Page 16 of Forever We Fall

“Deviant?” His mouth quirks. “I’m sure hand holding would seem kinky to you.”

He has no idea. None at all.

“You know nothing about me,” I snap.

“Don’t I?”

His head cants. He levels me with his knowing eyes.

It’s the main reason I’ve stayed away from him. That and the fact that I hate his fucking guts for what he did. For making me feel, for just a second, like I had someone who could stand up for me, who would be there for me. But he can’t. No one can.

When summer rolls around…I bank a shudder.

“That guy isn’t your dad.” His eyes bore into me, searching for any reaction. I hold perfectly still. “You two look nothing alike, and you had a fit when Miss Booth said something about him being your parent.”

I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep quiet.

“He beats your ass for fun.”

A buzzing starts in the back of my head. My vision goes blurry for a second. The tempo of my heartbeat revs like a juiced-up engine. I can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs or out. It feels like I’m going to explode.

This asshole grabs my desk chair and spins it so that the seat is behind my knees.

“Sit before you pass out, and I have to watch you splat your skull on the floor or catch your big ass.”

I try to tell him to fuck off, that I can take care of myself, but the words won’t form on my numb lips. So I grit my teethand obey. I don’t want to hit my head. It’ll ruin my training for several days. I don’t want him to touch me either.

“He’s not coming here,” his calm voice reassures. “He can’t get in, even if he tried. We’re the school’s cash cows, us kids. They like to keep tabs on their cash flow.” He motions me forward. “Grab your ankles and relax your chest.”

“Fuck off,” I wheeze.

“Intimidating for an asthmatic.” He chuckles.

“I don’t have asthma,” I snarl. It still comes out as a wheeze.

He waves me down. Air is still barely bartering its way in and out of my lungs. I flop forward, figuring that if I pass out, I’ll be that much closer to the floor.

“What makes you happy?”

I gasp.

Breathing.

Breathing makes me happy.

“Think about what makes you happy. Is it a place or a time? Envision yourself there. Feel the temperature of the place. Hear the sounds there. Inhale the smells.”

Suddenly, I’m at my old house. My toes are tucked into the green grass of the conservatory. The warmth of the sun pours in through the glass above. The scents of gardenias and lush dirt fill my nose.

“That’s it. Deep, slow breaths.”

My fingertips itch to feel the leaves and pluck a rosebud, to toss it up and catch it time and time again.

I blink. Bare feet come into view. Tears threaten to obscure them. That limbo between my safe place and reality vacillates until I can breathe without sounding like an eighty-year-old chain smoker.

Swallowing, I press my elbows into my quads and wipe the tears from my eyes.

“Are you prone to panic attacks?”

---