Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
It’s in the past.
He’s not here.
You’re fine.
I should’ve been better by now.
But I had a horrible feeling I was getting worse.
The house creaked again.
A shadow caught the corner of my eye. A shadow that looked horribly like Milton stalking me from the living room.
Get out.
Now.
With a cry, I spun on my toes and bolted out the front door.
Without thinking, I ran down the street, not looking back, not able to think about anything but getting far, far away from…
He’s not real.
It’s in your head.
Calm the hell down.
Slowing at the end of the road, I eyed up the manicured pathway leading between two houses to the park beyond.
Before Milton covered me in pain and left me barely able to walk, I used to jog around Firefly Park most days. It was as familiar to me as my back garden, but right now…the dark alleyway seemed full of teeth and terror.
The alcohol in my blood made me stagger.
What am I doing?
Get a grip, Lor!
I shouldn’t have left my house. I was tipsy and barefoot and an absolute fool.
My nerves snapped and I sprinted back home.
I ran so fast, I grazed the soles of my feet and hurled myself through the front door as if the entire street was populated with axe murderers.
Slamming the door, my hands rattled as I did up the lock and threw the deadbolt into position.
The house pressed around me, heavy and ominous.
My knees gave out.
Collapsing against the door, I had my first ever panic attack right there on the rug. My lungs seized, my heart skipped, and all I could do was roll into a little ball on the floor and cry.
I didn’t know how to stop it.
I didn’t know I was capable of being this weak.
It made no sense.
I was fine.
No one had threatened me. Nothing bad had happened, yet my entire nervous system acted as if Milton had beaten me all over again.
I’m alone.
I hated so much that I was alone.
But the thought of calling Lily and letting her see me like this?
I couldn’t.
I could never tell her how my thoughts were full of despair, or that I no longer knew how to be happy. I didn’t want to be that person. Didn’t want her to look at me and judge me because what the hell was I so sad about? I was alive. I had no worries. No hardships.
God!
My head stuffed with tears. The mojitos threatened to come back up.
I-I need…
I don’t know.
I just needed something. Someone. A hug without needing to explain. A kind word without pity.
I huddled deeper into my ball. My cell phone fell out of my jeans pocket, clunking against the rug. My chest ached with pins and needles, and fresh fear filled me that perhaps this wasn’t panic but a heart attack.
A shimmery figure glittered in my peripheral; I swore I heard Nana whisper, “Call someone, Little Lor. Quickly now. Just in case.”
My entire body jittered as I reached for the fallen phone.
Fresh sobs choked me at the thought of what my neighbours would think if another ambulance pulled up outside my house for the second time this month.
“Never mind that,” Nana’s ghost cooed. “You’re spiralling, dear. Best let someone help—”
Help.
Yes.
I needed help.
But not from anyone who knew me.
Snatching the phone that’d fallen out of my pocket, I laugh-sobbed as I caressed not my mobile but the one he’d given me.
A sign. A lifeline.
Hauling myself up, I reclined against the wall, brought my knees up, and typed with quaking fingers.
Me: Tell me something random. Anything. Quickly.
Time ticked. My tears fell. A text message pinged.
X: What’s happened? Are you okay?
The level of caring in that one sentence. The fact I didn’t have to hide to protect his feelings.
Me: No, I’m not okay. I’m having a panic attack. I think.
X: List your symptoms. Right now.
Me: My heart is racing. My mind is too. I feel stupidly overwhelmed, like the world is closing in. Which is ridiculous as I have no right to feel this way. But I can’t stop seeing the guy who hurt me.
X: First, it definitely sounds like a panic attack. Second, you have every right to feel that way. I don’t know what happened, but your bruises and black eye say something serious did.
Me: You probably think I’m being idiotic messaging a total stranger when I’m having a meltdown.
X: I offered, remember? And I can’t tell you how glad I am that you took me up on it. If it will help, tell me what happened. You can say as little or as much as you want. I’m good at keeping secrets.
I sniffed back my tears, my heart no longer colliding with my ribs. Taking a deep breath instead of the shallow pants that’d crippled me, I went to type but paused.
I hadn’t told anyone.
Not even the psychiatrist who’d visited me before I was discharged.