Page 110 of Made to Sin

“Katarina.”

He became more worried as he neared the bathroom threshold.

“Katarina!”

He saw me curled up on the bathroom floor and sped over.

Each time he called my name, it was louder inside my head, breaking through the panicked fog. I held onto it, praying his voice could wrap around me like a safety belt before I crashed.

A broken, “Help me,” was all I could push out.

He hurriedly fell to the floor beside me, cradling me in his arms as he rubbed soothing circles on my back. “Take deep breaths, sweetheart. In and out.”

I didn’t question what he had me do, following whatever hesaid like a teleprompter. In and out. In and out. Oxygen flooded in. In and out. I was no longer gasping for air. In and out. Being in his arms made me feel safer. In and out.

“You’re okay, Katarina. You’re okay,” he comforted.

Maybe it was because of how sure he sounded or how tight he held me, but I believed him. For a greedy second, I let myself lean into his body a little more. He held me for however long and helped me find the rhythm to breathe again.

My panic attack slowed.

“Are you feeling better, sweetheart?” He asked once the tears halted, and I stopped shaking.

I nodded, struggling to find words.

Suddenly aware that I was a mess with my vomit still in the toilet, I grew self-conscious. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this,” I shyly mumbled.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He brushed a piece of sweat-matted hair off my forehead. “Go wash your face, and I’ll get you some water. We can talk about it if you want. If not, we can sit and watch a random show to ease your mind. Sound good?”

I nodded again, and, despite the cries of my sore limbs, I got up from his lap.

With a peck on my sweaty forehead, he made his way out of the bathroom to give me privacy.

I stared at my swollen eyes, patchy face, and chaotic hair in the mirror. Washing my face wasn’t going to suffice. Ignoring the lethargic protest, I hopped into the shower to let the scorching water eat at my skin.

For the desperate sake of finding any comfort, I told myself at least showers were liberating.

WITHOUTACHANCETODOUBTmyself, I grabbed the treacherous box and walked outside.

I couldn’t hide from my demons forever, and if there was one person I felt safe enough to talk about them with, it was Luciano. While he was the epitome of darkness, somehow, he became my light. My demons wouldn’t dare to come out, and if they did, he would scare them off.

A warmth blossomed in my chest when I saw him sitting on the couch. He had discarded his suit for a t-shirt and sweats, prepared to spend the rest of the day with me as he said he would.

Setting the box on the seat between us, I looked for his reaction. His eyes shone with a soft gleam, supporting me as I tried to find the courage to speak.

I hadn’t told a soul about Mamma’s story since Maria a few years ago, but even then, I brushed past the details. I wiped my sweaty palms along the side of my pants as an unease settled in the pits of my stomach, diminishing my will.

Like he could read my anxious thoughts, Luciano handed me a glass of water. “Here, your throat must be dry.”

I took it, nearly shattering another glass with my shaking hands. He remained patient, waiting for me to open up when I was ready.

“Thank you,” I muttered after taking large gulps.

“Are you feeling better?”

I pressed my mouth into a small smile. “Yes.”

“Take your time, sweetheart. If you need more water, I can go get more.”

---