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I had a feeling this would happen, and there’s only one way to beat the impending panic attack—run.
Turning toward the edge of town, I cross the street and walk briskly. Logically, I know I need to warm up my muscles so I don’t injure myself. However, my mind rebels against the warmup, and before I can remind myself not to run, my feet slap the pavement as my heart guides me toward the state park.
I can feel the itch beginning under my skin, as though another version of me is trying to claw her way out. Resisting the urge to scratch almost overwhelms me, and focusing on my breath becomes a struggle.
The edge of town looms before me, where the houses are more spread out and trees rise in the distance. The only sound is that of my heavy breathing as it saws in and out of my lungs.
I let my body take over, allowing my mind to focus only on the path ahead, pushing back all my fear. It doesn’t come easily, and I don’t force it. Instead, I take Sara’s advice and allow my mind and body to feel what they need to. Well, almost.
When I was a teen and got my very first period, I remember the same feeling of panic worming its way into my psyche. I recall vividly looking into the toilet and thinking I was going to die until I realized what was happening.
I screamed for my mom, who didn’t even bat an eyelash. She showed me where the supplies were and offered comfort. By the time I came out of that bathroom, I felt wrong somehow, as though my body had failed me when, in reality, it was working just as it should.
My mom’s advice has always been my lifeline, even though she’s no longer here. She encouraged me to find an outlet, a sanctuary where I could escape when the world threatened to overwhelm me. It was then that I first laced up my worn-out sneakers and took off, not glancing back until the burn in my legs and the gnawing hunger in my stomach forced me to return.
Today, though, everything is different. My parents are a distant memory, and the landscape around me has transformed dramatically. It’s a stark contrast.
Northwest New York has an otherworldly quality to it. It feels like a realm far removed from the bustling city, a place where time slows down and nature takes center stage. As my feet rhythmically hit the trail, I delve deeper into the towering trees.
Each step is a welcome escape from reality, the rustling leaves and the scent of pine needles a soothing balm for my anxious soul. The path winds through a dense forest, where the play of sunlight through the leaves creates an intricate dance of shadows on the ground. Here, the world is in perfect harmony. I find solace in the symphony of nature’s sounds—the chirping of birds, the rustling of small creatures in the underbrush, and the distant rush of a hidden stream.
With every stride, I leave behind the worries and fears plaguing me. The cool breeze carries away the weight of expectations, and the steady rhythm of my breath drowns out the cacophony of doubts that often echo in my mind. This sanctuary has always been my refuge, my place of healing and renewal.
As I venture deeper into the heart of the forest, I’m reminded of the timeless beauty of this place. The towering trees, some of them ancient giants, stand as silent witnesses to the passage of time. Their roots run deep, anchoring them to the earth, just as this ritual grounds me in the present.
I continue to run, the world around me a blur of green and brown. I am free from the constraints of my own thoughts and other’s expectations. In this hidden corner of the world, I find the peace and clarity I need to face whatever challenges lie ahead.
Desmond was right about one thing—Lisbon isn’t nearly as beautiful as Lenora. Nestled close to the Canadian border, Lenora boasts a lush expanse of trees and backs up to the imposing Adirondack Mountains. Every single time I come out this way, I’m reminded of the magic and the secrets hidden within the trees, of the lore and rich history that permeates this place.
However, today, my sole focus is on exhausting myself until I’m no longer consumed by worry for Milo. I need to push aside all the nagging thoughts about the potential dangers that probably won’t materialize, especially with Desmond’s men following him.
This brings me back to the enigmatic man himself, his stoic bodyguard, and of course, Matty. Lyric and Matthew are brothers. The more I think about it, the more I wonder how I missed the resemblance. They share the same soft curls, the same shade of blond, and their eyes…
A shiver rushes through me at the thought of their eyes. Despite their similar color, they are vastly different. Matty’s gaze holds a childlike curiosity and innocence that shouldn’t exist in a grown man. At the same time, Lyric’s eyes convey something much darker and more sinister.
Both brothers are undeniably attractive in their own right. It’s not just their handsomeness, it’s something deeper. Lyric carries an edge of danger that I’m inexplicably drawn to, a darkness I want to touch and explore. In contrast, Matty is the one who holds me close, keeping me safe, while his brother taunts me with his darkness.
Somehow, I feel like Matty wouldn’t pull me away from his brother’s darkness. Instead, he’d let me venture into those shadows and experience that slice of darkness for myself. He is the safety within the shadows.
Desmond, however, is an entirely different story. While Lyric and Matty walk in the darkness, Desmond is the darkness itself, a realm of uncertainty and intrigue.
I stand at the edge of their world, peering inside through a dirty window. In my hand is a cloth to clean the filth from the glass. I stand there, torn between the desire to clear the window and peer into their world or remain on the outside, shielded from the enigma that lies within.
Somewhere at my back, an unseen force threatens to push me through that glass, hurling me into a world I only want to dip my toes in.
Do I sink? Do I swim?
Do I risk Milo?
A low grumble escapes my lips as reality snaps into place. Slowing my pace, I come to a fork in the road. Frowning, I turn around, trying to reorient myself. Out here, the forests are so dense that the trails are like winding roads. Stray from the path, and you may never find your way back.
Pulling out my phone, I bring up the trail map while keeping my muscles warm with a few lunges. It takes a tense moment until the map finally pops up, indicating I’ve already run two miles, well past my usual turnaround point.
This deep into the forest, visibility is limited to just twenty feet. I stand at a crossroads, facing a choice—I could keep going deeper into the unknown, or head back home. This is a pivotal moment, the one where I must assess how I’m feeling.
With my phone safely in my pocket, I decide to continue up the trail, taking the left fork. Logically, I know Milo is okay, and just thinking that no longer plunges me into a panic. I could easily turn around and head back home.
Today is Saturday, though, my day off, and there’s no one waiting for me at home—no one to talk to, no one to keep me company—so I keep walking up the path, allowing that thought to roll through my mind. I put my life on hold to gain custody of Milo, and now I’m still putting my life on hold.
