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I shrug. “My man is insatiable,” I say, and she stops making eye contact.
Whatever. Probably too much information, but I’m fucking excited. Sex with August is never boring. Maybe this old hag needs to get some too.
I grab the mile-long receipt from her hand when she finishes ringing me up.
“Killing the forests with these,” I say and smirk at her.
She just rolls her eyes and I crumple it up and toss it into the bag she hands me.
“Bye,” I say and then step from the store.
And that’s when I hear it. A familiar voice.
Thatvoice.
I turn my head and see a man on his phone and my stomach drops. It’s not him, but the voices are the same. Images assault me, and I swallow bile as I see flashes of images––his hands, his foul breath, his heavy weight on my back.
Goddammit.
I’m in a spiral and the panic is very real. Why does this always happen to me? Will it ever end or am I doomed to this shit for the rest of my life?
My entire body breaks out in a sweat, and I stumble toward the waiting Uber. I fumble with the handle and fall inside.
“Drive. Drive!” I say and then lean my head between my legs and breathe.
Dr. K taught me some breathing exercises early on that help when I have panic attacks, and I’ve used them with moderate success. I breathe deeply through my nose and then out through my mouth.
Focus on the senses.
Five different things I see, four different things I smell, three different things I hear….
“Hey, you okay?” the woman asks, glancing nervously at me. I nod, feeling my entire body tingle. I can’t feel my face anymore and my hands prickle. My heart is going to pound out of my chest.
“Fine,” I manage to say and then go through the exercises all over again until I’m stumbling out of the car and into the house.
August is on the kitchen table, wearing that fucking cardigan, but the minute he sees me, his smile drops, and he moves toward me, pulling me into him.
“Em, baby. What happened?”
I tuck my face into his neck and breathe him in.
August cradles my head in his hand and then he’s moving us to the couch.
We fall down onto the cushions, me still straddling his hips and clinging to him desperately.
I need him close.
“Just talk to me,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
August runs his hand through my hair and talks, words tumbling out of his mouth. He’s telling me about growing up, his pets, his mom, his dad, Magnus. His first kiss, his past girlfriends. Meeting me. Making love to me. I take it all in––his scent, the feel of him. His voice––so soothing, it drowns out the other one––and the images in my mind slowly dissipate. I feel my body relax until I’m putty in his arms.
“Em,” he says, his voice hoarse from speaking for such a long time.
I sigh and press my lips to his pulse point.
“I’m sorry.”
“Never apologize,” he says. “What happened?”
