Broken & Torn (Emerald Falls #1)

9. 9

9

LYLA

H is deep, booming voice.

That’s all it took to send me flying out the door.

I run across main street in a state of panic, narrowly missing cars as they honk at me. I can barely hear them over the high-pitched ringing in my ears. My breathing comes faster and I feel my face draining of color. A light sweat breaks out across my brow and on the palms of my hands.

I hardly register the grass now underneath me as I sink slowly to the ground, landing harshly on my knees. My breathing is coming out in a whooshing noise and my heart is hammering within my chest. I’m visibly shaking and tears cloud my vision. Before I know it, a set of strong hands grasp my shoulders and I physically cringe away from them.

He’s here.

A scream tries to find its way out of my throat until suddenly he’s sitting before me at eye level.

Arctic blue eyes.

Not full of menace and disgust, but filled with concern and guilt.

“Lyla, take a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly, now. That’s it.”

I close my eyes, fighting to calm myself. His face flashes through my head. I must have made an audible noise because Parker now has a hand running along my back. Up and down, slow and steady, soothing and anchoring me to the present.

“Open your eyes, Lyla. Tell me five things you can see.”

I pry my eyes open reluctantly and they immediately find his face.

“Your eyes,” I rasp.

Parker’s features have never looked so soft, so patient. Waiting.

“The blue of your eyes. The green of the grass underneath us. The red of the stoplight. The tattered and worn brown of the tree trunks behind you. The gray of the mountains.”

“Good. Now tell me four things you can feel.”

“The warmth of the sun. Your hand on my back. The grass on my knees. The wind on my face and in my hair.”

We continue counting down. Three things I can hear. Two that I can smell. One that I can taste.

The ringing in my ears subsides and my breathing is no longer erratic.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but he doesn’t say a word to rush me or urge me back to the shop. He simply sits in front of me, rubbing his hands down my back, over my arms, over my legs. His reassuring and gentle strokes center me. Finally, I break the silence.

“I’m so sorry. I—I don’t know what came over me.”

“You’re apologizing to me? Lyla…” he sighs. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I had a rough weekend and I just snapped. It had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me. I never should have spoken to you that way, or raised my voice. It will never happen again, I promise.”

His hand seeks mine and he grips it fiercely.

“You’re safe with me, Lyla.”

I look away from our hands and into his eyes. The understanding that’s laid there almost sends me into a panic. Did Dennis tell him ?

As if sensing where my thoughts were going, he says, “He didn’t tell me anything. I just—I’ve seen this type of thing before. I don’t know what triggered you but I know PTSD when I see it.”

I avoid his gaze and stay silent.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened. I just need you to know that it will not happen again and that if you ever need someone… Well, I’m here for you. I—fuck, I want us to be friends. I was going to tell you that this morning and I fucked it up. I mean it though. I want to try and be your friend. If you’ll have me.” I see him turn away, out of my peripheral and he looks— nervous .

He’s afraid I’m going to reject him.

I clear the lump from my throat and say, “I’d like to be friends.”

I kick off my shoes and sigh as I step into my apartment.

Today started off messy as hell, but Parker and I are going to try and be friends.

I set my keys down on the entry table and make my way to my bedroom. As I change out my work outfit and into something more comfortable, I think back to this morning. I was so embarrassed that Parker had found me in a state of full-blown panic. But he recognized exactly what was happening to me in that moment. He had talked me down and helped ground me in the present. His patience and understanding had felt so foreign to me. While my mom tries her best to understand my episodes and be there for me, she never knows how to handle them. My immediate reaction was to run out of the store instead of showing a vulnerable moment, and he tore out into the street after me. My mom and my friends normally leave me be and give me a moment to collect myself, but not Parker.

“I didn’t want you to feel alone,” was all he had said when I asked him why he had darted dangerously into traffic and across the street to get to me.

He seemed genuinely concerned for me the rest of the day, constantly asking me if I needed the day off, which I had refused each time. He settled for watching me like a hawk as I plastered on a ‘happy mask’ and engaged with customers throughout my shift.

Now that I’m alone, I can let it all out.

I’m just about to have a breakdown when the alarm on my phone goes off, reminding me that I have therapy in ten minutes. I groan and quickly swipe the notification. I finish changing and load up my laptop, all but flopping onto my bed in exhaustion.

Eventually, a video request from my therapist pops up and I accept.

“Hi, Lyla!” she greets me cheerfully.

“Hi, Meghan.”

“Uh oh. What happened?”

I haven’t spoken to her in weeks so I fill her in on my new town, new job, and new friend, including how we met. Then I tell her about the events of this morning. She nods along taking notes as she goes, asking a question here and there. Finally, she asks me a question I’ve been dreading and anticipating.

“Have you been taking your medication?”

I grind my teeth and auto-reply, “Yes.”

“You’ve been talking awfully fast and made a very rash life decision. I don’t mean to pry; I just want to make sure you’re not on an upswing.”

I huff out a laugh and say, “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

Her face tells me she isn’t satisfied with my answer but she moves on. We spend the rest of the hour discussing new coping skills now that I have access to mountain trails and how to manage my triggers on a day-to-day basis. We wrap up the call and I close my laptop. I glance over at my medication bottles and consider taking them again. But despite this morning’s episode, I’m feeling great. Energetic, happy, motivated, and artistic. I’ve filled nearly half of my new sketchbook already and I’ve only been here a week and a half. It’s some of my most inspired work and I can’t wait to head into the studio on Friday after work. It will be my first time and while I’m anxious about it, I’m also dying to go and check it out.

I tear my gaze away from the pill bottles and leave my bedroom.

I go downstairs the next morning to find Parker already in the store and holding two to-go cups of coffee from The Jittery Bean. I eye him skeptically as I make my way to the register where he’s looking sheepishly at me. Once I get there, he thrusts one of the cups at me.

“Cassie told me your coffee order.”

I grasp the cup and slowly bring it to my chest. I’m being filled with warmth and it isn’t from the hot beverage I’m holding. It’s from this big grump standing in front of me, looking as if he’d like to crawl into a hole and die.

“I forgive you, Parker.”

His head rises and his eyes latch onto mine.

“Really?”

“I forgave you the second you chased into the street after me. Thank you, for yesterday.”

He nods and smiles at me for the first time. “Always.”

And I believe him.