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The rock in my side is jabbing into my ribs and getting painful. I’ve gotta move. There’s no way I can sleep all night with that thing stuck in my side.
Praying Ryan is a heavy sleeper like Livvie, I shift onto my side facing him. That way if he moves again, I’ll know what’s going on. I’m about to give myself a mental high five for my stealthy position change until I move my arm and it sets off my smart watch, illuminating its face. Which in turn, puts everything around me in a few seconds of dim light.
My eyes widen and I freeze.
Ryan’s eyes pop open.
He stares at me.
I stare at him.
My stomach flip-flips like it’s on a trampoline working toward the world’s record of flips in a second.
Just as the watch light mercifully turns off, Ryan’s lips curl into a smile.
I stare into the darkness, waiting. Is he going to do something else? Say something else? Am I going to have a panic attack if he does? Because it totally feels like I’m gonna have a panic attack. I’ll probably freak out even if he doesn’t.
Why am I freaking out at all?
Am I always this much of a wreck? Or does he bring out the worst in me?
I’m practically panting now. A sweat’s starting to form on my forehead.
I hear Ryan shuffling closer to me in his bag. I’m frozen to my spot.
My body is trembling like a leaf inside my sleeping bag, and heat rolls off me in waves. What is wrong with me?!
He reaches out to me, finds my hand, and grabs it. “Hey. Are you all right?”
I shake my head. Oh yeah. He can’t see it.
Pulling in a shaky breath, I whisper, “Just out of sorts, I guess.”
“Is it something I did?”
I shake my head again and whisper, “No. I just…”
How do I explain that living under Hilloria's thumb had me more conditioned to react than I thought? That I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop when rationally I know it isn’t. But after so many years of having her whirl around and bite at me, gaslight me, and cut me down, I’m terrified of letting Ryan in. It’s too soon. I haven't had enough distance from the situation that I can react rationally.
As if he senses my turmoil, Ryan scooches closer, until he’s an arm’s length away. He pulls my hand to his chest and rests my palm on his heart. “Focus on the heartbeat. Breathe in. Breathe out.”
I shake my head, trying to pull my hand away. My palm practically burns from his heat. The need to pull him to me. Grief washes over me again. Not at the loss of Dad. For everything I lost when I starting caring for him. My independence and confidence. My future and friends.
“Hey.” Ryan’s closer now. “Focus on me.”
He turns on his flashlight but covers it with his sleeping bag so that there’s a glow between us. “Tell me five things you see,” he says.
“Wh-what?” I swallow hard, fighting the urge to curl up into the fetal position. I’m lightheaded from panting, and I seriously think I’m going to have a heart attack or something.
He squeezes my hand. “Trust me. What are five things you can see?”
I blink several times, focusing on the few inches of space illuminated between us.
“The flashlight.”
“Good. What else?”
“Your sleeping bag.”
