Page 64 of Guarded

I pull up his channel and see the title of his most recent video. “Guarda Espada or Amante?”Bodyguard or Lover?

I click on the clip, and my heart stops in my chest when I see the footage of me in the hotel lobby crying after the full-blownpanic attack the night of my grandfather’s party. My crying face is hideous.

Nero sweeps in and picks me up in one go. Tonio tells his viewers that Nero is my lover. Oh no. No. No. No. This can’t be good. I open the stall door just as Alma returns to grab her phone off the sink. I wipe the first tear that falls down my face and walk straight past her.

I don’t havecontrol of the dark cloud. It comes when it comes. There are times I fight it, times when my routine and obsessive compulsion help me to avoid its presence. Other times, like right now, they build a storm so violent I can’t get out of it. I shut down completely. Nothing and everything exist all at once.

I didn’t make it back to the office like I planned. Leaving the bathroom, I immediately pulled up Tonio’s Instagram page, where he posted the teaser clips. Read all the comments, accusations, and names people call me. My feet felt heavy, my breath short, and the janitor’s closet is where I decide to take refuge.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here. I remember when I saw the clouds rolling in. I came in here, slumped to the ground, and cried. How was I going to get myself out of this mess? My family would be furious if I ruined the proposal. I would disappoint my father, and Axel would only punish me in the long run. Then, my rampant thoughts go to Nero. Would they fire him? Could I convince them it was fake?

Naturally, at first, I try to drown out the thoughts. I don’t want to think. With my index and middle finger, I began to tap my brow line, then under my nose, my jawline- anywhere and everywhere I had read about in an EFT tapping article.The emotional freedom technique usually regulated me back to reality, but it wasn’t working.

“I’m okay.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Everything’s going to be okay.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Get up, Ari.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It doesn’t stop. That stupid video replays and the imaginative scenarios taunt me with the worst possible outcomes. I keep tapping, and the thoughts don’t budge. They grow in intensity. Leave me helpless, and questioning my very existence.

What was the point of any of this when nothing ever worked out for me? Would my whole life be lived for everyone but me? I was willing to do everything for my family. Willing to sacrifice my own happiness. And yet, despite what I was willing to do, some gossip column couldn’t even let me peacefully do that.

I shut my eyes, and sleep is the best chance I have at drowning everything out. When I awake, it’s to someone calling my name softly in the distance. My eyes open, and I see Thalia crouched before me.

“Flaca, what are you doing in here?”

She uses her soft voice- the mom one she uses with Lucia and Luca. Reaching out, she wipes at the fresh tears starting to descend.

“I messed up. I fucked everything up, didn’t I?” I ask her. She shakes her head and stands up.

“You didn’t do anything, but everyone is looking for you.” Her black, manicured hand reaches out to me, and I grab it. I take in a deep breath as she pulls me up to her.

“Is this about the video?” she asks and I nod.

“Adan is already on top of it. Your mom is waiting for you upstairs, though, and we need to get rid of this before you go up there.” Her eyes narrow to the hickey on my neck.

I pull my ponytail back to the front to cover it. Thalia drags me back to the maid headquarters to grab my bag and then back into the bathroom.

She finds a small tub of concealer and pressed powder in my bag and begins applying makeup to the mark.

“You need to do a better job hiding these things. Put a few spoons in the freezer when you get home and apply them to the chupete on and off.”

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

Thalia has kept every secret I’ve ever told her. Not that any of them were on this level before.

Part of me wants to tell her about Alma, but I don’t want to get between them. I didn’t know what I did to upset Alma so much, but I need to confront her myself. Thalia hugs me and then grabs my hand in hers.

“Back straight, head high, “ she commands, ushering me through the hallway, up the stairs, and through the office doors.

Adriana Consuelo Reyes sits on an all-black couch. She doesn’t look a day over thirty, but then again, she has the best surgeon money can buy. Not a single wrinkle falls on her face.

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