Page 42 of Receiving His Mercy
Was he kidding? He just expected her to start breathing?
“Shit. Fuck. Fine. We’ll do it Tyler’s way. Fucking soothing voice, what is he talking about? All right, baby, I want you to concentrate on my voice. Tell me what you can hear. Just one thing you can hear. And focus on that.”
“You,” she managed to get out.
“Good girl. You’re doing so well. Am I being soothing? Didn’t know I had it in me. Must be working. Two things you can smell.”
“You,” she said.
He made a scoffing noise. “Are you going to answer every question with me?”
Well, that sounded nice. She’d want every sentence, every day, every breath to end with him.
Okay, stop.
You can’t think that way. He’s not yours and he’s not going to be.
“What else?” he demanded.
Already, she was thinking more clearly and her breath was coming easier. She would have Tyler to thank for that and what must have been his advice to Travis on the phone.
It definitely wasn’t due to Travis ordering her around.
Had the nutter really thought that he could just order her to breathe and she would?
“Cleaning stuff,” she eventually managed to say.
Exhaustion washed over her and she could finally breathe. That was such a relief. Tears filled her eyes and she closed them tight, determined not to let them out. Not being able to breathe, feeling so completely out of control, it was terrifying.
She couldn’t even put it into words.
She’d suffered from panic attacks for years and yet they still took her by surprise each time. They still threw her back to that helpless child, waiting for her piano lesson with her cruel mother.
Or praying that her father might notice her, might care about her, only for him to walk past her as though she was invisible.
“Tell me three things you can see,” he said.
“I’m okay now,” she told him, opening her eyes to look at him. “You don’t have to worry. Tyler told you what to do?”
He grunted. “You don’t look so good, Goldie.”
Goldie . . . not baby? He had called her baby before hadn’t he? Or had she imagined that?
God. She wasn’t sure. Everything was so muddled up inside of her head.
“Thanks,” she said faintly. “That’s what every woman wants to hear.”
He gently grasped hold of her chin, tilting her head back. Suddenly, she remembered the lump on her forehead. She’d worn a hat in an attempt to cover it. Her hat was bright orange and pink patchwork and thank God she had it.
Still, she wasn’t sure it was sitting properly and the last thing she wanted was for him to see the lump on her head.
So she shied backward, banging her head into the wall behind her.
A groan of pain escaped her.
Her poor head. Her poor brain. Was it true that whacks to the brain could kill brain cells? If so, she was a damn sight dumber than she had been twenty-four hours ago.
“Careful!” he barked. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”
