Page 138 of If Our Hearts Collide

Mark. Touching me. Standing over me. His sinister face mocking me.

And then like a warm blanket, Collins’s voice cuts through the chaotic darkness, reminding me that I have the ability to fight. Recalling the lessons taught with the blindfold on, I break free from the hold this stranger has on me.

“Back off,” I say, fully detaching myself with a step backward.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” the man says, holding up one hand in arrest. “You dropped your bag. Here.”

I shake my head, trying to calm my heart that wants to escape from my body. It’s pounding that hard.

I’m always dropping things. I should be accustomed to others picking them up for me. Yet I’m not.

Every touch feels foreign. Every touch causes me to panic.

Except for Collins…

His touch is different, and no matter how hard I try to provide reason, there’s really no valid explanation other than I trust him.

Collins is my safe space.

But he doesn’t want me and will be avoiding me soon.

I need to move on.

And I guess in a way, being here is me moving on.

“I’m…” I stare into his kind eyes. He’s visibly shaken from my outburst. “I’m sorry too. I thought you were someone else.”

“I’m literally here tonight to pretend to be someone else,” he says cryptically. “Here.”

I take my handbag from his palm. “Thank you.”

Slowly, my breathing returns to normal as the man departs and enters into the mansion without any formal introduction.

When will I stop being a freak?

Removing my phone from my bag, I find Margo’s number and type out a text.

Penny: I keep having these episodes…

Margo: What are you most afraid of?

Penny: Going back to the facility.

Margo: You can’t keep living your life with that fear. Because you wouldn’t be living…you’d just be waiting for the shoe to drop.

Penny: I know…

Margo: Hang in there. You already took big first steps. Be proud and celebrate all the little victories. ;) OH, and don’t miss another session with me. I’m keeping track for your report card.

Penny: Fine.

Penny: Thank you. :)

Placing my phone back into my handbag, I focus my eyes back on the mansion. The crowd has dwindled in size, having already been granted access.

Taking a deep breath, I marshal in every butterfly wreaking havoc on my nerves, ready to evict each one from my stomach before I vomit.

I can do this.

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