17. Chapter 17
Mariana
This library event was not meant to cause me so much heart trouble.
It's a mix of things, including anxiety, which I still can't seem to get under control.
Like my walls are going down despite my efforts, and all my worries are leaking out.
I reached out to my old psychologist, who will refer me to someone in Seattle.
Still waiting on that. For now, I figured out that the problem is feeling the pressure of trying to impress my parents.
No surprises there. The whole point of coming to work with the Strike for a year was to prove I know what I'm doing.
I doubt they will give Maisie and me the green light upon my return otherwise.
If I don't succeed, the pressure to do as told when I'm working for the family will break me.
Then there's Dom. Despite him saying he's still angry, he was a lot easier to deal with at the hockey game. Now, stuck with me at a community outreach event, he continues to be more approachable. Like having an outlet through our texts is making it easier to pretend on the outside. It helps.
What doesn't help is thinking he looks adorable sitting on a tiny chair, reading a book to five-year-olds.
An athlete in business casual. Looking so grown up, so professional, yet so kind and sweet, smiling at excited young kids.
Posing perfectly for the PR people. Helping promote the donation the team is making to the library program.
It's just too perfect. I can't let it bring down my guard even further.
Is he reenacting the book as much as he is reading it?
Are the kids giggling? Are parents and librarians swooning?
Yes to all. Am I struggling to keep my own reaction under wraps, with the way my heart skips a beat every time he smiles?
Or how I have to clench my teeth to manage how intensely tender the spot is where my love for him used to live?
Even worse, when the crack on the walls behind which I keep my fears keeps on expanding by the second? Yep. Guilty.
I'm glad to be done with the event shortly after. I need the privacy of my office. Distance will be my refuge, when Dom and I are not lashing out as much anymore. The way I'm feeling, I'll need to use a few old calming strategies to come back to my senses.
Dom and I say goodbye to everyone and leave together down a long hallway. The building is old, with that look on the walls that comes from multiple layers of paint building on top of each other, and the harsh tones of fluorescent lights.
He doesn't look at me when he breaks the silence. "I thought you'd send other people in the department to do this kind of event. Maybe Pen, since it's in her realm."
"The Seattle Strike Foundation team is still too small.
Everyone was busy with other tasks, including Pen.
At least this way I can make sure it goes smoothly.
I need everything to go flawlessly so I can impress the board, the community, and anyone who may want to read the reports at the end of the season. "
I can imagine my mom keeping an eye out for my first annual general meeting, ready to ask for a copy of the executive summary.
She ran the family charity organization for a long time, but presides over the board now.
Alicia Montt knows this job well. She'll have opinions.
I'm not sure I want to hear them. Even if, with all her experience, she'd be able to teach me a thing or two.
"Mhh." Dom presses the button for the elevator, and the doors scrape slowly open. "Who could that be, that you're trying to impress so badly?"
I press my lips together. "Don't judge."
"I thought you wanted to find yourself." He makes a gesture to let me into the elevator first, once the doors have disappeared into the walls. "To start over. Didn't you say that once?"
"Maybe this means I am still someone who wants her parents' approval."
The doors close and I press several times on the button with a P1 etched on it.
Fuck. Am I more caught up in wanting my parents' approval than I realized?
More than I should be? Probably. Now that I'm not the Daughter Who Got Everything Right, I'm not sure where I fit in the family anymore.
And I'm definitely feeling the pressure.
My next round of therapy can't come soon enough.
A creaking sound signals the start of our descent. Several things seem to be in dire need of oiling and maintenance. My psyche included.
I sigh. "It's not like people fully outgrow that phase. I'm sure you'd still hate disappointing your mom and abuela."
"I would hate it, but I'm not bound by it the same way you are."
I arch an eyebrow at him. "Is that so?"
I'm ready to challenge him some more, but the elevator halts with a louder version of the earlier creak. The lights flicker a couple of times, only to give up and leave us in the dark. Utter and complete… nothing.
"Oh no. Oh no," I repeat.
I reach for Dom with one hand, and the handlebars at the side of the car with the other. My heart keeps going down and down, pretending the elevator had never stopped, until it reaches the bottom of the concrete shaft. Then it keeps going.
"It's fine," Dom says. The light of his phone spreads through the space as he wakes the device up. "No signal, but people know we're here."
"Right. Of course. Are you sure?"
I'm breathing fast and shallow, but it's the strain in my voice that makes it click. Just like that, I'm starting to panic.
He turns on the flashlight and points it at the panel. He doesn't say anything when I grasp at his bicep, and I follow him and his movements like he's my anchor.
The light streams on the emergency button. With my free hand, I press it several times.
"Dom. Nothing's happening. We're trapped."
He turns the light off and I gasp. We're in a vacuum. A dark hole. The only thing stopping us from dropping into free fall is a layer of metal.
"Hey. Mariana. People know we're here." He straightens and faces me.
I know this because his hands are on my shoulders, squeezing hard.
Mine find a place on his chest. My nails spear into this flesh, shirt be damned.
I drop my forehead to his chest, too. He's a pillar from which I can cling in the middle of all of this.
I focus on my breath and the sound of his voice.
"How do you know?" I manage.
"People saw us leave," he says. "People are waiting for us at the TD. Someone else is going to want to use this elevator, and they'll realize it's not working. This could end any second now."
"Okay. Yes. Okay." I'm not hyperventilating, but I can't control my breathing enough to relax either. "Fuck."
"I don't remember you being scared of small spaces. Or the dark."
"Isn't it fun? A new experience for both of us."
His hands leave me and I startle. I fill my fists with his shirt. Tight.
"Just getting my phone," he says.
The light of the flashlight turns on again. He crouches, leaving me on my own. Bereft. Adrift. He puts the phone on the floor by the corner, with the light pointing toward the mirror, so it diffuses. Things turn visible again. I breathe a little easier.
He stands and I force a deep breath into my chest. I fist my hands at my sides.
"Okay. Good." I gaze around. "Three things I can see. The panel with no lights on yet, dammit. The grill on the ceiling. Is it called a ceiling in an elevator? Uhm, your frown."
He keeps his hands to himself, but studies me carefully. "Is that a grounding technique?"
I nod. "Three things I can hear. My breathing. Your breath— Ah!"
The elevator makes another creaking noise and I startle again. I jump closer to him, my hands on his chest again, but his arms don't come around me.
"It's okay." He clears his throat. "We're okay."
"Hug?"
I tally the seconds it takes him to respond. Counting should help with grounding, but I don't get to start.
"Fuck. Of course." His arms go around my shoulders. "Yes. If this is what you ask of me— yes."
My head gets tucked in the nook of his neck, when he rests his chin on me. Warmth seeps from him to me, all around, and wow, I hadn't realized how cold I had gotten.
The way he holds me is known to me, down to my marrow. No one else has hugged me this way before, except him. It brings sudden tears to my eyes. I don't blink them away. My lungs have stopped working so hard, just to be in his arms like this.
"Three things I can touch," I mumble against his chest. "You. It's all you."
"Aren't you supposed to list them individually?" He mutters.
"I can hear your voice rumbling in your chest."
"I thought you were doing touch."
"I can feel your breathing under my face. The way your chest raises and falls. The way air moves through you. It's loud, here in the silence."
"Touch, Mariana."
"You want me to touch you?"
"Technically you could touch the elevator, too."
"Cold metal or a very warm body. What to choose, what to choose?"
He takes a deep breath. "Then use me to do your grounding technique, if you must. Just this once."
"An exception?"
"Sure. Now name three things you can touch."
"Your soft shirt under my temple. The fleshy part of your pecs under my fingertips. Err…"
"Say it."
"Your torso against my boobs when I breathe."
"Right." He gulps. I feel it on my forehead. "What happens next?"
"Two things I can see." I lift my head and watch him in the soft light. "I can see just how wide your pupils are. Deep, wide, dark pools. Uhm, the way a tattoo peeks through your shirt collar. It's very open. Two buttons are undone."
"Tell me two things you can hear," he whispers.
I put my ear to his chest again. I'm feeling better, but I keep to the exercise. I still need it and, somewhere in my mind, I'm aware I may not have a chance like this again.
"I always loved your voice," I confess. "And I can hear your heartbeat."
This time, I hear him swallow. "Two things you can touch, Reina."
"You know I hate that pet name." I run a hand down his chest, then up to his shoulder. "I can touch the swells of your muscles."