Bitterness seeps through me as I swallow down the now sour-tasting donut ball. Of course it is. He’s into watching me eat. He brings me food. He takes me places like this. Damn, I’m so stupid. Why the hell would someone like Maddox James have a real interest in someone like me? I gulp and look away. Tears are in my eyes. I’ve been here before, but this hurts so much more. I thought I genuinely meant something to him, but now I can’t shake this awful suspicion that it’s just my shape and my appetite that turn him on.
“Ellie, is something wrong?” Maddox asks, his voice laced with concern.
I wish I were better at hiding my feelings, but I just can’t do it. I never can with people I care about, and I care about Maddox so, so much. I wipe my hands on a napkin. I really don’t want to talk about this here. “No, it’s nothing, but I think I should go.”
“Why? What’s happened? Do you feel ill? Do you need something?” He jumps up from his seat and rushes around to my side of the table.
I shake my head, tears stinging the backs of my eyeballs. “I’m fine. I just want to go home.”
His brow furrows in a confused scowl, but he takes my hand, and, to avoid causing a scene in this busy courtyard, I let him. My legs are weak as we walk. He glances down at me. “You are not fine, Ellie,” he says.
He ushers us to a quiet spot at the side of the restaurant where we’re all alone. I just want to run, to be alone with my thoughts. I never can think straight when I’m around him, and I need to make it to the subway. To get away from here.
But when I try to pull my hand from his, he doesn’t let me. He holds it tight, herding me, pushing me towards the wall of the building. I can hear the chatter of the customers at the front, the faint sound of classical music. It feels like I’m separate from it though, like all of that is happening in a different world. My heart is racing, and Maddox is so close to me. Too close. I feel like I can’t escape.
My breath seizes up and my vision begins to blur. Memories assault me. Hands pawing. Too strong for me to escape. I can’t get any air, I feel like I’m choking…
And now I’m cornered. In my bedroom. Fifteen years old. Being told to be quiet so I wouldn’t wake the others. The terror as he trapped me there. My need to protect my younger siblings from this monster. The knowledge that he was bigger and stronger and held all the power. I gasp in a tiny trickle of air, ballmy hands into fists, and slam them against Maddox’s chest. He doesn’t budge, and I have no strength to make him.
I plead with him with my eyes, incapable of speech now. Incapable of anything but this raw feeling of dread.
“Ellie, baby, please talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“You’re blocking me in,” I manage to pant out, my words faint, the whole world gone hazy.
Immediately he spins us around so that his back is to the wall and I’m standing in front of him. He holds up his hands. “That better?”
I nod, throat clogging up. My pulse is pounding so loud I can hear it, the blood hammering through my ears.
“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks softly. His voice calms me down. Speaks to the part of me that knows he means me no harm. Another nod is all I can manage. He takes my hand and places it over his chest. “Breathe with me, baby.”
His deep commanding rumble is easy to obey. I stare into his onyx eyes as I match his steady breaths. I copy his technique—breathing deep in through my nose, holding it for a second, then slowly letting it out through my mouth. It’s a pattern I’m familiar with, one I was taught during therapy when I was younger and also use in Pilates. I guess Maddox has had his own uses for knowing effective breathing techniques.
I slowly let the air start to fill my lungs, my fingers clawing onto the soft fabric of his T-shirt, the sounds of the real world finally starting to come back to me.
He talks soothingly, telling me everything will be okay. Telling me he won’t let anything bad happen. Telling me that I’m safe, over and over again. Once my breathing has evened out, he speaks, hand still clasped over mine. “Panic attack?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” is all he says. He doesn’t probe or push. “I’m here if or when you need to talk about it.”
He doesn’t know my history yet. Not because I don’t trust him with that, but because no matter how sweet and emotionally intelligent he is, it’s still a buzzkill to tell your boyfriend that your first time was when you were raped by your father.
It’s hard to explain why these occasional episodes come on so suddenly. Maddox has had me pinned up against a wall before and it made me nothing but excited. So why did I react like this now?
I know why. It’s because of what he said about watching me eat and how confronted that makes me feel. Everyone has their kinks, their turn-ons. Can I work with his?
No, I decide. If this isn’t real, then I don’t want it. I will walk away, no matter how hard that will be. I absolutely cannot be some fetish for him.
“Is that why you wanted to leave?” he asks. “Because you felt the panic attack coming on?”
“No,” I admit. “I panicked because I don’t like feeling boxed in.”
“Okay. That’s good to know for the future, baby. But I’ve had you boxed in before.” His voice is so gentle, so understanding.
I nod. “I know. And these attacks are unpredictable. But it’s…it’s when there’s conflict. When I feel trapped, like I can’t get away from something bad. Like an argument.”
So many emotions flicker over his face that I can’t help but feel sorry for him. Well, hell. I never promised him simple.
