Page 155 of Devoted

Didn’t stop me fantasising about it though.

Eventually, my vibrating phone had me dragging my horny arse from the sofa to my desk. After a while, my mind focused on the work coming in, getting into the swing of what my clients needed.

Unfortunately for me, I got through my to-do list far quicker than expected. Less than an hour had passed before I was staring at my blank screen, wracking my brain for another task that could keep me busy.

When nothing presented itself, and without Zeke to distract me, my mind drifted over to the bond. Could I really tie myself to Zeke for eternity?

‘You’re not good enough for him.’

He thinks I am.

‘That’s because he hasn’t spent enough time with you yet. When he has, he’ll regret mating with you.’

No, he won’t.

‘He only wants you because of fate. He didn’t choose you.’

Yes, he did. He wanted me before he even knew I was his mate.

‘He was going to break up with you before he found out you were his mate.’

Why I insisted on arguing with my intrusive thoughts was beyond me. I knew better than that. But my mind was exhausted with all the new knowledge it’d absorbed. The changes I’d had to accept over the past twenty-four hours were greater than anything I’d had to deal with before.

The walls between me and my OCD were thinner than ever, and it was taking every advantage to push through them.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to picture them like balloons, floating past. Watching them disappear with disinterest.

It didn’t help.

Okay, new tactic.

Grabbing a notebook and pen, I wrote down my fears on one side of the page, adding counter-arguments on the other.

When I was finished, the intrusive thoughts were even louder than before.

Throwing down my pen in frustration, I leaned back in my chair and tugged at my hair. Fuck, I needed to get my arse back into therapy. Not that the NHS could offer me anything new, but this was ridiculous.

Maybe it was time to research how much a private therapist would cost. I had some savings, and I could always take out a loan to cover it. I hated being in debt, but there came a point where I needed to prioritise my mental health.

I suspected this was that point.

But how would I even explain all of this to a human psychiatrist?Hey, my immortal angel boyfriend wants me to be his eternal mate, but I’m worried I’m not good enough for him?

I’d end up on a psych ward before the session was even over, and not for any of the reasons my OCD gave on a daily basis.

Letting go of my hair, I glanced around me. The room had felt perfectly normal when I’d come in earlier, but now, the walls felt a little closer. The lights a little dimmer. The fireplace a little bigger. The silence too loud.

Too much. Not enough.

My fingers started to tingle.

Fucking great. That was just what I needed on top of everything else—a sodding panic attack.

Not today,I told myself firmly, getting to my feet. I’d realised what was happening early enough that I could try to curtail it. I needed to get outside. The cold, fresh air would ground me, while a brisk walk would burn off the adrenaline. Being in an open space would stop the claustrophobia, and the distant sounds of the city would give me the right level of noise.

‘See? Who needs therapy.’

“I fucking do,” I muttered out loud.My OCD wasn’t shaking off the idea of help that easily. A walk in the fresh air might work, but only as much as putting a bandage over a wound that needed stitches. The bleeding would slow, but it wouldn’t solve the issue.

---