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Each pull of oxygen burns, and my breathing comes out in ragged bursts.
Faster, faster, faster until I fear I might hyperventilate.
Everything is closing in.
The walls around me, the clothes on my back, everything is tightening to the point of pain. My chest constricts, as a radiating tingle shoots down my left arm.
Where am I?
What’s happening to me?
My heart.
Am I having a heart attack?
I’m dying.
“Are you okay?” A voice carries over through my haze. My eyes blink rapidly. “I’m going to need you to inhale, in through the nose . . . one, two, three. Very good, now out through the mouth exhale . . . one, two three.”
I breathe in and out.
His voice is steady as he speaks.
“Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale . . .”
My hands shake, and sweat coats my skin. His deep voice continues to soothe me. It lifts me from the darkness and into the light. As reality sets in, I realize I’m in the hospital, kneeling in the hallway outside my mother’s room. Peering down, I notice my hands are still shaking. Residual tremors from the attack.
“Is she okay?” another voice asks.
“She will be,” the deep voice declares. It’s absolute and I believe him.
In, out, in, out.
Still in a daze, I can feel the hand pulling me up, touching my back, guiding me.
“Just breathe. You can do it. Only a few more steps.” His soothing voice instructs, calming me down. Making me follow his lead. When we reach our destination, a seat is pulled out and I’m ushered to sit down.
I lift my head and my heart stops then lurches in my chest.
Standing in front of me is the psychologist from the hospital—from this hospital. The doctor with eyes so blue, it feels you could get lost in them if you stare too long. Transfixed, I pull in a straggled breath and will myself to calm in front of him. My face turns down and away from his scrutiny. Why did it have to be him to find me? A burning sensation spreads against my cheeks. I wish I could disappear. I can’t look at him. I need to leave.
“Look at me.” With slow movements, I lift my chin up. There is no judgment in his eyes, only concern. Air enters my body as I calm and take him in. I let out another breath.
“Dr. Montgomery,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
He hears me, though, and gives me a nod as his trained eye continues to assess me. I wonder if he remembers who I am. If he remembers that he treated me, or if this look of concern is natural for him due to his profession.
“Yes?” He takes a seat across from me. A small line is present between his brows, making me wish I could hear his thoughts right now, because the way he stares at me is unnerving.
“Do you remember me? I’m—”
“I remember you.” He cuts me off with a firm voice, but I hear a slight hesitation. The expression on his face is one of general concern and it appears he is battling how to respond to me. “Are you feeling better? Are you all right?” His voice softens.
“I’m okay.” I lurch forward. “My mother? Where’s my mother?”
“She’s fine. Still sleeping.” With a strangled breath, I finally take in my surroundings. We’re sitting in a small room. A fluorescent light flickers above me, making my eyes squint. It’s plainly decorated, and appears to be a vacant patient room.
“Why am I here?”
“You were having a panic attack in the middle of the hallway, so I thought it would be prudent to move you somewhere more comfortable and private.”
A silence stretches between us. He looks deep in thought and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about. His eyes are soft. There’s something caring inside them, comforting. As if he can feel my pain and there is sympathy living inside the ocean of blue that shines brightly against the early morning light.
With an exhale, he averts his gaze and lets out a breath. His posture becomes more distant, more formal. I bite down on my lip. It feels like an eternity waiting for him to speak.
“Have you had more episodes since you left the hospital?” A burning flush spreads against my cheeks as I tuck my chin down. I feel so small right now. “There’s no need to be ashamed.” There’s softness in his voice that makes the tension building inside me begin to dissipate. “If you don’t mind me asking, have you started seeing a therapist?”
“No,” I mutter under my breath. He looks as though he wants to say something, scold me for taking such little care of myself, but he refrains.
“Do you still have my card?”
“Yes,” I squeak.
“Use it, Eve.”
When I finally am able to get up and walk away, all I can do is shake my head. I don’t have words to voice how I feel right now. This man has rendered me speechless.
CHAPTER SIX
PRESTON
I’VE BEEN SITTING in my office since she left, staring at the goddamn wall. It’s been hours since she fell apart in the corridor, and yet I’m still sitting here thinking of her. Her words, her tears, and the look in her eyes play on a constant loop. It takes me back to a previous time, when I had met similar eyes, similar feelings, and similar sadness. An unwelcome feeling I haven’t felt in a long time twists its way through my blood stream. A storm. Raging winds are bearing down and I fear I’ll be engulfed in the destruction.
This feeling I hide from is a deep-seated guilt. A guilt I thought I had previously eradicated. But these feelings are misplaced. They don’t belong to her. No. They belong to someone else. To the one before. To the one I never helped. To the one I never saved.
I need to walk away. Cut my ties and pray she never contacts me.
Instead, my words betray my thoughts.
I told her to contact me . . . again.
Why did I do that? Because I’m a fool and was ill prepared to see her. When I bumped into her earlier, it was as though the universe was playing a sick joke on me. It had been weeks since she was here and she hadn’t called me yet. I was okay with that. I had come to terms with it.
I was off the hook.
I rest my head in my hands and pull at my roots until the point of pain.
Fuck!
Now it’s all shot to shit. Now I can’t bring myself to walk away.
Why does she have to look so much like her?
Is she my punishment?
My penance . . .
CHAPTER SEVEN
EVE
MY TEETH GNAW at my lower lip as I wait for my mom to wake. I pull my legs into my chest, wrap my arms around them protectively, and watch her. Was she always like this? Or was there a time when she was young and happy? Was it my father’s death that turned her into this? Is this my fate, too? Is Richard’s death my own catalyst? Am I destined to become her?
I never understood my mother. It was easier to judge her than be compassionate towards her troubles, but the recent events have been eye opening. Now I know how fast the fear can take over.
Reaching out, I take her hand in mine. What made you like this, Mom? It has to be more than simply my dad’s death. I wonder if she will ever tell me what haunts her. There is so much pain in her eyes. She refuses to talk about my father’s accident. She refuses to talk about anything. I have yet to voice my own fears, my own nightmares, so how can I fault her? How can I judge when I’m walking down the same dark and winding road?
I can’t.
My mind drifts to Dr. Montgomery and the way he almost implored that I speak to someone about the issues lingering inside me. There was something in his eyes that made me believe he was more invested than he let on. The circles hollowing his face spoke of sadness—a deep-rooted sorrow, and it made me want to find out about this man. Speak with this man. Learn anything about this man.
