Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
STEPHANIE
My head pounds as I force my eyelids to open. Was last night a dream? Or did it really happen? With a gasp, I shoot out of bed so quickly that my head spins for a moment. My gut churns as I shake my head, doing my best to dispel the fog threatening to pull me back under.
After a few minutes of breathing, I pull my phone over to me and squint at the screen. Eleven o’clock? How did I sleep that late? How did my alarm not go off? I scroll through my messages, my heart pounding in my chest.
Rex
Good morning sweet girl. When you get this message, please let me know you’re up and about. I came in to check on you and you were dead to the world. I figured sleep is what you need most of all, so I turned off your alarm. There’s some headache meds and a bottle of water on your nightstand as well as a small snack so you don’t take them on an empty stomach.
Let me know when you’ve taken them. I have a lot to do today, so I won’t be nearly as easy to reach. Today is an off day for you, so do whatever makes you happiest. Remember, if you need to go anywhere, my driver is at your disposal.
My eyes burn with unshed tears as I blink down at the message. The words blur for a moment, but then become clear again. I’m so fucking sentimental. I can’t understand why my emotions are just so all over the place.
Setting my phone down next to me, I grab the small, wrapped muffin and bite into it. Flavor explodes onto my tongue, but my stomach doesn’t want it. It doesn’t even growl as I force myself to swallow the bite. Each clash of my teeth into the food feels arduous, like it’s a chore.
I don’t dare not eat it though, not when I’m supposed to take some medicine. Once I force it all down, I grab the pills and take a swig of water. They catch a bit going down, making me gag. My stomach clenches, adding to the nausea rising in my throat.
Of all the days to be sick. To be fair, it’s probably just my nerves. Again, I look at the time. 11:05. The minutes keep ticking by with me not being able to stop them. I have to be at the civic center by twelve. Downing another swallow of water, I text Mr. Rothsbourne and race to the bathroom to take a shower.
Normally, I enjoy luxuriating in the elegant space, allowing all the various shower heads to pound against my skin. Today, however, I don’t have time for such extravagance. My head swims as I turn on the hot water.
My limbs shake as I quickly shampoo my hair and wash my body. Staring at the razor, I debate in my head if I have time to shave or not. I suppose for my wedding, I need to make time. Besides, there will be plenty of time for Brody to see me hairy after we say, ‘I do’.
Gritting my teeth, I force my hands to still as I glide the razor over my skin, taking away all the hair from my knee down. But there’s still the matter of my cuts from yesterday. I bite down on my lower lip as I peel back the main bandage. So far, no blood.
Seems as if I did a much better job than last time. Even the long bandages don’t seem all that soaked. With great care, I take each one off and reveal the lines underneath. They’re still red, but look more like scratches than cuts. When I angle hot water over them, they don’t bleed out.
That’s a good sign, at least. I’ll probably still put another bandage over it, just to make sure I don’t get anything on my wedding dress. With a heavy sigh, I shave the rest of my body and soap down the cuts before rinsing once more and stepping out.
Time is probably almost up. The knot in my stomach returns as I put my hair in a towel and dry the rest of me off. After throwing away the used bandages, I put a new one on and lotion up my legs. Still, my body shakes as if I’m stuck in one of my major panic loops. Mentally, however, I don’t feel all that scared.
I don’t understand what’s wrong. That is, unless I’m actually really sick. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I press the back of my hand against my cheeks and forehead. They are a little warm. I grab a thermometer and take my temp, hoping I don’t actually have a fever.
After the interaction with the officers when my car broke down, I don’t trust the government to be kindly disposed toward me if I don’t show up at the civic center on time. Sick or not, I have to be there. 98.9. Certainly elevated, but not a fever.
It has to be nerves then. A sigh slips through my lips as I open the cabinet door. Instead of my pills, I see the black velvet lump in the back. It shouldn’t call to me. Not after last night. The spanking certainly helped clear my head, and from the few glances in the mirror, it didn’t leave any marks.
But it’s not like I can ask Mr. Rothsbourne to spank me so I can stop being petrified at marrying his son. That certainly won’t do. Doing my best to ignore the siren call of the razor blades, I grab my bottle of pills. Three left. Soon to be two. Once I marry Brody, I’ll have more than enough money to go back to my therapist.
If he won’t pay for it, I’m sure I can come to some arrangement with Mr. Rothsbourne. Again, everything dips and sways for a moment, making my stomach lurch. Something is wrong. I can feel it. I just can’t understand what it is.
My suppressants!
I usually take them much earlier in the day. Perhaps my body knows they’re missing, and that’s why everything is so off. Breathing in a deep sigh of relief, I pop one of my anxiety pills into my hand and grab a suppressant.
Between both of these, I’ll be just fine for my wedding. Before I take another swallow of water so I can take the pills, I slide the thermometer under my tongue once more. 98.5. Still elevated for me, but going down. I’m not sick then. It was just the heat from the shower.
My pulse thunders in my ears as I take my pills and glance at my phone. 11:30. Fuck. I need to go. What does one wear at a wedding? I know they’ll dress me up and get me ready, but I don’t want them thinking less of me for showing up in some dingy outfit. Especially if I’m going to be marrying a Rothsbourne.
That familiar thought spiral whirls around me, freezing me in my tracks. I know I have to move, have to do something, but I just can’t. Sitting down on the bed, I focus on my square breathing, doing what I can until the pill kicks in. But something is still wrong. I feel it in my gut.
An itch slides over my skin, just beneath the surface. At least it’s something else to focus on. I claw at my skin, grateful for my short nails. It helps the itchy sensation but doesn’t break the surface. My brain fixates on every little thing, nearly driving me mad.
Rising, I tug and twist, pulling at the comforter until it’s just right. But then the pillow is wrong. All of it is wrong. All wrong. Why is it wrong?
11:35
Fuck. I have to go. But I can’t until everything is fixed.
11:36
I’m not even dressed. How can I get dressed when this picture hangs crooked?
11:37
They’re going to arrest me. I’m going to jail because my stupid fucking brain won’t stop.
11:38
I just need clothes. Damn it all to hell. Any clothes will work. Underwear. Bra. Socks. Pants. Shirt. Shoes. Good. I’m dressed. Dressed is good.
11:40
Will I even make it on time?
Grabbing my purse, I fly down the steps, my heart pounding in a relentless staccato.
Where’s the driver?
11:42
Where’s the fucking driver?
11:43
“Miss, there’s a car waiting for you outside from Corner Haven Civic Center? They say it was expected?”
Relief pours over me, shutting down my fight-or-flight instinct. I sway a touch as the adrenaline leeches from my body. “Yes. Thank you. I’m on my way out.”
A town car waits for me with a spiffy-looking driver. He nods and opens the door, helping me inside. The moment he shuts me in, I slump over onto the massive seat. Despite being so hot, my pulse calms down enough for me to take an easy breath.
Tired. So fucking tired.
The pill must be kicking in because all I want to do is sleep. Closing my eyes, I let myself drift for a moment. Just a small moment.
“Miss?” A hand grabs my shoulder, jostling me for a moment. “Miss? Are you okay?”
Blinking up, I take in the face of the driver. “Are we here? What time is it?” I pull up my phone. 11:59. “Oh. Oh God. I have to go!”
“Easy there, miss. They know you’re here. Everything is okay. I just need you to breathe for me for a second. Can you do that?”
I sit there for a moment, dragging air in and out of my lungs. “Yes. I can do that.”
For the moment, each breath glides in and out with no resistance. I search inside myself for the panic I know should be there, but it’s not. Thank God. The pill seems to be working. My limbs still quiver as I take his outstretched hand and step out into the bright sunlight.
“There now. It’s straight through those glass doors. Reception will take care of you.”
Nodding my thanks, I force one foot in front of the other as I make my way toward the looming hunk of glass. For a civic center, it’s rather pretty, but still not where I’d want to have a wedding. It’s so pedestrian, so normal. Once more, tears prick my eyes as I lay my hand against the door handle.
Mom should be here. She should be by my side as I get ready for today. But she’s not. She never will be. I can only hope she’s looking down on me, happy that I’m finally going to be taken care of. It’s what she always wanted for me. A kind mate who can make sure I’m okay.
Granted, Brody has a lot of growing up to do before he can even hope to match the level of care and concern his father has. Shaking that thought out of my mind, I do my best to focus on Brody and what our future can look like. Even though our marriage is only mandatory for six months, I’d like to think he’ll want to continue on and be my husband.
With a heavy sigh, I push the doors open and meet my fate. All around me, women rush in from all sides, their warm smiles and happy demeanor putting me a bit more at ease. I may not have my mother, but these women will have to do.
“Right this way, Miss Taylor. We’ve been expecting you. Was the drive over, okay?”
“As well as can be expected.” Especially since it wasn’t my car taking me here.
They shuffle me into a room filled with gowns in every color imaginable. Most of them are the typical white, but off to the side, a rainbow of hues greets my gaze. As much as I want to try on something green to match my eyes, I make myself be content with the white.
It’s what Mother would have wanted. It’s what a Rothsbourne would demand. I dare not disappoint either.