Page 14 of Perfectly Us
“Let him go,” he slurs in my ear. His breath reeks of whiskey. “He’s a loser anyway.”
I shove away from him. “He’s not a loser.”
Asshole Dude throws back his drink, drains the red cup, belches, then tosses the cup to the floor. Who the fuck is this guy? A girl from my school then runs up to him and plants a big kiss on his lips.
Ah.So that’s how he got invited.
I rush toward the door and throw it open, searching the cars in the driveway, but I don’t know what Shiloh drives. It doesn’t help that people are standing outside, leaning against their vehicles and drinking. One car is bouncing a little, and the windows are fogged up.
Shiloh’s gone.
Chapter Four
Shiloh
A damn panic attack hits before I even reach my car. My throat closes up, and I struggle to breathe.
That’s where I feel anxiety, in my throat. I feel it in my hands too, electricity shooting to the tips of my fingers. My shoes thump down the path, and I focus on the sound, letting everything else fall away.
Breathe in, hold it, long exhale. Repeat.
When I reach my car at the back of the long row of vehicles, I unlock it and plop down in the driver’s seat, one leg in and one planted on the grass. I hang my head, fingers locked behind my neck, and just breathe.
The warm, muggy night air clings to my skin. Insects buzz. Though faint, the music from the party thumps. My therapist told me it helps to focus on these things when an attack hits. Smells, sounds, touch. One thing at a time.
After shutting the door, I stick the key into the ignition and feel the rumble of the engine as it comes to life.
Dad gave me the Mustang for my sixteenth birthday. It was his when he was younger, and it sat in the garage for years collecting dust. He had the interior redone and the engine fixed up for me. I remember giving him the biggest hug, thanking him like crazy. Deep down, I knew I didn’t deserve it though.
I smooth my hands along the steering wheel, feeling the leather creak beneath my palms as I grip it. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I fish it out and see a text.
Alex:Hey. Did you leave??? I can’t find you.
Guilt trickles through me for bailing on him so suddenly, but the run-in with Eddy fucking Stevens took me off guard. And how Eddy brought up that shit in front of Alex? I’m embarrassed. Ashamed. I didn’t want Alex to find out like that. Maybe I didn’t want him to find out at all.
Me:Yeah, I left. Sorry.
It shows that he read it, and the dots move on the screen as he types a reply.
Alex:Are you okay? Screw that stupid asshole. He’s a dick and his breath stinks.
I laugh despite the storm brewing in my chest. Alex kind of clears that storm away though, if only a little. Which makes no sense because I don’t even know him.
I go to respond but have no idea what to say. Am I okay? Not really. But then he’ll want to know specifics, and that’s a topic I don’t really want to get into. Not now, maybe not ever.
Me:Thanks for inviting me tonight.
Alex:Did you have fun at least? I hate that you got upset.
I can picture the face he probably made while sending that text, brow creased and lips slightly pouted.
Me:I did. More fun than I’ve had in a long time. You’re kind of awesome, Alex.
I regret the text as soon as I send it. Will he take it the wrong way? Think it’s weird? When he responds, I’m too nervous to open it right away, so I drop my phone into the cup holder and put the car in reverse.
Dad’s in his recliner watching TV when I get home.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says as I come through the door. “I wasn’t expecting you home until later. How was the party?”
