Page 139 of Power of the Mind

He saw it then, the ceaseless vibrations, the barely contained rage coursing through my veins. Concern filled his face. He sat and put his broken glasses back on.

“I’m okay, D.”

I kneeled between his legs and moved to tilt his head but drew back, unsure I had enough control to touch him without being too aggressive. “Lift your chin,” I mumbled.

He refused. Our eyes caught briefly before I looked away, clenching my teeth as tight as I could to stop the chattering. “Tallus. Let me look at it. Please.”

“It’s hardly a scratch. I’m okay. I need to tell you my theory.”

I remained unmoving, gaze purposefully averted, waiting for him to comply. I couldn’t think about theories or anything pertaining to the case. My mind was spinning. My muscles hurt from constant rigidity.

Tallus must have understood. He lifted his chin.

I examined the two shallow cuts on his neck. Nicks, really. Nothing serious, like he’d assured me. But my insides coiled tighter and tighter. Nausea filled my belly. I dug around the well-stocked first aid kit until I found alcohol wipes and ointment.

Doing all I could to bite back the flood of anger and fear that had surfaced when Tallus had been taken hostage, I cleaned the two scratches. Hands shaking, I swabbed the square gauze over the wounds as gently as possible, wiping away the drying blood where it had smeared and spread. But I couldn’t vanquish the memory. It played on repeat. I saw the fear on Tallus’s face, the pleading look in his eyes. I relived the helplessness of the moment over and over.

Next, I applied a thin layer of ointment, smearing it evenly, delicately, like he might break otherwise. Neither injury required bandaging since the bleeding had stopped, but I debated doctoring them nonetheless, wanting to do more. I wanted to fix what had happened. Erase it from my mind.

Why couldn’t I stop shaking?

Finished, I clumsily replaced the items in the kit and met Tallus’s gaze. A weak, sad smile turned the corners of his rosy lips. “You touched me.”

“I had to.”

Porcelain skin, fragile and flawless. Behind the crooked-framed glasses, Tallus’s hazel eyes filled with concern. He saw what I couldn’t hide. My utter deterioration. What was wrong with me?

“Areyouokay, D?”

I grunted, looking away.

“I’m not hurt,” he said quieter. “It’s barely a scratch. Stop fretting.”

Stop fretting? Was I fretting? It felt like I was losing my mind. Barely holding on. Internally combusting. I didn’t know how to stop the roller-coaster ride that had taken me hostage ever since this man had fallen into my life.

Focusing on a spot in the distance, I asked, “What’s your theory? Tell me.”

“No. It can wait.”

“But we should—”

Tallus rested a hand on my shoulder, and my words tumbled into the abyss. “It can wait. Relax, D. Breathe. You’re not breathing.”

Because my lungs hurt. My skin hurt. My head hurt. That blasted organ behind my ribs, the one I’d encased in steel long ago, even it hurt. Everything fucking hurt.

“I need a smoke.”

“You need to relax.”

“I can’t.” If I let go of control, I would shatter… or tear the whole fucking world to shreds.

Tallus rubbed my shoulder. Squeezed. “Breathe,” he said again.

For years, receiving touch from anyone was jarring. Unwanted. It made me instantly tense and recoil. It felt ugly and uncomfortable, like a bee sting or a doctor’s needle. I was never sure how to respond when it came from Tallus. It never elicited the same root feelings. I’d stopped flinching every time he initiated physical contact, but my muscles still stiffened for a fraction of a second before calming again. I couldn’t help it. It was ingrained in my DNA. Automatic.

Why couldn’t I stop fucking trembling? Why were my insides vibrating with such ferocity? Was this part of the PTSD shit my therapist had talked about? If so, it was getting worse, notbetter. My blood boiled like molten lava, bleeding fire through my veins, searing the lining of my lungs and stomach. Hilty was gone, but I couldn’t shake his presence from the room. From my mind.

His intentions.

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