21
Sailor
Pouncing Panic
I LAY IN THE DARK.
Arms crossed under my blankets.
Fingers pinching each arm hard enough to almost split the skin.
I couldn’t move.
Could hardly breathe.
The stress of the market and the effort it took to stay sane for Lily and smile for my customers had drained me to the point of despair.
But this wasn’t like the panic attack I’d had on the rug that first time.
This was far more stealthy. It’d waited until I’d had Thai takeout with Lily, put away all my merchandise, and bid her goodnight. It’d stalked me as I locked up, cleaned my teeth, and slipped into my bed on the floor of Nana’s old bedroom.
The wallpaper shimmered with misty lakes and silver cranes; the faintest paint smell lingered in the air. I’d read for a bit and fallen asleep, but then I’d heard a noise.
A noise like boots on the stairs and the corridor landing creaking.
And that was it.
The panic pounced.
My system saturated with adrenaline and anxiety.
Tears gushed against my control. My breathing turned ragged. And no matter how many times I told myself to calm down, I just couldn’t. Nothing worked. Nothing helped. The only thing stopping me from screaming into unconsciousness was my fingernails pinching each arm, giving me something to latch onto.
Pain.
Pain was good. Pain was real.
As long as I focused on that, I focused on reality and not the past.
I hated being alone.
I hated that I felt lonely.
The house pressed over me, stagnant and stifling, trapping me inside with the Goblin-Milton from my memories.
A moth fluttered too close, its dusty wings brushing against my cheek.
Swallowing a cry, I bolted upright and reached for the side lamp I’d placed on the floor beside my mattress. I still needed to spray-paint Nana’s old bed frame. I needed to go shopping to buy some furniture, but the thought of going out again? Of being around people—no matter how kind and sweet—God, I can’t.
Ugh, what’s wrong with me?!
Why can’t I move on from this?
Something thudded in the gloom.
I swear the doorknob of my bedroom jingled.
The moth swooped back over my eyesight.
With a cry, I snatched my gifted phone from the covers.
Me: Are you awake?
I sent the message before I looked at the time.
One thirty in the morning.
Of course he wasn’t awake. He had a job like a normal person. His professional occupation wasn’t watching me for a living.
Of course he’s in bed!
The house creaked again, shooting my heart rate into scary territory.
One of the closely growing trees scratched its branches against my window.
“Nana, if that’s you…can you stop?” I panted into the darkness. “I’m not doing so well, and I really need my imagination to stop running wild.”
The moth appeared again, drawn by my bedside lamp, but then it switched directions and landed on the blue glow of my cell phone screen.
Tucking away its wings, it perched on the edge as if replying to me.
Nodding, I accepted that Nana had heard my request even though the house cracked again, sending an ominous groan through the walls.
That’s it.
My jitters and shivers had me writing another message.
Hopefully, X had his sound off, and I wouldn’t wake him. Hopefully, he’d see this in the morning, and I would’ve survived the night on my own.
Me: I know I probably did too much today with the market and dinner, but if I don’t do those things, how can I expect to get better? The only problem is…I’m not okay now. I’m hearing things and seeing things, and I can’t move or breathe or think. I hate that I can’t just snap my fingers and be done with this. I hate that I know this is ridiculous, but the flight-or-fight inside me is still living in the past. I know you’re asleep, and I’m so sorry for dumping this on you. It isn’t your responsibility. And I don’t want you to feel like I am. But I can’t say this to anyone else, so…I’m saying it to you. I’m not okay. I hate those words. But they’re true. Please delete this when you wake up. I’m sure I’ll be fine come morning, but right now, I’m just going to use you as a lifeline, okay? I’m just going to keep typing nonsense so I can focus on other things.
I pressed send and immediately started a new text bubble.
Me : I don’t like mango. I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone that. I’m not keen on apricots, either. The smell gets me, and they’re too sweet. When Nana used them in her creams, I’d feel sick from the smell. What else? I love this house. I always wished I could live here full-time when I was a kid instead of the cold, loveless home with my parents. I was wanted here. At my parents, I was an inconvenience. I might love this house, but it’s treating me like I’m the inconvenience, just like my parents did. It keeps creaking and groaning. I really need to check that all the doors and windows are locked, but I can’t move. I literally can’t get out of bed, and oh my God, this is so stupid. I’m so sorry. I’ll stop. I didn’t mean to type such ridiculous things.
Sending one of the most idiotic messages of my life, I dropped my phone into the blankets and crossed my arms as tightly as I could. Squishing the life out of myself, I resumed my pinching, trembling with the need to snap out of this horrendous funk.
My phone chirped quietly.
I launched for it.
X: The next time you hear footsteps on the stairs, it’s me, alright? Don’t scream. Don’t wake the neighbours. I’m coming over.
“What?”
I gasped and rushed to type back.
Me: No! I mean. I don’t expect you to do that. Stay in bed. Sleep! Ignore me. I’m fine.
X: We agreed no lies, Lori. Give me twenty minutes.
I blinked at my phone.
He couldn’t be serious, could he? Did he live that close? Was that walking distance or twenty minutes by car?
Guilt crushed me at the thought of him driving across town just because I was having a mental breakdown.
Me: Please don’t. I feel so bad. Just talking to you has broken the panic. I’m okay now. Truly.
He didn’t reply.
He didn’t respond for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes.
And then the house inhaled and exhaled as if the back door had opened, letting in fresh air.
I froze under my blankets.
My ears rang from listening so intently. I quaked and rattled so hard my teeth chattered. The first heavy clomp of a boot on the stairs had me swallowing a scream and also wanting to burst into tears of relief.
One after another.
Step after step.
He walked slowly, methodically.
He reached the landing. The sound of his boots switched from heavy to soft.
I squeaked as his knuckles rapped on the door. “You have a choice, Lori. Either I can stay out here, and you can sleep knowing that I’m close by…or you can let me in, and we can talk face to face.”
Swallowing so hard I almost choked on my tongue, I coughed, “Eh…you can come in.”
The door handle pressed down. The only difference was, this time it was real and not my imagination. The door swung open just enough for him to slip inside before closing it again.
Glancing at the bare windows, he asked quietly, “Where are your curtains?”
“I…I took them down to paint. I haven’t bought new ones yet.”
Grunting an affirmative noise, he pointed at my bedside lamp on the floor. “I’m happy to stay for however long you want, but you have to turn that off.”
I frowned. “But then I can’t see you.”
His eyebrows rose. “That’s the point.”
Studying him, I took in the all-black attire, chunky boots, and skull-printed scarf/mask. He’d tugged it up so high, it brushed his bottom lashes. Something was different about him. Something I couldn’t put my—
He’s not wearing a hat.
I focused on his head and the strands falling roguishly over his forehead. His hair looked jet black with a glossy blue tinge. The ends were slightly damp.
“Did you just have a shower?” I asked quietly.
He stood tall as if about to deny it but then nodded with an exhale. “I did. Got in late from work.”
“What do you do?”
He came a step closer. “Doesn’t matter. Are you going to turn off the light?”
The panic loosened enough for me to sit on my knees. Peering at him, I focused on his eyes. A silver hoop pierced his left eyebrow, hinting he might have a rebellious streak. Did he have tattoos under all that black? His eyes gleamed a rich, deep brown. His forehead had no boils or pockmarks like he lied about, and judging by the beauty of his eyes and thick lashes, I’d say he was very handsome beneath his mask.
“I don’t want to turn off the light,” I whispered. “Do you mind if I leave it on?”
He sighed heavily. “Tell me why you want it on. Is your fear making you afraid of the dark or…” He splayed his hands. Strong, long fingers and nice square palms hinted he might be rebellious with an eyebrow piercing, but he didn’t have a manual labour job. His hands were too perfect, too defined with tendons and ligaments that looked more suited to precision work.
“Or?” I couldn’t take my eyes off him. The white skull printed over his mouth and chin drew me in. His refusal to show his face should ring loud warning bells, but I found it to be the opposite. Just like the reaction I’d had when he confessed he had a crush on me, I found my blood heating up in very different ways to the panic of before.
He has a crush on me.
The weight of that admittance seemed to swallow the entire room.
My room.
A man I didn’t know was in my bedroom at two in the morning.
And I’d never felt so safe.
What did that say about me?
Just how badly was I messed up, thanks to what Milton did?
Hugging myself, I lost whatever confidence I had.
This wasn’t normal behaviour. I shouldn’t put myself at risk like this. Perhaps I was trying to remember how to live by doing reckless things because this definitely counted as reckless.
“I need to keep the light on.” I tipped up my chin. “Please.”
His hand strayed to his face. For a second, it looked as if he reached for a pair of non-existent glasses but then he tugged his mask a little higher and nodded. “Fine.”
Awkwardness fell between us. He shifted away from the bed, looking for a chair. He scowled, the soft lamp revealing the tired lines etching around his eyes.
He looked exhausted.
Guilt pounced all over again. “I woke you up, didn’t I? You weren’t getting home from work, after all. You were in bed, and I dragged you out here.”
He stiffened. “It’s fine. You needed me. I’m happy to be here.” Swaying a little on his feet, he pinched the bridge of his nose.
Patting the empty spot beside me, I said, “Sit down before you fall.”
He gave me a stern look with his chin tipped low and dark eyes glowing with dominion.
The slightest thrill worked through me.
“I’m fine over here,” he grumbled, his voice extra gravelly.
Tugging the covers back, I forced a smile. “I won’t be able to talk if I’m worried that you’ll fall over any second. Sit…please.”
He huffed. “So you’re brave enough to boss about a masked man with no problem, but a creaking house gives you nightmares.” He softened the rather harsh sentence with a low chuckle. “I’m not sure there’s a word for that condition.”
“Grateful. That’s a word.” I smiled the tiniest bit. “I’m grateful you’re here. I’m grateful that you sacrificed your sleep for me. I’m grateful that you gave me someone to talk to.”
He sucked in a breath and stepped toward me almost against his will.
I waited for him to say something, but he stayed silent. With jerky footfalls, he closed the distance between us, turned around, then bent his long legs to sit on the low mattress.
The bed sagged with his weight, and the covers pulled over my hips as he scooted backward and rested his shoulders against the wall. Looking behind him, he studied the crane wallpaper I’d installed.
The joins weren’t perfect, but I was proud of my first attempt. I’d done it on my own and watched countless YouTube videos to get the paste mixture right.
“It’s pretty.” He dropped his stare again, his warm brown eyes meeting mine. “You did a good job.”
I frowned. “How do you know it’s new?”
He twitched as if I’d caught him in something he didn’t want to reveal before he grunted, “I saw the delivery of renovation supplies. It also smells freshly painted in here.”
“I’m not used to the fact you know quite a lot about my life thanks to watching me when I know nothing about yours.”
Reaching toward his feet still on the floor, he undid the buckles and laces of his boots before toeing them off and spreading his legs on top of my comforter. “How are you feeling? Was it a panic attack like before?”
I never took my eyes off him, studying the smooth skin of his forehead and the faintest lines feathering out from his gaze. He’d told me he was thirty-four. I didn’t think that was a lie, judging by his half-appearance. “You know, one of these days, I won’t let you change the subject.”
He chuckled under his breath, his voice extra raspy. “One of these days, you won’t want to talk about any subject with me.”
“Perhaps.” I nodded. “Or maybe I’ll want to talk to you forever.”
Skirting the topic once again, he ordered, “So…talk to me now. Tell me what happened.”
Facing him, I sat a little taller. With our eyes locked, I searched for all the words that’d suffocated me before.
And found I was peacefully silent.
I wrinkled my nose and pulled back a little. “That’s strange.”
“What’s strange?” His forehead furrowed; a few blue-black strands fell forward, catching on his eyebrow piercing.
“I’m not afraid anymore.” The biggest yawn made me moan with exhaustion. “In fact, I can barely keep my eyes open.”
He laughed softly and patted the bed. “Then lie down and try to sleep.”
“But you’re here.”
“That’s probably why your body isn’t fighting sleep anymore. You have someone else to stand guard. Your system is ready to shut down and rest.”
“But I didn’t drag you over here to be my bodyguard.”
“You didn’t drag me, Lori, I came willingly. I’m glad you texted me, and I’m happy to be your bodyguard. I’m happy to be whatever you need.” Hesitantly, he held out his arm. “Lie down.”
Eyeing up the cradle he made with his open arm and body taking up most of my bed, I yawned again. I’d heard of tiredness that you just couldn’t fight. I’d succumbed to it myself a few times recently, but I fought it all the same.
I didn’t want to sleep while X was here.
I wanted to talk in person instead of via text.
I wanted to hear his rumbly, gravelly voice and hope I was cured by morning.
With a soft growl, he snaked his arm around my shoulders and tugged me slowly but firmly into him. My hand landed on his chest, not pushing him away but bracing myself all the same.
He froze. “I’m only trying to make you comfortable. That’s all.” He went to unwind his arm from around me, but I shook my head.
“Don’t.”
He sucked in a breath. Our eyes locked.
Ever so slowly, he gathered me even tighter against him. “Scoot down. Use me as your pillow.”
Dropping my stare down his chest, I drank in the black hoodie he wore, wondering just how trim and perfect he was beneath it. His heartbeat thundered beneath my fingertips.
A frisson of power returned to me. The faintest re-awakening of my missing sexuality. Any ideas of femininity and desire had died the moment Milton strangled me.
I hated that I was the fairer sex.
I hated that I hadn’t been able to fight back.
That I was smaller, lighter, and weaker than him.
But in that moment in X’s protection, I liked that I fit perfectly against him. I liked the sensation of him looking out for me. I liked that I could surrender to him all because I knew he would keep me safe.
“Get some sleep, Lori,” he purred, soft and hypnotic.
I yawned and scooted my way down his firm, toned body until my head rested on his lower belly.
Shifting me a little, he stole my pillow that I was no longer using and placed it behind his head. Angling himself so he wasn’t sitting upright but wasn’t fully lying down, he ran his fingers through my hair.
The first jolt of him touching my scalp where Milton had torn out chunks made me gasp.
He stopped immediately. “If there are places I shouldn’t touch, just tell me. Don’t suffer through it because you don’t want to be honest.”
Nodding, I forced myself to lose my sudden shyness and put my hand on his stomach.
His heartbeat pounded loud beneath my ear, and I smiled at another surge of power.
“You weren’t lying when you said you have a crush on me,” I whispered.
He laughed abruptly. “Am I shaking that much?”
“Your heart is racing.”
His fingers feathered to my neck beneath my ear. Finger-mark bruises still collared me and I could barely touch that part of myself without suffering flashbacks, but X’s touch was exquisitely soft. Endlessly gentle. Just a worshipping caress in the night.
I shivered as he pressed two fingertips to a pulse point there. He didn’t speak for a moment. “I’d say yours is going just as fast.”
Sifting his fingers through my hair again, he sucked in a breath. “Is this okay?”
My eyes closed, sinking into his petting. “Yes.”
“You’ll tell me if I do something that unsettles you?”
“I promise.”
“In that case, close your eyes and let me restore your faith in men.” He sniffed as if scowling beneath his mask. “Let me undo everything he did.”
His fingers drifted like warm water droplets over my head, and I couldn’t fight it anymore.
My eyes closed.
In a few seconds, I was asleep.