“Breathe, Kat. You’re in my office. You’re safe now,” he tells me. The deep timbre of his voice rumbles through my body. But I barely register his words—aside from one.
Safe.
The word feels foreign. My lungs don’t cooperate with my brain. Each inhale feels like I’m dragging air through a straw. My fingers tingle with the impending numbness. My vision pulses in and out as if someone’s flicking a switch behind my eyes. My heart rattles my chest like it’s trying to push through my ribs. It feels impossibly tight.
“I can’t—” I rasp, my fingers clawing at my chest. “I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can,” he says, his voice steady and unwavering. “You’re breathing now. Let’s just control it.”
His hands hover near me, but he doesn’t touch, as though he’s calculating the exact amount of contact I can handle.
“In for four,” he says. “With me.”
He gives a slow, exaggerated, deep inhale. I try to match him, but my breathing hitches halfway through as a sob wracks my body.
“Again,” he says quickly, keeping me on track.
My body trembles with silent sobs. My legs feel weak. If I weren’t already sitting, I would definitely crumble to the floor. How can this happen to me twice in one week? What’s wrong with me? Is this what I’m destined to be in this life? A vessel to be used by shitty men?
“Look at me.”
I move my eyes to his, but I can’t focus. Everything is blurry. Nothing is right. He takes my chin in between his fingers. The contact makes my adrenaline spike, and everything slowly comes into focus.
He takes another deep, exaggerated inhale. This time, I make it to three before my breathing hitches.
“That’s better,” he soothes, and something inside me stirs at the praise. “Now, tell me three things you can see.”
My heart is still racing, but it’s not slamming against my ribs anymore. I open my mouth to speak, but the words get caught in my throat. My eyes lose focus again as tears build up on my lashes before silently falling down my cheeks.
“Come on, little rebel. Tell me three things you can see,” he repeats.
I wipe the remaining tears from my eyes and will my vision into focus.
His office is dimly lit, and the only source of light comes from a small lamp on the desk behind him. The unlit, circular industrial-style chandelier casts an ominous circular shadow across the floor. The walls are a dark green stucco, dotted with what look like Renaissance paintings. Probably reprints, but they make the room feel fancier than it should—out of place in a rock bar.
The mahogany floors are so clean it’s almost distracting. And it’s not just the floors; everything in this room seems like it has a place. Nothing looks used, nothing looks messy, even the corners—the parts of the room that usually collect dust—are spotless. His desk is completely clear. No papers, no pens, no coffee cups, just a framed photo sitting neatly on the edge, facing the chair. I can’t make out who it is from this far away.
“Computer, chair, vanilla hand lotion,” I blurt out, suddenly realizing that my chest has loosened enough to speak.
“You noticethatout of everything in this room?” he asks with a small laugh, his large shoulders rising and falling.
“I’m observant.” I shrug.
The room presses in. It feels heavy. Oppressive. It feels like the earth itself is closing in on me. My lungs tighten again, each breath shallow and uneven, but still controlled.
“You’re shaking,” he says, so quietly that it almost seems like he’s talking to himself.
My throat burns with the words I haven’t said.
“I froze,” I finally whisper. “I didn’t fight. I just… stood there.”
His body goes still, and his knuckles turn white as he fists the couch on either side of me. His face scrunches slightly.
“That’s not weakness, Kat. That’s survival.”
I swallow hard. His hand moves from the couch and rests carefully over mine where my nails are digging crescents into my palm. He gently pries my fingers open, his warm hands burning into my cold skin.
“You’re hurting yourself,” he observes, his thumb brushing over the new marks on my skin. “He shouldn’t have been near you, that was my oversight. And for that, I’m sorry.”
