It didn’t work like that. He had no idea. It didn’t work like that, and I wasn’t going to be able to breathe.
A hand slid under my loose ponytail and grasped the back of my neck. Maybe it was seconds, maybe minutes, but Dom’s forehead came down on top of mine.
“Come on, Sparkles. If you can’t breathe, I’ll breathe for us. Ready?”
I shuddered at the close contract. He was almost holding me. Sort of. I remembered his hand holding me like this when he pulled me in for a kiss. But this wasn’t ardent or adoring. This was life-bringing.
“Breathe in.” Dom gently pulled air into his lungs for a few seconds and held it there. “Breathe out.”
It didn’t work the first few times he did it.
“It’s okay. I’m right here. You’re not alone. Breathe in. Out.”
My breaths came in short, painful huffs. Tears dripped down my cheeks along with my gasps. But after a while, my lungs mimicked his.
In two, three, four. Hold. Out two, three, four.
Again.
And again.
I didn’t know how much time had passed before Dom let out an even deeper breath, as if calming himself down.
His hand traced down from the back of my neck to either side of my jaw. “There you go.”
I took another deep breath.
Fuck, that wasn’t good.
Before I could figure out how I was going to stand back up, Dom was slowly guiding me. He didn’t say a word before he made our way across the room toward the bed.
I wanted to tell him I wasn’t tired, though that wasn’t true. I was too tired, wrung dry by the million different things that cycled themselves through my body from brain to muscle to bone. After an episode like that, it felt as if I were walking through thick sludge. I couldn’t argue.
“You don’t need to say or tell me what’s going on right now,” Dom said softly. He gestured for me to lie down, wearing my jeans that bit into my belly button. My feet slid between my cool sheets. “Just relax for a little bit, okay? I’m making one of the macaroni and cheese boxes from your cabinet. The best-buy date has faded off, so we are going to hope for the best in about fifteen minutes.”
He didn’t let me reply before he turned back toward the small kitchenette across from me. With a deep breath, I let myself lie down the rest of the way. The blankets, though warm around my waist, felt almost restricting. They didn’t stop me, however, from closing my eyes just for a second as I listened to the sound of Dom’s attempt at cooking.
It didn’t feel like the full fifteen minutes or longer had passed before weight pressed down on the end of my bed.
Opening my eyes, I pushed myself to sit up.
Dom set one of the wide ceramic bowls I hadn’t broken in the past few weeks in my hands.
I watched as he took a bite, pausing before chewing. I didn’t realize until then that Dom looked a bit more disheveled than when I had left him earlier. His hair stuck out, as if he had been running his fingers through it. His face was drawn and tired—and not only because of the lack of decent sleep he must’ve been getting each night on the miniature couch. He looked more than just a bit tired. He looked a shade of exhausted.
What a pair we were.
“Well.” Dom decided after a second forkful of running yellow cheese-coated shell noodles, “It doesn’t taste like cardboard, so we’re going to call it our win for today.”
I snorted, mixing the clumpy noodles around with my fork.
The corner of Dom’s lip curled up as he watched. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” My words sounded sluggish. I curled my legs over one another. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? Nothing sent you into a fetal position on the floor the moment you made it through the door?”
I shrugged. “Shit happens.”
