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“Yes and no.” Casey eyes Carter before focusing his gaze on his hands in his lap. He’s starting to tear little pieces of paper off his card. “I’m not sure it’s ever going to fade, honestly.”
“It’ll turn into a healthier type of worry,” Dr. Singh promises. “One day, you won’t feel like you’re drowning in it.”
Casey seems to struggle to swallow, his eyes squeezing shut as if in pain, but he at least nods.
“Matt? Nolan?” Dr. Singh asks. “Are either of you comfortable sharing?”
I exchange a look with Matt. His eyes are wide, panicked almost, so I buy him some time by going next. “I put overwhelmed.”
“When were you overwhelmed? The whole night? Or just as the rescue was happening?”
“The whole night,” I admit, figuring that’s safe. “For different reasons, obviously, but the whole night.”
“What were your reasons?” Dr. Singh asks. “Let’s start with the beginning of the night, when you were at the party before the rescue began.”
I run my thumbnail along the edge of the stupid card in my hands, regretting taking the bullet for Matt. “I guess just the usual overwhelmed. A lot of guests to service. A lot of other slaves around. Trying to be good and follow directions and not disappoint Mast—well, Travis.”
Dr. Singh nods before looking around the room. “Who else felt like that at the start of the night?”
Everyone’s hands go up, even Carter’s and Casey’s. I suppose despite them knowing things we didn’t, they still had a lot to be overwhelmed about too, some of it even being the same as us. Carter serviced guests, after all, and they both cared about the other slaves in the vicinity and what would happen to them.
“What about once the rescue began?” Dr. Singh asks.
I realize after a moment that he’s looking at me again. My stomach drops. We’re getting into dangerous territory now.
“Oh. Um.” I try to play the words out in my head first, not wanting to give myself away. “I guess I was just overwhelmed because I didn’t know what was going on or if it was a fucked-up test or something. There was chaos everywhere and people were dead or panicking and—and there was a gunshot near me, so my hearing was all fucked up at first, and then Maison was touching me and I didn’t realize who he was or what he wanted, and then all of a sudden Travis was there and then they took my fucking collar and kept telling me I was free and—and Travis just—he just stopped being my master—just—just stopped—like it was no b-big deal and—and—and—”
I realize I can’t breathe.
I don’t think I’ve been able to breathe for a while, from how my lungs burn.
I suck in awful, rasping breaths as the room spins around me. I swear I can feel the ghost of Maison’s unfamiliar hands on me again, swear I can hear the ringing in my ears as I tried to hear what he had to say, swear I can smell the blood and the spilled champagne, swear I can feel that leather comfort slipping away from my throat as Travis stole my safety, swear—swear—swear—
“Breathe!” Bryce orders, his grip on my cheeks so tight I can’t help but suck in a sharp gasp. His hand squeezes even tighter as he forces our gazes to meet. He’s done this before, both in the compound and here in the safehouse. He’s done it with others. He’s never had to do it with me. “Breathe, you asshole. You don’t get to fucking suffocate after all we’ve been through, you hear me?”
I actually laugh, the sound hoarse and choked from lack of oxygen. I can’t help it, though. Only Bryce would be getting pissed at me for hyperventilating. I know it’s just his way of showing that he’s worried, he isn’t judging me or anything. It makes my chest ache with fondness even as the burn fades with every new breath I manage to take.
I laugh harder, even though nothing about this is funny.
And then I start to cry. Huge, body-shaking sobs that physically hurt as they tear out of me. I can hear people talking, but can’t make out what they’re saying. Matt shifts beside me. Something breaks in the distance.
“Go to your safe place,” someone tells me. I think it’s Dr. Singh. “Try to find it, Nolan. Find that safe place in your head and go there.”
Images of me kneeling for Travis flutter through my mind, but they quickly shift and morph until it’s Maison seated in front of me, his hand carding through my hair as he urges me to breathe. It feels wrong. Like a betrayal. Like a forbidden fantasy. Like freedom and darkness all tangled together.
I sob until I can’t anymore. Until I’m just empty, body still trembling, my mind a swimming mess, my face tucked against Bryce’s shoulder.
“You know what you need?” Bryce asks as the sun starts to set through the sliding glass doors. Something in the back of my mind tells me it shouldn’t be that late unless we’ve been sitting here for a very long time.
You know what you need?
I need Maison. His comforting touch and all-consuming kisses. His soft words and strong arms that wrap around me like a comfort blanket.
I need a master. Someone to take all of this weight off my shoulders. Someone to set me free by binding me to them.
“Tequila,” Bryce answers for himself. “You need tequila.”
That works too.
