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He'd stopped thinking about what he allowed to happen and how he had suddenly moved on. He didn't deserve to move on.
Jazzy would never have a wedding. She would never have children. She would never have anything again because he hadn't been around to protect her.
He was the idiot that introduced her to Slick. He was an idiot, a complete dumbass to allow that to happen.
He suddenly felt hot. Guilt hit him like a train as he looked at Rose, taking in the display. He was an idiot to take her out.
He gripped his hands into fists, wondering if he would ever get past this feeling, this constant dread that whatever he did wasn't worthy. He wasn't worthy.
Rose looked at him, holding a worried expression now. "Hey, are you okay? You look pale." She reached a hand toward him, but Dylan stepped back.
Dylan didn't want to be there anymore. Seeing Rose stand next to Jazzy's picture made his stomach curl. He couldn't stand the idea of Jazzy never having a future, and he certainly didn't deserve to be happy with Rose.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, taking another step back. "I have to go." He turned, pushing the door open quickly. Rose yelled behind him. He didn't even hear her as he hurried out the door, running to his car.
He couldn't be here. He couldn't stand himself. He couldn't.
TEN
ROSE
Rose was sillily excited about her date with Dylan. She adored the formality of their first dates but knew that a real relationship was mostly going to consist of casual day-to-day ongoings. You had to find the splendor in simple things, so when Dylan suggested they go to one of his favorite record stores, she was beyond thrilled.
But when they entered the shop, Rose watched as all of the color rushed out of Dylan’s expression. His limbs sank downward, and he’d spun around to leave like a man darting in a 100-meter dash, the door flopping closed behind him.
Rose went after him. Something was wrong. It hadn’t been like him so far to suddenly leave for no good reason. Plus, she really did like him, and she was going to fight for what she wanted ... at that point, anyway.
Dylan had long legs, so when she left the record store, he was already a fair way down the sidewalk. She tried to jog in her heels, calling his name but resorted to removing them and carrying them in one hand.
“Dylan!” she bellowed.
The man must have heard her. There weren’t many people on that street that night, so he was either utterly ignoring her or so caught up in his thoughts that her voice was like a passing wind.
When she reached him, she grabbed hold of his forearm, trying to get him to stop walking.
“Dylan, what is wrong?” she pleaded.
His face was still flushed, and his eyes moved about in their sockets wildly. He breathed heavily as he looked down at her hand, clutching his arm still. She let him go gently, slowly understanding a bit of what was rolling through his mind.
Musical prodigies had a lot of pressure on their shoulders, even at a young age. Rose had witnessed many panic attacks before performances, exams, and even simple parent-teacher conferences. The school was not up to date on mental health procedures, so Rose had to learn tools herself.
She had helped many students calm down through deep breathing techniques and even methods of focusing on their surroundings. She was, after all, a musical prodigy born to rich, tightly wound parents. She had experienced panic attacks at a young age without ever having to know what was going on.
Without hesitation, Rose placed a hand on Dylan’s cheek. His wonderful eyes fixated on her, his dilated pupils slowly shrinking away into the ember seas. She instinctively breathed in deeply, focusing on the balloon shape of her belly as she guided him out of the frightening place he had found himself in.
“Breath with me,” she said.
Dylan tried to breathe but was huffing and panting into his chest, which often encouraged hyperventilation. Rose took his hand and placed it on her belly, watching his startled look as she continued to breathe with him.
“Breathe into your belly like this.”
Rose breathed in for five seconds, making her belly bulge out like a little globe. She held it for three seconds and then breathed it out through her mouth for seven seconds. It was a ritual she had adopted for quite some time, having saved her from many catastrophic performances.
“Like that,” she said, holding his hand still to her belly.
Dylan breathed in as she did, and slowly, he began to calm down. Rose watched as his forehead relaxed, the pulse she felt against her thumb starting to slow to a steady pace. Empathically, her breathing evened her out too, and she couldn't help but smile as she felt Dylan return to the present moment.
“There,” she said, taking his hand from her belly, “isn’t that better?”
