Page 22 of Return to Us
“It’s what?”
I follow the technique, but I can’t get my mouth to cooperate. The words die on my lips.It’s the truth. It’s what I am, and I’m okay with it because it’s them helping me.
I try and try. Angry tears fall down my cheeks, and then I feel the pressure of a headache come on stronger and faster than usual. God, this is going to be horrible.
“Jess?” Winnie steps forward as my hands grip the sides of my head. “Jess? What’s wrong?”
I close my eyes and sink to the floor. “Head,” I rasp the only thing I can say.
My sister closes the door of the dressing room as the pain comes on so fast I don’t have time to prepare for it. The lights are so bright, and each sound feels as though it’s being pushed through an amplifier. The metal hangers scraping, the cart rolling . . . it hurts so much.
“Jess, shhh,” Winnie says, pulling me to her chest. “What do I do?”
“Lights. So much.”
She cloaks me in darkness, wrapping something around me, but I won’t open my eyes to see what it is. I need to calm myself.
“I’m going to tell the manager so I can get you out. Stay here.”
I couldn’t go anywhere if I tried. I need my medicine, darkness, and a few hours of complete silence. Winnie is gone, and I lie on the floor, clutching my skull, hating that the last few days have been amazing and now I’m crippled by the pain.
My doctor says a way to work through them is counting backward. To let the numbers help pass the time until I fall asleep.
I do that. I start at nine hundred ninety-nine and go back. Once I get to four hundred thirty-three, I hear the door open, and instead of Winnie’s voice, it’s deep, male, and familiar.
Before I can say or do anything, I’m lifted off the ground and tucked against Grayson’s chest. God, he smells the same. It’s a combination of fresh air, spice, and sandalwood that I would be able to pick out anywhere.
I stir, but he holds me tighter, his voice quiet. “I have you, Jess. Just relax, I’ll get you home.”
“I have her purse,” Winnie says.
“Daddy?” a small, sweet voice says from beside me. “Is your friend okay?”
“She is,” he whispers. “We have to be very quiet, though, can you do that?”
“Yes,” the little girl whispers back.
I bury my head in his chest, allowing myself to take a small ounce of comfort from him. My head is still pounding, but it isn’t as debilitating as it was seconds ago. I keep counting, not letting go of the monotony of the numbers.
“I’ll take her,” Grayson says.
“What?”
“My car has tinted windows, if it’s light sensitivity that hurts her, your car is the worst.”
Winnie drives a tiny convertible. There is no room to lie down and no hiding from the blinding sun.
“No,” I croak, but Grayson tightens his grip on me.
“Don’t argue, Jess,” he whispers before directing his words to Winnie. “Take Melia’s seat out.” A few seconds pass, and then his voice changes. “Please, Winnie.”
She makes a noise under her breath, but she must agree because a moment later, he settles me in a car. Not sure which one. The door closes, and I curl up on the backseat, no longer caring whose car I’m in, just that I’m lying down.
I can hear my sister outside. “Seriously, she’s going to hate this when she’s better.”
“I have no doubt of that. Can you drive Melia to Stella’s?”
“Stella’s?”
