Page 107 of Keep Me

When I reach the main floor of the house, I hear heavy breathing from the dining room, and I burst through the doors to find the chairs all tipped over and a bottle of whisky resting unopened on the carpet.

It takes my eyes a moment to adjust before I spot Killian sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, much like that first night ten months ago.

Please, don’t let there be any blood this time.

I rush to his side, placing my hands on his shoulders to find him clammy and cold. His head is in his hands, and he’s breathing like he can’t take in enough air.

He’s having a panic attack.

My voice shakes with fear as I call his name. “Killian, breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“I can’t,” he gasps. “I can’t do this.”

“It’s okay,” I repeat. Again and again, I stroke his back and tell him it’s okay, and I don’t know if it’s enough.

“I can’t, Sylv—I can’t…do this,” he stutters. Struggling with his words, he suddenly snaps, shoving the table hard until it flips on its side. His arms are shaking so bad as he buries his face in his hands again and wheezes through his tears.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, afraid to upset him again. This fear is paralyzing. What am I going to do if I can’t get him to calm down?

“I’m going to call an ambulance,” I cry, about to run for my phone.

He nearly screams. “No! No…no, no, no.” His head shakes emphatically, and I kneel closer to his side.

“Okay,” I say, trying to calm his fears. “I just need you to be okay, Killian, so please breathe.”

“I’m trying,” he replies, but this time, his voice cracks into a sob, and he starts to really lose it.

In my head, I just know that if Killian loses it, then I’m lost. He holds us together. He’s our strength, our force, the thing that keeps us together. Without him, I have nothing.

I hold his face in my hands, tears spilling over my lashes as I press my forehead to his. “We can do this,” I cry. “I just need you to breathe.”

He tries to suck in air, but his breaths are too shallow and don’t pull in anything. It’s all just short gasps and choppy inhalations.

“Hold on to me, Killian. Please hold on to me. I’ve got you, okay? Just breathe.”

His grip is weak and trembling as he attempts to hold tight to my arm. And for the next thirty minutes, we struggle for each breath. Each inhale is a chore, and I keep second-guessing myself, afraid that I’ve royally fucked up by not calling an ambulance, but he refused even to let me leave his side.

The only thing I have to offer is my comfort, and it’s not enough. He struggles in pain, and it tears me apart to watch.

By the time I see the sunrise start to bleed into the sky out the window, he is finally through it.

He’s practically deadweight, collapsed on top of me as if he doesn’t have the energy even to raise a hand to my face.

“Let’s get back to bed,” I whisper when I feel certain the worst of it is past us.

He nods with exhaustion and lets me pull him off the floor. We stumble together up the stairs, and when we reach the room, I wipe his face clean with a warm rag and kiss his eyes as he finally drifts off to sleep.

But I don’t go to sleep. I sit next to him and replay over and over and over what a terrible wife and person I am. I’ve dragged him out here before he was ready just because I wanted to believe he could do it. I wanted to believe that he was capable of something, and for that, I could have seriously hurt him.

Ididhurt him.

I can’t stop crying as I rest my face on my knees and stare at him, realizing just how much I love him. The thought of putting him through that again guts me to my core. Right now, the only thing I want to do is take him home and curl up with him inourbed.

But I know deep down what this means.

First, it means that Killian needs help far beyond a weekend away and a wife who can love the pain out of him.

Second, it means that my dream of creating a life with Killian, safe from that awful contract, no longer exists.

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