Page 71 of Beautiful Scars

I rest my head back against the couch, keeping perfectly still, and let myself be the guardian of her peace a little longer.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Sunny

Warmth.That'sthefirstthing I register as consciousness slowly returns. I feel safe, comfortable, and completely at peace. The sensations are so foreign they take a moment to identify. There's a gentle weight on my shoulder, and I'm curled up against something solid and warm. I snuggle into the blanket a little deeper.

In the space of a breath, reality crashes in.

My eyes snap open and I bolt upright, my heart thundering against my ribs as I realize I'm not alone. I scramble across the couch, dragging the blanket with me trying to remember why I'm not in my room, who's here with me. The room spins as panic claws its way up my throat. My chest constricts painfully, and I can feel tremors starting in my hands. I squeeze my eyes shut tight against all of it.

"No, no, no…" the words are frantic, pleading as they pour out of my mouth.

"Sunny." A voice I recognize cuts through the static roaring in my ears. "Look at me."

I can't. I'm frozen. Stuck in place. My breath comes in sharp, hitching gasps that make my lungs hurt, make me dizzy. I think I'm going to be sick.

"Sunny." The voice is firmer now, but still gentle. It's Z. Zane is here with me. "Focus on my voice Sunny. Match my breathing."

He takes my hand and gently places it against his chest, letting me feel the steady rise and fall of each measured breath he takes. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. With me."

I force my eyes open, force myself to look at him, anchoring myself in the calm blue of his eyes. He breathes deeply, deliberately, and I struggle to match his rhythm.

"That's it," he encourages. "You're safe. Nothing bad is happening. Just breathe with me."

Gradually, the vice grip around my chest loosens. The room stops spinning, and my breathing evens out. Z keeps holding my gaze, his hand pressing mine to his chest, until the worst is over.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. Shame and embarrassment replace the frantic need to get away. I pull my hand away. "I've never... no one's ever..." I wiggle my toes in between the cushions of the couch. "You must think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy Sunny. And you don't have to apologize." He shifts subtly, leaning back to give me more space. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"It's not that." I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hide how badly my hands are still shaking. I remember coming out here and sitting next to Zane. I remember playing the stupid game on his phone, and then there's nothing. "I shouldn't have come out here last night. I don't know what I was thinking."

"You were exhausted." His voice is even, with no judgment or pity. "I thought about waking you up, but you looked so peaceful. I thought you could use a few hours of good sleep."

I risk glancing at him, expecting to see discomfort or awkwardness, but his expression is open, understanding. I relax a tiny bit.

"It's still embarrassing," I mutter.

"We all have ghosts, Sunny." His tone is quiet.

He stands, stretching. "I'll make us some coffee."

I watch as he moves around my small kitchen with familiar ease, pulling out mugs and starting the coffee maker. It should bother me how comfortable he is here, how naturally he's slipped into my space. But, it doesn't. It feels better than it probably should.

"You should eat something too," he says, dropping bread into the toaster. "Even if it's just a few bites."

"I'm not hungry."

He gives me a look I've come to recognize—the one that says he's not buying my bullshit. "Humor me."

The coffee maker gurgles to completion, and he fixes our cups—mine with way too much cream and sugar, just how I like it. He sets both mugs on the coffee table along with a plate of toast.

The comfortable silence stretches between us as we sip our coffee, but there's something I need to ask.

"How did you know that doing that thing you did would work?" I trace the rim of my mug with my finger. "That breathing thing."

Z's expression shifts, something raw and painful flickering across his face before he masks it. "My sister. She would get panic attacks sometimes. They were horrible for her."

---