Remy’s fingers flex on my waist. “Win?”
I want to speak, but my tongue is lead. Every muscle prepares to run. I’m not a twenty-two year old man anymore; I’m a sixteen year old terrified kid, desperate to escape an impeccably dressed monster.
“Sorry I’m late, Mom. I got tied up with the coordinator for the Belize trip,” says the snake in Lilly Pulitzer.
My hands shake. My skin itches. My mouth dries.
Run before she recognizes you. Before she—
“Jessica, darling, you must manage your time better,” Bev scolds with a fake smile. But Jessica’s not listening to her mother. Her cold blue eyes are falling out of her head, full lips parted in shock.
I can’t do this.
I can’t.
I—
“Oh Jess! So glad you made it!” Lucy exclaims, grasping one of her limp, manicured hands. “I know you were a few years ahead of the boys so I’m not sure if you remember Winnie—”
“I do,” Jessica says, watching me closely. Her initial shock fades, apprehension creeping into her hawk-like focus.
Fuck sobriety. I need a drink. A blunt. A line. A whole fucking bottle of pills.
Bev’s head swivels between us. “Is that so?”
I’m gonna faint.
Jessica glances at Remy skeptically. Self-preservation instincts screech. But it’s too late— I’m already paralyzed. Useless. Shattering in front of these people and they're none the wiser.
Well. Not everyone is oblivious.
Remy’s chest presses into my side. “You said you needed something from the truck, right?”
Don’t hyperventilate. Not here.
My lungs scream.
I nod.
Remy flashes a sympathetic smile worthy of an Oscar at the three women. “Forgive us, we’ll be right back,” he murmurs, steering me toward the door despite his mother’s protests. The frames on the walls streak, the floor transforming to water beneath my numb legs. A chant of, “out, out, out,” syncs to the drumbeat of my pulse.
The soft murmurs coming from Remy are vapors wafting away before they reach my ears. My brain has locked me in a cage, attempting to protect me from horrors Ican’trelive.
I’m.
Breaking.
Blinding sunlight slices through my tunnel vision at the same moment my legs completely forget how to work.
“Fuck.” Remy grunts, a strong arm banding around my chest. Momentum reels me down the front steps, dragging him along. Somehow, he catches us before we face-plant the gravel.
“You’re scaring the shit out of me,” he pants, grasping my shoulders to steady me. My eyelids are stapled open as I battle the barrage of horrifying images in my mind.
All coping tools rehab taught me are lost. Phantom pain spirals through my nerves. Surplus adrenaline flips my stomach.
Oh fuck.
I twist out of Remy’s grip, wobbling toward his truck to hide behind—
