Page 37 of Slaying for Santa
My hands wrap around my throat as more air gets trapped in my lungs, and I know I’m not back there in that housewith my parents, but I can’t seem to shake the familiar feeling of terror.
The Red Belly Team works together to try to stop Kit from hurting himself, or anyone else, but I can’t focus on him or the room we are in. Not when flashes of that shitty little kitchen with doors hanging off the hinges and the constant smell of stale cigarette smoke keep flashing before me.
Fuck, Bell. Calm down. Don’t let him win.
All the self-talk in the world can’t stop this from happening though. It’s been years since I’ve been hurtled into a flashback panic attack, and I already know I’m too far gone.
Tears blur my vision making it hard to see, and my hearing is a combination of my pulse, and the numerous men yelling, but I manage to stagger to the door, feeling my stomach roll as I dart towards the powder room in the hall.
A loud gagging sob lurches from me as my hand wraps around the handle, and I only just manage to get the fucking thing open before the first waterfall spews from me, right into the toilet.
I’m sobbing as I purge, choking, not able to breathe, and I’m so sure that this time, I really am going to die.
It’s different during sex. I get the high that comes with it. The pain and pleasure blend, but there’s nothing about this that feels good.
It’s pure torture.
A warm hand comes to my back, rubbing it, before a deep gravelly voice murmurs next to my ear.
“You’re alright. You’re safe.”
I don’t recognise the voice, but his touch, and his words, somehow help the panic to recede, and I stop choking on my own damn vomit.
“That’s it,” he says with the same rough but certain tone. “Focus on my voice. There’s nothing here that will hurt you.”
I do focus on his voice, his words having enough weight tostart to calm me. Even my purging eases as the room stops spinning and my body becomes my own again.
My hearing returns slowly as I expel one last time, my fingers white knuckling the toilet seat, and I pant, taking a moment to rest my head on my arm as I fully slump to the tiled floor.
There’s no more shouting, but a little yelling, which is when I hear Kit’s voice.
“Snake has her! He killed Carlos and said he’s fucking keeping my little girl!”
Curses ring out, and I realise they are all coming from the hallway. Right outside the door. The fucking open door.
A handful of toilet paper appears in my vision, and I take it, wiping my mouth, before tossing it in and reaching up to flush all that vileness away.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Wes snaps. “Snake? As in the leader of the Serpents?”
“Who the hell else?” Kit roars, the fury in his voice echoing up the hallway. “You know any other cunts that go by that name?!”
I hear Kade growl something under his breath before Doc’s voice cuts in with a sharp yell.
“Everyone shut the fuck up! Arguing won’t help the kid!”
“Doc is right,” Cipher’s clipped tone follows. “I’ll see if I can trace Snake’s last known location. Give me some time.”
As heavy feet stomp on the floor in the other direction, I shift back against the wall, my gaze falling on the big guy they call Ghost. Colt, I think his real name is.
He’s on the floor too, knees up with his forearms resting on them, his hands dangling lazily as he watches out the door at his team.
Of all the people to come and comfort me, the quiet guy that looked like he wanted to behead me wasn’t the one I thought it would be.
A set of feet move into the doorway, and my eyes travel up past the dirty shit kickers, and jeans with streaks of grease on them, to find a set of hands holding a glass of water, so soft looking I momentarily think they must belong to someone else.
Then my eyes meet the green stare of the one they call Doc. Their medic.
Well, now the soft hands make sense.
