Page 162 of Collided

Inhaling a deep breath, I keep it inside, then let out in small breaths.

“Again.”

I do it again, again and again, until I can finally breathe. My lungs relax and my chest unfurls from whatever ropes it’s bound with.

I’m free.

But my head feels heavy. Without thinking, I lean my head over her shoulder and sigh.

Hope stiffens. I hear her breath hitch. She also stops playing with my hair and for some odd reason, it fucking annoys me.

“Don’t stop,” I murmur weakly.

She resumes playing—or whatever it is she’s doing—and I close my eyes. “Better?”

“So much fucking better.”

After a few minutes she says, “You get panic attacks too.”

“Quite often.”

Her hand stops. “What do you do, then?”

“Don’t stop and I’ll fucking tell you.”

She laughs and continues doing those finger-movements she does. I relax more. Being this close to her I can smell herlavender scent that drives me fucking crazy. Out of all the things in the world, a flowery scent is my demise. Who would’ve fucking thought?

“Usually Sebastian helps me, but if he’s not here, then I pass out or—”

“You pass out?” She holds my hand so tightly, it hurts. I don’t think she’s aware that she’s cutting off my blood supply.

I look up at her and she looks down at me. Her face is so fucking close. I can easily kiss—

After that last attempt, I need to make a plan. Spontaneity won’t work on this one. I need to prepare her beforehand, which I don’t mind one bit.

I want to kiss her. I really want to kiss her.

“Heath, tell me!” There’s urgency in her voice that pulls my complete attention.

“Yes. I pass out. Like you were about to in that alleyway, remember?”

She gives me a weak nod. “I’m sorry that it happens to you.”

“It’s life.”

She doesn’t say anything. I decide it is best to tell her now why I acted like a dick.

“Last year I spent my birthday sitting at her grave. The one before it was in the hospital by her bed. Emery always made a big deal of my birthday, but I haven’t celebrated my last two birthdays. Now it’s become a habit. In countless ways today is associated with her. I can’t get her out of my fucking head. A grave visit does nothing to make me feel less lonely or less…”

“Sad.”

She looks down at me, knowing she’s right.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think you’re damaged, but I think you’re broken.”

The muscles in my body strain in denial. “I’m not—”

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