Page 14 of Untamed Desires
Distantly I hear my name, but I can’t respond. All I can do is shake my head and hope that whoever it is understands that I’m trying to keep my shit together. If you’ve never had a panic attack and haven’t had the pleasure of trying to keep yourself together… imagine what it feels like to be burned. We’ve all done that… either touched a hot pan, had grease splatter on us, or burned ourselves with our flat iron. Now imagine feeling that burn and not jerking away from it. Imagine standing still while you burn until the fire turns itself off. That’s what it feels like. Well, at least, one of the ways it can feel.
The beauty and the curse of panic attacks and anxiety is that there are no typical responses. Sometimes you burn, and sometimes you run. Sometimes you suffer in silence while the world goes on around you, clueless. Other times you make a spectacle and fight like a hellcat.
This time I’m burning. Rooted to the spot, unable to jerk away from the fire because the fire is inside me. The fire is me.
The world shifts and I worry that the spots in my vision are the first hint that I’m about to pass out. It won’t be the first time my brain did what I consider a hard reset. There are times when passing out is a blessing. Losing consciousness, a mercy. I fight back the dizziness because I don’t want to faint here.
Matthew won’t let anyone hurt me. I’m safe. I repeat that mantra over and over until my breaths come steadier, and I’m able to open my eyes without fearing I’ll faint. When I open my eyes, I’m confused for a moment. I’m no longer standing beside Matthew. In fact, I’m on the opposite side of the elevator and backed into a corner. In front of me, Slade’s hulking body blocks my vision from the rest of the space.
It takes a moment for me to realize I’ve got a death grip on his arm. It’s troublesome that in my panicked state, I reached out to a virtual stranger. Just like with Matthew, I feel an instinctual sense of safety when it comes to Slade. It’s a little disarming. I want to second guess myself. To not trust my instincts, but I push that aside. I’m choosing to trust Matthew and that he wouldn’t lie about me being safe with Slade and Kisten.
I release my death grip from Slade’s arm, and he turns to look at me over his shoulder, a resigned look in his eyes. I hear a scuffle and an all too familiar sound of flesh hitting flesh. I try looking past Slade, but it’s impossible. He’s an impassable mountain. When I attempt to move past him, he blocks me with his arm, and ever so gently holds me back.
“I don’t fucking care that you are my best friend if you ever scare her again, so help me, it will be your last fucking move,” Matthew bellows. Well, it sounds like what I imagine Matthew possessed by a demon would sound like. Terrifying, fierce, and deadly. There’re some shuffling noises, a bang, and more grunting followed by a menacing ‘got it?’ from Matthew.
I try again to see around Slade’s back, but he’s an immovable force of nature. His words come back to me from the parking garage a few minutes ago—was it only a few minutes ago? It feels like we’ve been in this elevator for years. Time means nothing when you’re suffering from a panic attack. One second is an hour. One minute a day.
The scuffling noises cease, and it’s silent except for heavy breathing. After several heartbeats, Kisten speaks. “Fuck, dude. You know I’d never scare her on purpose. I didn’t realize how skittish she is.” There’s a sniffing sound, and it makes me wonder if Matthew hit him in the nose. The fact that I recognize the sound is disheartening. “Rose, sweetheart, you know I didn’t scare you on purpose, don’t you?”
“Not your fault.” I try my best to sound confident and sure, but I have a feeling I don’t do that great of a job.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open. It’s a crazy reminder that a hundred years can pass by in the space of a few short minutes. I’m slightly stunned by the violent reaction Matthew had toward Kisten over something so trivial. There’s this small part of me that’s secretly thrilled that he’s willing to go up against even his best friend to protect me. But if he’s going to fight everyone who makes me jump, he’s never going to stop.
I’m skittish, always have been. Well, maybe not always, but I can’t remember a time I wasn’t afraid. Slade turns and looks at me instead of following Matthew and Kisten off the elevator. “Told you, I’ve got you, little bit. I’ll protect you from the boss himself, if necessary.”
Tears well in my eyes, but I blink them back. “Thank you, Slade.”
“No thanks needed. I want you to remember that you can count on me.”
I have to swallow around the thick emotion that’s growing in my throat before I can find my voice. “I won’t forget.”
Slade gives me a firm nod, then leads me off the elevator and into the biggest condo I have ever seen. Even to my untrained eye, I can tell you this place is top-of-the-line everything. I thought the penthouse above the club was fancy, it has nothing on this place.
Exquisite art covers the walls and the dark hardwood floors shine. There is a plush rug between two cream-colored sofas that looks so thick and luxurious, I want to take my shoes off and bury my toes in the soft pile.
The last place I lived; I didn’t dare step on the floor barefoot. The rooms were all done in a piecemeal of horrible throwback to the 70s carpet—more likely it just hadn’t been changed since the 70s—it was sticky, stained, and smelled horrible. The whole place was awful. I even wore flip flops in the shower because it was so gross that a jackhammer and a pressure washer couldn’t make a dent in the gunk that was permanently fused to the bathtub.
I try to imagine what the bathroom here looks like. I bet it’s spotless. I wonder if there’s a bathtub big enough for me to soak in. I haven’t had a real bath in so long. I’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. For now, I continue taking in this amazing apartment, in awe of the fact that I’m actually going to be staying here.
On the other side of the plush couches—couches that I can see myself curling up on with a cozy blanket and a good book—are floor to ceiling windows. The view… there aren’t enough words in my vocabulary to describe it. The sun is setting in the distance giving the view of Central Park an almost otherworldly appearance. It’s breathtaking.
Though it’s Matthew who takes my breath away when he steps around Slade and gently cups my cheek. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He rubs at the back of his neck, looking nervous for the first time since I met him. “I lost my shit when I saw that look of fear on your face. I never want to see you afraid again.”
Feeling braver than I am, I put my hand on top of his. “I appreciate that you want to keep me safe—from everything apparently—but Kisten is right, I am skittish. I always have been and probably always will be. It’s something I’m used to so you should try to not freak out every time I jump, okay?”
Bravely, I take a step closer to Matthew until I can wrap my arms around him in a hug. Slowly, he wraps his arms around me in return. Taking care to be gentle with my back. I rest my head on his chest over his heart. The steady thumping is soothing. I can’t quite explain it but being in his arms feels like coming home. Honestly, I’m not sure how I even recognize the feeling. I’ve been without the comforts most people associate with a home since my mom died when I was fifteen.
My stomach picks that moment to growl loudly, causing my cheeks to flame from embarrassment. Matthew pushes his lips to my hair, and after a few more seconds of holding me, he pulls away. “Let’s get you fed.”
“Okay.” I try to smile, but it’s lost in a grimace when he moves his arms away, causing my shirt to pull away from the worst of the wounds on my back. He narrows his eyes then spins me around. Whatever he sees leaves him less than happy if the curses falling from his lips are anything to go by.
Without a word, Matthew grabs the hem of my dress and pulls it over my head in one quick movement. I gasp and cover my breasts. Even though both Slade and Kisten just got an eyeful of my nakedness, neither of them comments or acts like anything is off about Matthew just stripping me down in front of them.
Matthew’s breath hisses through his teeth, and he makes a few other grunting noises as he gently examines my back. “I knew it was too early for those stitches to come out. You’ve reopened a couple of the wounds. Damn you, Daniels. This is why I got so fucking mad. Look what you did.”
Kisten gives me an apologetic look before walking around to look at my back. I wince when he makes a pained sound. As if my wounds are a physical blow to him. I don’t know these guys well, but I know enough to know that Kisten is going to beat himself up over this and that Matthew is only one misstep away from beating up his best friend all over again.
“Holy Fuck. Damon did this? In our club? In a public scene?” Kisten’s voice is incredulous.