Page 17 of Unforgettable

I can’t help wondering what exactly a simple kiss would start. Suddenly, I’m feeling very thankful of Matthew’s level of self-control because whatever it is that could happen next, I am not ready for it. I don’t know if I will ever be ready for it.

“Yo, boss man, we going up or what?” Kisten calls across the parking garage.

Matthew pulls away and rolls his eyes. “You do know I’m the one that signs those very generous paychecks of yours, right?”

Kisten smiles broadly. “Yep. Just like you know who saves your ass.”

I can’t help my snort of laughter, and I do my best to hide my smile behind my hand. Slade pipes up, “Better get used to Bevis and Butthead here, they’re a laugh riot.”

Another snort escapes as I laugh, causing the three manly men to smile at me like they were just given their deepest desire and maybe chocolate cake too.

“Now that is too fuckin’ adorable,” Kisten says.

I can feel the pink heat of a blush spreading across my cheeks. I try to remember the last time I laughed hard enough to snort—an obnoxious quirk I can’t help. I hate it.

Matthew leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head. Kisten turns away, focusing on the elevator. “It is pretty damn cute, sweetheart, been a long time since I’ve heard you laugh.” Idly I wonder what he means by that since I haven’t laughed since long before we met. Not much reason to laugh for more years than I care to think about. “Are you hungry?” he asks, pulling me out of my dark thoughts.

Just the thought of food has my stomach growling and him smirking, “Maybe a little.” The beast that my stomach has apparently become growls again. Matthew’s smirk turns into a grin, distracting me as the elevator doors slide shut, closing us inside. The little jolt of it moving brings me back to my current situation. I’m enclosed in a small elevator—smaller than usual—which feels even smaller because of the three big men filling it up.

I’m not a fan of small spaces and anxiety, my old friend, is rearing her ugly head. I close my eyes, and focus on my breathing, willing the panic away. I imagine the world around me disappearing until it’s just me. Nothing can frighten me here in the safety of my own mind. No matter what happens to my body, here in this place, nothing can touch me. Slowly, I use an imaginary paintbrush to paint a safe hideaway. This one takes shape into a place I haven’t seen in so long, I forgot it existed. The musty smell of earth fills my nose. The cool, damp air makes my curls turn to frizz. Above me, boards creak as someone crosses the big porch.

I hold my breath waiting for them to pass, though no one knows about this place but me. It’s an oasis for me when I can’t take another minute of my newest foster family. This was my favorite hidey-hole. Though, it’s not quite right… I concentrate for a moment, and a backpack appears beside me and a book pops into existence in my lap.

Why is this the safe place my subconscious decided on? This is one of my forbidden memories. This is from before. When there was still hope in my heart that life will get better. This isn’t a place I want to go back to. It hurts too much. I try to wipe the slate clean, focus on something else, but it refuses to disappear. I take a deep breath, letting the memories wash over me…

“Rose,” his voice washes over me, tugging on the threads of my memory. “Rose…” I reach for that oh so familiar voice. So familiar, and yet, it doesn’t fit. “Rose,” the voice snaps, and my eyes pop open, landing directly on a very concerned looking Matthew. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just hungry.”

“Great, I’m starved.” Kisten claps his hands together loudly. The abruptness of the clap and his booming voice has me jumping out of my skin. The sudden movement pulls at my healing wounds and draws a whimper from my lips. The pain is instant and sharp. I suck in a breath through my teeth, trying to breathe through the pain, knowing it’ll pass quicker if I relax my muscles. Which would be way easier if my heart would stop racing, and I could find my lungs. Loud noises are a trigger for my panic attacks. It causes an instant and visceral response to do one of two things: run and hide or freeze in horror of what’s coming for me.

I close my eyes and concentrate on slowing my heart. Easier said than done when you’re hyperventilating. At least my panic has numbed the pain in my back. Sometimes adrenaline is great. Though I have zero doubt, I’m going to be sore when this little episode is over.

Distantly I hear my name, but I can’t respond. All I can do is shake my head and hope that whoever it is understands that I’m trying to keep my shit together. If you’ve never had a panic attack and haven’t had the pleasure of trying to keep yourself together… imagine what it feels like to be burned. We’ve all done that… either touched a hot pan, had grease splatter on us, or burned ourselves with our flat iron. Now imagine feeling that burn and not jerking away from it. Imagine standing still while you burn until the fire turns itself off. That’s what it feels like. Well, at least, one of the ways it can feel.

The beauty and the curse of panic attacks and anxiety is that there are no typical responses. Sometimes you burn, and sometimes you run. Sometimes you suffer in silence while the world goes on around you, clueless. Other times you make a spectacle and fight like a hellcat.

This time I’m burning. Rooted to the spot, unable to jerk away from the fire because the fire is inside me. The fire is me.

The world shifts and I worry that the spots in my vision are the first hint that I’m about to pass out. It won’t be the first time my brain did what I consider a hard reset. There are times when passing out is a blessing. Losing consciousness, a mercy. I fight back the dizziness because I don’t want to faint here.

Matthew won’t let anyone hurt me. I’m safe. I repeat that mantra over and over until my breaths come steadier, and I’m able to open my eyes without fearing I’ll faint. When I open my eyes, I’m confused for a moment. I’m no longer standing beside Matthew. In fact, I’m on the opposite side of the elevator and backed into a corner. In front of me, Slade’s hulking body blocks my vision from the rest of the space.

It takes a moment for me to realize I’ve got a death grip on his arm. It’s troublesome that in my panicked state, I reached out to a virtual stranger. Just like with Matthew, I feel an instinctual sense of safety when it comes to Slade. It’s a little disarming. I want to second guess myself. To not trust my instincts, but I push that aside. I’m choosing to trust Matthew and that he wouldn’t lie about me being safe with Slade and Kisten.

I release my death grip from Slade’s arm, and he turns to look at me over his shoulder, a resigned look in his eyes. I hear a scuffle and an all too familiar sound of flesh hitting flesh. I try looking past Slade, but it’s impossible. He’s an impassable mountain. When I attempt to move past him, he blocks me with his arm, and ever so gently holds me back.

“I don’t fucking care that you are my best friend if you ever scare her again, so help me, it will be your last fucking move,” Matthew bellows. Well, it sounds like what I imagine Matthew possessed by a demon would sound like. Terrifying, fierce, and deadly. There’re some shuffling noises, a bang, and more grunting followed by a menacing ‘got it?’ from Matthew.

I try again to see around Slade’s back, but he’s an immovable force of nature. His words come back to me from the parking garage a few minutes ago—was it only a few minutes ago? It feels like we’ve been in this elevator for years. Time means nothing when you’re suffering from a panic attack. One second is an hour. One minute a day.

The scuffling noises cease, and it’s silent except for heavy breathing. After several heartbeats, Kisten speaks. “Fuck, dude. You know I’d never scare her on purpose. I didn’t realize how skittish she is.” There’s a sniffing sound, and it makes me wonder if Matthew hit him in the nose. The fact that I recognize the sound is disheartening. “Rose, sweetheart, you know I didn’t scare you on purpose, don’t you?”

“Not your fault.” I try my best to sound confident and sure, but I have a feeling I don’t do that great of a job.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. It’s a crazy reminder that a hundred years can pass by in the space of a few short minutes. I’m slightly stunned by the violent reaction Matthew had toward Kisten over something so trivial. There’s this small part of me that’s secretly thrilled that he’s willing to go up against even his best friend to protect me. But if he’s going to fight everyone who makes me jump, he’s never going to stop.

I’m skittish, always have been. Well, maybe not always, but I can’t remember a time I wasn’t afraid. Slade turns and looks at me instead of following Matthew and Kisten off the elevator. “Told you, I’ve got you, little bit. I’ll protect you from the boss himself, if necessary.”

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