11. Elle
11
ELLE
D ry grass crunches underneath my feet as I pace. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sun beats down from a clear blue sky, baking the lawn behind the dormitory building. I thought that a little fresh air would calm me down. But it hasn’t. So now, I’m both panicked and overheated instead of just panicked.
Forcing out a long breath, I move farther to the right where the building provides a bit of shade. Leaning against the pale wall, I rest the back of my head against the cool stones and stare up at the sky above. The moment I’m out of the blistering heat, the overwhelming suffocating feeling eases a little. But only a little.
It’s Sunday today, which means that it’s time for my weekly call with my parents. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. Just a quick phone call to tell my mom and dad about my week. Everyone does it. It’s normal. It’s a sign of love. A sign that my parents love me and want to know about what’s going on in my life. Except I always feel like they’re constantly assessing everything I tell them .
They never ask me if I’m happy. They ask if I’m doing well in my classes. If I have started networking with the right people. If I’m keeping up my exercise routine. If I always eat healthy meals.
And now, I have to call them and tell them that I have been arrested by campus police for possessing drugs and also that I, a legacy member, have been kicked out of my sorority.
The steel bands around my chest tighten further, pressing so hard that I have to throw out a hand to brace myself on the wall behind me.
I thought I could solve this. That I could somehow get campus police to realize that the drugs weren’t mine. That I could get them to search Tristan’s house and then clear me of all wrongdoing, and then that would persuade Brandi to let me return.
But I couldn’t.
After I escaped Tristan’s house, I wanted to run straight to campus police and tell them to follow me back to his house. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I didn’t dare to do it.
Back in that forest a week ago, Tristan said that he wasn’t going to kill me. And I wanted to believe that. But when he and his friends closed the doors, trapping me inside their house, I wasn’t so sure anymore. He sure looked at me as if he wanted to kill me.
And the truth is that I have no idea what he would and wouldn’t do.
I thought I knew who Tristan Kane was. The quiet nerd who never went home straight after school and instead spent his afternoons in the library. The guy who rotated between his four faded t-shirts. The guy who never said a mean word to anyone. The guy who no one ever bothered to bully, even though he was obviously poor and a huge geek, because he would just ignore anyone who tried.
But this past week has taught me that I have no idea who Tristan Kane is. Which is why I didn’t dare tell campus police to search his house. Because what if he actually killed me for it?
Shaking my head, I stare up at the sky and try to force down a deep breath. It stops in my throat, but at least it’s something.
Resignation washes over me.
It was a stupid plan anyway. A na?ve plan. Even if campus police had found drugs in Tristan’s house, it still wouldn’t have proved that the ones in my room weren’t mine. And even if it had somehow proved that, Brandi would still never allow me to return to their sorority. It wasn’t the drug arrest that made her kick me out. It was my history with Tristan, and the threat he presents.
So I’m screwed either way.
Which means that I do in fact need to call my parents now and tell them that I was arrested by campus police and kicked out of my mother’s precious sorority.
Panic spikes through my spine.
Ignoring it, I slide a hand into the pocket of my shorts and pull out my phone.
My heart slams against my ribs.
I pull up my call history and scroll until I find my father’s name. My finger hovers over the call button.
Blood pounds in my ears.
I hit dial.
My head spins and I have to hold on to the wall for support as the line rings. Then he picks up .
And the conversation plays out exactly as I thought it would. It’s exactly as bad as I thought it would be.
How could you let this happen, Elle?
Haven’t we raised you better?
No daughter of mine would ever be kicked out of her sorority.
Do you have any idea the shame and embarrassment you have brought upon our family?
How am I going to face the public now?
They are going to use this as an opportunity to smear me. To declare me incompetent. If the mayor can’t even raise his own daughter right, how can he lead our city? Do you understand what this foolishness is going to cost me, Elle? What your failures are going to cost me?
When he at last hangs up, I feel as if my soul has been shredded to pieces. My hand shakes violently and it takes three tries to get my phone back into my pocket.
Dread and pain and sheer panic crashes over me.
Oh God, how am I ever going to recover from this? How will I ever be able to prove to my parents that I’m still worthy of their love? That I’m still their perfect daughter?
My entire body shakes.
I try to draw air into my lungs.
It doesn’t work.
It feels as if there is a massive vise squeezing my chest. It’s so intense that I think my ribcage is going to crack from the pressure.
Gripping my shirt right over my heart, I pull it forward. As if that would somehow help decrease the pressure. It doesn’t.
I suck in more breaths. They never make it past my throat. Never make it all the way into my lungs.
The thought of that sends another flare of panic through me .
I burst into tears.
Gasping desperately, I try to force air into my lungs. But all I manage are rapid, shallow breaths.
My knees buckle.
Crashing down on the grass, I double over and brace my palms on the ground in front of me as I try desperately to breathe. But I can’t stop crying. And I can’t fucking breathe.
Another wave of searing panic slams into me.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I’m starting to lose feeling in my hands. My entire arms are tingling. Prickling.
“Hey, hey, look at me,” a man’s worried voice suddenly comes from right beside me.
But I can’t look at him. I can’t even lift my head. My body shakes as I try and fail to get air all the way into my lungs.
Strong hands appear on my body. And then I’m hauled back and twisted around. I would’ve gasped if I’d had any breath left to do so.
Within seconds, I find myself straddling someone’s lap. Hands cup my cheeks, lifting my head up so that I’m no longer bent forward.
My vision swims, and I have to blink several times to get my eyes to focus.
When they do, the sight before me sends another spike of dread through me.
Tristan’s green eyes stare back at me.
He’s sitting with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out before him. I’m straddling his thighs, and he has slipped both hands into my hair, holding the sides of my head steady and forcing me to meet his eyes .
“Listen to me,” he says, his intense gaze locked on mine. “You’re having a panic attack.”
“I… can’t… breathe,” I manage to press out between short, shallow breaths.
“I know. You’re hyperventilating. Take a deep breath.”
“Can’t.”
“Then just take whatever breath you can and hold it.”
I try to take a deeper breath, but it gets stuck in my throat again, which makes panic crackle through me once more. I suck in another rapid breath.
“I said, take a breath and hold it ,” Tristan orders, his voice pulsing with power. “You need to get your breathing under control.”
The force of his command cuts through the air and stuns me enough that I actually manage to close my mouth and hold the shallow breath I had manage to get into my throat.
“Good.” His eyes remain locked on mine as he gently strokes my temples with his thumbs. “Now, let it out.”
I hold his gaze as if it’s the only thing tethering me to this world. And then I slowly breathe out.
“Good.” He nods. “Do it again. Take a breath and hold it.”
My body is still shaking, and my arms and shoulders are tingling from the lack of proper oxygen, but I manage to draw in another small breath and then hold it. Tristan orders me to do it again. And again.
Eventually, my hammering pulse slows a little and the prickling sensation stops. I shake out my arms to get rid of the last of it while I draw in another slow breath. This time, I manage to get it past my throat and all the way into my lungs.
A soft smile spreads across Tristan’s lips, and he nods approvingly .
I hold that breath for a few seconds before letting it out. Then I draw in another one. All the way into my lungs.
Relief washes through me.
I repeat the process until the pressure on my chest eases and my heart stops thundering. The panic inside me fades away, leaving me feeling completely drained instead.
For quite a while, I just remain there, straddling Tristan’s lap. He doesn’t move either. His hands stay nestled in my hair as he continues to gently stroke my temples with his thumbs while he holds my gaze. Those small strokes of his fingers make warmth and pleasure swirl up inside my chest, chasing away the last of that cold terror.
I get a suddenly overwhelming urge to lean into him. To rest my cheek against his firm chest and let him wrap his arms around me and hold me.
The thought makes reality snap back into me.
I’m straddling Tristan’s lap. His hands are in my hair. His fingers stroking my skin. And he helped me through a panic attack.
What on earth is going on?
I blink.
Then confusion furrows my brows as I hold his gaze and ask, “Why?”
I can almost see the exact moment that reality hits him as well.
He also blinks. His gaze flicks down to my body and then up to his hands. A scowl quickly settles on his handsome features.
In a flash, he has dropped his hands from my hair and instead grabbed my hips. With firm movements, he lifts me off his lap and sets me down on the grass instead. Then he stands up .
My body is still completely drained, so I just stay there on the grass where he put me. Confusion swirls inside my chest as I stare up at him while he brushes blades of grass from his clothes and then rakes a frustrated hand through his black hair.
“Why did you help me?” I ask, my voice coming out soft.
For some reason, I really need an answer to that question. Why would Tristan, who clearly hates me more than anyone in the world, help me like this?
His eyes are hard as he stares me down. Then a cruel smile tilts his lips.
“Because you’re not allowed to die yet. You haven’t finished suffering.”