Page 46 of Your Rule to Break
“Jackpot!” Zack says enthusiastically with a fist pump.
He puts the iPads on the coffee table and leans back, looking at me. I'm practically curled into the couch, knees to my chest, and looking straight at him.
“I feel like we need to finish our conversation, but I’d like to call a time-out. The power isn’t going to come back on until tomorrow, at least. All I know is I don’t want to leave you. I want to stay here with you tonight. As long as you’re comfortable with that.”
His eyes are eager, honest. In this moment, there’s nothing to hide.
“Time-out granted. And please don’t leave me tonight,” I beg, being as vulnerable as I can. The thought of being here alone could send me straight for a panic attack.Zack opens his arms, and I practically crawl into his lap. He wraps one arm around my shoulders and uses the other to reach for my hand to hold.
We sit like this without saying a word, soaking in the silence of the apartment. There’s things that have gone unanswered, and I know we’ll pick it up when it makes sense.
All I know is right now, I feel safe.
Chapter 25
Zack
I wake up, confusedabout where I am. Then I see Emilie, sleeping on my chest. I’m careful not to move her as I check my phone for the time—it’s after 2 AM.
I had to delete all social media apps from my phone, because the notifications wouldn’t stop. I looked at just a few to see there’s quite an uproar about me cheating on Emilie. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.
After I deleted the apps, I blocked Cassie’s number. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know how the video got out. She didn’t get the attention she wanted from me so then hit me where it hurts, especially when she saw me leaving with someone.
Maybe Emilie has real feelings for me? Maybe I fucked this up before there was a chance to even see what’s what? Maybe I'm overthinking all of this.
She called me a cliché. Fuck. I don’t want to be a cliché, but I know that the fun and chaotic version of me is who people like best. Maybe I’ve leaned into, and stayed too long, in the way I’ve been categorized by people who don’t really know me.
Being yourself is fucking hard. It’s easier when you’re putting on a show, and people don’t like you, or want to push back on something.
Maybe it’s time to be vulnerable?
Maybe it’s too fucking late.
Emilie brings me back to the moment, gasping for air and practically jumping off my chest. She looks at me, her face painted with a look of terror.
“It's me. Zack. We’re at your apartment. You’re safe.” I stand up and get in front of her.
I wonder if she had a nightmare. She moves away from me, her hand on her wrist and her eyes on the clock. Her breathing is loud and erratic.
“Are you... taking your pulse?”
She doesn’t speak until she’s finished. “Yes.”
“Is that something you do often?” I don’t know what’s going on.
She tries to breathe in air but it’s too fast, too shallow. Instead of answering me, she practically runs to me and grabs my hand to put it on her chest.
“You feel that, right?”
“Your heartbeat? Yes. I feel it.”
“Does it feel normal?” Her eyes plead, and she grips my hand that’s on her chest.
“What does that mean?” I want to understand her, reassure her, but I’m not sure I know how.
She moves away from me, both hands on her chest. Emilie paces a small spot between the kitchen and living room. I don’t understand—this doesn’t seem like a nightmare but I don’t know what it could be.
Emilie puts her back on a wall and slides down until she’s sitting, putting her head in between her knees.