brigham. I can’t help myself,” he says, and I put my head back on his chest and swallow down the words I want to say.

That it’s high-handed.

That it’s crazy and confusing because he hasn’t even proposed to me.

That I do want to be tied to him in marriage. That I want to be his wife. That I’m scared because I don’t know which way is up right now.

“I was feeling trapped,” I say, still not looking at him. “There were all these guards, and everyone seemed so on edge. And all I wanted was to sit outside on the p-patio, and R-Rio t-told me n-no.” I’m horrified that I’m crying again, choking on my words.

He hums and keeps rubbing my back, sliding his hand up my spine, between my shoulder blades, and into the hair at the nape of my neck.

“And then I realized that I’m never going to feel safe again because our lives won’t be safe. There will always be someone trying to kill us, right? And now—” I bury my face in his chest.

“I didn’t even get my t-tea,” I wail.

His chest vibrates again.

“Are you laughing at me?” I snap my head up to his, and humor fills his eyes. I growl.

“Baby,” he says, stroking my cheek. “Did you figure it out yet?”

Stroke. Circle.

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