Page 56 of Every Broken Thing

His grin dropped. “What?”

“Ronnie, it’s nothing,” Esther denied, but he pulled her out of my grasp, his pile of clothes forgotten on a nearby shelf where it was quickly pilfered through by bloodthirsty discount buyers.

Leaving Abercrombie empty-handed, we headed to Macy’s. Ronnie held Esther close with an arm around her shoulders, but no further drama unfolded.

Since Macy’s was bigger, it was easier to breathe, even with the crowds. Ronnie and Esther separated from Ben and I, gathering in the corner of the shoe section, already in tense conversation. Ben placed a hand on my back and guided me away to give them privacy.

“Ronnie is really protective,” Ben said in explanation.

“I think she’s stronger than he gives her credit for,” I countered.

While we waited for Ronnie and Esther, we hovered in the jewelry and beauty section so we stayed in their sight line. Ben uncorked a bottle of perfume and sniffed. His face spasmed, and he set it down with a grimace.

“I don’t recommend that one,” he said.

We sampled the different perfumes and colognes, and Ben offered me an open bottle of lotion to smell. I leaned over and took a whiff, and the world ground to a halt. Cucumber melon. I was surrounded by cucumber melon, and I…

The faucet was leaking.

The counter top was cold against my cheek.

Eric said,“I’ll show you respect.”

And I was drowning. No, I waschoking. I was choking on cucumber melon, and I couldn’t breathe.

“Breathe, Si,” someone said in my ear, low and easy. “Feel my chest. Feel every breath. Every inhale. Every exhale. Breathe with me.”

The surface under my palm rose and fell in exaggerated intervals. Spearmint breath fanned over my cheek, and spring soap chased away the cucumber melon.

Ben coached my breathing as I fought through the panic chugging through my veins. I didn’t know how long we stood that way, my hands on his chest above his pounding heart, his fingers framing my waist. His cheek pressed to mine, his lips whispering over the shell of my ear with every word he spoke. And bit by bit, the fear melted away.

When I came back to myself fully, Ben and I were standing in the corner of the handbag section, his body shielding me from the shoppers milling about behind him. I was clinging to the front of his shirt, my face tucked into his neck as he rubbed my back. He mumbled nonsensical comfort in my ear, and I was breathing with him, my every inhale in sync with his.

“There you go,” Ben said, rubbing his cheek against the side of my head. “You’re doing so good. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’re safe now. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

I should have been embarrassed, and maybe I was, deep down. But the relief overwhelmed the other feelings of weakness and inadequacy. Relief that Ben was here, that he was holding me. Relief that he hadn’t left me alone. More than anything, relief that he wasn’t judging me, that he seemed to understand.

“I’m sorry,” I said, tightening my grip on his shirt. “I don’t… I’m sorry.”

Cupping my cheek, he guided me out of the refuge of his neck and his ocean eyes were achingly tender as he said, “You never have to be sorry, not for this.”

I shuddered and pressed into his palm. “I hate this,” I confessed, the threat of tears clogging my throat, making my voice crack. “I fucking hate this, Ben.”

“I know,” he said, and I believed him.

Our pain wasn’t the same, but it was close.

“What, uh… what triggered it?” he asked. Carefully, carefully.

“Cucumber melon,” I said without thinking, and his brow furrowed. “The lotion. It… it doesn’t matter.”

The relief was fading, and humiliation fought to take its place. I didn’t want to lose Ben’s comfort, but I was suddenly aware of the other shoppers, the curious stares. I stepped back, and Ben let me. I wished he hadn’t.

“I get them too, sometimes,” he admitted, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Ever since my mom…” He drifted off, throat clicking with effort.

Ever since his mom died,my brain supplied.

“I’m sorry,” I said again, and his responding smile was small and a little lifeless.

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