Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
The live music is six times louder now that I'm here. The breath stalls in my lungs as I look out at the massive amount of people who are dancing and jumping to the band that's playing on a stage I can barely even see because I'm so far back.
For a fleeting second, I wonder how the fuck I'm going to find her in this packed crowd, but I know there's no other option.
She needs me. I'll find her.
I scan the place for landmarks. “Monroe, can you tell me what's closest to you?” I ask, having to practically shout now to be heard. “I'm seeing a lot of different things, like a few vendor tents, and big colored lights positioned at the edge of the crowd.”
“I'm close to the pink light,” she says.
I immediately move that direction, shoving people out of my way to get through the crowd. I get called a lot of names, but I don't give a fuck.
Relief barrels down my spine when I set eyes on her only a few feet away. I hang up the phone, pocketing it as I push through the last few people in my way.
“Monroe.” My hands immediately slide over her cheeks, and I wipe away the tears rolling down them. “I'm here.”
Her face crumples as she shoves her phone into her pocket before gripping my forearms, crying harder. “I'm so sorry.”
I draw her to me, holding her against my chest for a few seconds before I gently nudge her away again. “I've got you,” I reassure her. “I've got you, okay?”
She nods a little too rapidly, and I can still see the effects of the panic attack clinging to her body. Not only because of the tears or her rushed breaths, but the way her body is trembling like we're in a dead winter, not the beginning of summer.
I hold her close, not letting one inch of her away from me as I navigate our way back through the crowd, shoving people out of my way as needed when they won't move.
It takes me a few minutes to get us clear of the massive array of bodies, and five more minutes to make it to my car. I open the passenger side door and settle Monroe in there before hurrying over to my side and immediately retaking her hands once I'm in.
“Let's breathe together,” I say.
We’ve done this multiple times before.
She nods, her trembling grip on my hands squeezing tight, her rich dark eyes locked onto mine.
I take a deep breath, holding it for four seconds before slowly releasing it, and another wave of relief crashes through me as she mimics me.
We do it again.
And again.
We do it until I've lost count of how many times we’ve inhaled and exhaled together.
My car is blocking out most of the sound, leaving it quiet save for our breathing. And I swear I can sense the moment the attack passes, her muscles relaxing, her trembling all but coming to a stop.
“I'm sorry,” she says again, leaning her head against the headrest now that she's grounded.
“You have to stop saying that,” I say. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You know that. I'm always here for you.”
“I know,” she says. “I just hate that I can't control these reactions.”
“No one can control these things,” I remind her.
Her therapist had told her as much when she’d been going weekly throughout her teens when the panic attacks mounted any time she was in a crowd. She'd come so far since then and had managed to go months at a time without having a panic attack, doing her best to avoid certain situations that would trigger them or work on techniques to help lessen the time if they did happen. No one would ever guess because she’s a full extrovert most of the time, but there’s no avoiding trauma like she experienced.
Of course it happened tonight, under the conditions.
“Are you good if I start driving now?” I ask.
She nods, so I start the car and navigate onto the highway again, heading toward her apartment.
It's all I can do to concentrate on the road and not start bombarding her with questions about what happened that led to him abandoning her at the music festival with no way home. But she looks exhausted and the last thing I want to do is put more stress on her.
I park in her apartment complex a while later, hurrying around to her door before she can open it. She leans against me as we head toward her place, her eyes glaring at the door next to hers before we head in.
I close her door behind us, my brow furrowed at the loud music coming from next door.
“What the hell is that?” I ask.
Monroe starts crying again, and I hurry to wrap my arms around her.