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“That’s not?—”
He pins me with a hard look, the kind he reserves for the students at All Hallows’ who dare to cross his path.
It’s a look I’m not all too used to seeing from him, one I might have once cowered at. But nothing but an overwhelming streak of irritation sparks inside me.
“I’m not scared of you.” The words land like a blow and I’m not sure who is more surprised—him or me.
But something flickers in his icy expression. Something besides the blatant surprise. I can’t decipher it though. I’m too annoyed. Too weary.
“There.” I twist the top of the biscuit packet and thrust them towards him. “I ate. You can go now.”
Elliot narrows his gaze. “Come out with me.”
“What? No!” Absolutely not.
“Come on, Red. We’ll go for a drive. Go to that dessert place you all love so much. Just… get out of this room for a bit.”
I can’t. The words lodge in my throat.
“Just for an hour,” he goes on, “It’ll do you good.”
“Do you know what I want, Elliot?” I force myself to look at him, really look at him. He waits and I take a steady breath. “I just want to be left alone to deal with things how I want to deal with them.”
I’m sure hurt flickers over his face but that can’t be right.
“That’s really what you want?” he asks coldly. I nod, and the muscle in his jaw clenches. “Fine.” He stands. “Have it your way.”
And he storms out of my room, taking every bit of air with him.
* * *
Elliot didn’t come back.
Not that I blame him.
I made it clear, I don’t want or need his help. I don’t need a babysitter. I need…
God, I don’t know what I need. All I know is relying on Elliot Eaton isn’t it.
Another day passes. Another day of ignoring the girls’ calls and texts. I manage to reply to Tally to placate them enough not to send Elliot back. But for the most part, I stay cocooned in a ball of grief and sadness and anger.
Elliot wasn’t wrong. This isn’t healing. It’s wallowing. Drowning in the emotions suffocating every inch of me. But I don’t know how to shut it off. And with every minute, every hour that passes I slip deeper and deeper. So deep I can’t breathe.
I shove back the covers and stumble out of bed, trying desperately to suck in air. To fill my lungs and make them work again. But the band across my chest constricts, tightening to the point of no return.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t?—
I crash into the vanity, gripping the edge and trying to force my heart rate down. Breathe in and breath out slowly. Count steadily to five. Close my eyes and focus on my breaths.
Over and over, I repeat the cycle, waiting for the panic attack to pass.
Eventually, it does, and my eyes flicker open as I finally feel in control again.
Except, I’m not.
A restless energy simmers under my skin, desperate for release. I need to get it out.
