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“Let go of me.” Fudge, was he some sort of human Xanax? Because she swore all the tension was bleeding from her body and she could actually breathe without panicking, even though it was pitch black in here and she was in a small, confined space.
Without air.
“Nope. Hey, don’t go panicking again,” he chided. “Breathe in. Nice and slow. Here.” He turned her so she was sitting sideways in his lap and grabbed her hand, placing it on his chest.
No, no, no. This was bad. Very bad. She shouldn’t be touching him.
Not the son of Satan.
“Did you just call me the Son of Satan?”
“I’ve called you worse,” she said, feeling almost drugged. Definitely human Xanax. She moved her face closer to his neck without thinking. She slid her face between his neck and shoulder.
How did he smell so good when he’d been out all night? It was criminal.
“I’ve never heard you call me worse.”
“I say it in my head. Saying it out loud would be rude.”
His chest moved and she grumbled, irritated. “Stay still.”
“Sorry, Your Highness.”
“You should be. You’re so damn irritating.”
“Ouch. I’m irritating, and you call me the Son of Satan. In your head, though. Because saying it out loud would be rude.”
“Exactly. And I’m always nice.”
“You are not nice,” he countered.
“Yes, I am. I’m always polite. I use my manners. I help old ladies cross the road, and let pregnant women sit down on the bus. I’m nice, damn it.”
How dare he imply otherwise.
For some reason, he’d gone all tense and she didn’t like it. She didn’t know why she was acting this way . . . almost as though she was drunk.
She’d only been drunk once in her life. Her brother, Benny, thought it would be funny to get her drunk when she was thirteen.
She’d gotten alcohol poisoning and Benny had gotten a slap around the head. Because her father cared more about his sons than his daughter.
“Benny’s a dick,” she grumbled.
“Who is Benny?”
Aston buried her face into his chest. Part of her knew this was so wrong. That she was going to have huge regrets when she could finally think again. But right now, he was the one thing keeping her from losing her already fractured mind.
If she fell apart, it was going to be so hard to put herself back together. It got harder every time.
One day, she was worried that she’d fall apart and that there would be no way to put all the pieces back together.
“He’s no one,” she said quickly. Fudge. Idiot. Talking about her family was the last thing she should or wanted to do. “I feel weird.”
“It’s the panic attack,” he told her. “They take a lot out of you.”
“How do you know?” she asked suspiciously. “You’ve never had a panic attack.”
“So sure, are you?”
“Pretty sure.”
“You’re right. But my sister has. She used to have them a lot.”
“You have a sister?” Aston wondered why his sister had panic attacks. Had something happened to her?
She was being a coward. And she hated that. Relying on someone else wasn’t the way to get through this crap.
“Yeah, I do. And she went through something pretty traumatic when she was younger. She had trouble with a lot of things afterward.”
“Like what?” she asked.
“That’s her business.” His tone was gentle but firm. And she felt like an idiot for asking.
She’d had to teach herself not to ask too many questions. People didn’t like that. Sometimes, she still struggled with social niceties. Things other people took for granted because, as children, they’d learned them from their parents and other relatives.
What had she learned as a child?
Not to piss her father off unless she wanted to be punished.
She shuddered.
“Where’s your phone, Rainbow?” he asked, obviously misreading the shudder that had run through her body.
“Stop calling me that, Snickerdoodle.”
“Snickerdoodle? Seriously?”
“Yep.”
“I think that’s worse than Son of Satan,” he commented.
“Oh, I’ll still call you that. Don’t worry. Just up here.” She tapped her temple.
“Right, because it’s not nice to say it out loud. Tell me, when’s the last time you helped an old lady cross the street?”
“Uh. Well, I’m not sure. But if I saw someone struggling, I would.”
He snorted.
“I would!” She was frankly insulted by his lack of faith in her.
“I’m sure you would, Rainbow.”
Rude.
She tried to slow her breathing, which was picking up again. He might be a human Xanax, but dark, small spaces had been her enemy for a long time.
“When will it be fixed?” she asked.
“Soon,” he promised. “Let’s find your phone.”
Her phone, right. Of course.
Dumbass.
“Why didn’t you say anything about my phone before?” she grumbled.
“My bad,” he said dryly.
She searched around for her handbag. She should really get off his lap. But she just couldn’t do it. Not yet. She found her bag and searched through it. Several items fell out.
She didn’t care, though.
Nothing mattered as much as getting her phone. She tapped the screen, lighting it up. She attempted to turn on the flashlight, but her hands were shaking too much.
