Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Because you’ll have nowhere to go home to!
Because this is the picture-perfect scene laid out inside the box!
Because nobody else will ever propose to you!
I frown deeper. Is that what I really think? Or have I been letting anxious, panicked thoughts drive the entire direction of my whole life? And for how goddamned long?
“Darling, you’ve just got to have a bite. They’ve absolutely perfected it this time.” Drew extends a bite of cake for me.
Like always, the conditioning that’s driven me my entire life has me leaning forward to take the cake off the end of his fork.
Drew’s smiling eyes barely glance off me before moving back to the shop owner.
Why did I just do that? Why am I doing any of this?
Under the table, I start spinning my engagement ring on my finger. Five times. Five times more. Five times more.
I look around, feeling suddenly horrified. Like I’m on the outside looking in at a stranger’s life.
Why am I sitting in this cake shop, about to marry a man who doesn’t even know me? Not the real me.
But this is the real you, says a voice in my head that sounds far too much like my mother’s. Do you think you’re any different than Drew, doing exactly what his daddy wants? Hahahaha. You never stopped being my good little Baptist daughter. You just became a slut for a little while. SLUT. WHORE. Jesus will forgive you and wash you in the blood. But only now that you’re back where you belong.
I push back from the table, clutching my purse to my chest. “I’ve got to go.”
Drew’s smiling face comes back to me. “What are you talking about? We haven’t tried the mimosa pairings yet.”
“I’m sorry.” I point a thumb toward the door. “Something just came up… with my advisor. Yeah. Sorry.”
“But I was hoping to talk with you.” Drew’s jaw tightens. “We never get to catch up anymore.”
“Next time,” I smile at him, practicing my poker face some more. “Seriously, I’d stay, but I’ve just got to—” I gesture over my shoulder again, then turn and flee out of the shop.
“What’s wrong?” Isaak says right as I burst through the door, those damn little bells jingling violently as I go.
“Nothing,” I hiss, suddenly just wanting as much distance between myself and this fucking cake place as possible. Drew might still run after me. And as much as he probably deserves an explanation, I just fucking can’t—
I can’t deal with the implications of everything that was spiraling through my head back there. Maybe that’s all it was. Crazy thought spirals from the OCD. Intrusive thoughts.
Dump Drew.
Don’t go through with the wedding.
You’re an evil, sinful whore.
My intrusive thoughts often take a religious tone. It’s only logical, considering the way I was raised. Textbook, really.
Or not. I don’t fucking know. I just feel fucking crazy right now!
But I’m sure I won’t be able to sort out any of what’s going on in my head any better if Drew’s in front of me, peppering me with questions. I just need to be alone when I get like this. If I’m around too much stimulation when the spirals get really intense like that, it can lead to—
I try to suck in a breath, but it’s like my chest is so tight no air can get in my lungs.
Fuck.
I wheeze in again, but only the thinnest bit of air makes it through the passageway. I keep stomping toward Isaak’s truck anyway. Have to get out of here. Usually it’s my mother’s parties that I’m escaping while barely breathing.
“Kira, wait,” Isaak says, walking with his long, lanky strides to keep up with me. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
I shake my head but keep walking, struggling for another breath in and not getting much air.
It’s only when we finally get to Isaak’s truck around the corner that I let myself collapse against it and grab my chest.
“Shit, is it an allergic reaction? Do you have an Epi-pen?”
“Panic attack,” I manage to wheeze, bending over and clutching my knees. My eyes squeeze shut. Oh god, I can’t breathe.
I’m going to die.
This time, I’m actually going to die.
People die when they can’t breathe. And I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!
“Okay, okay,” Isaak puts a hand behind my back. “I’ve read about this. We’re going to do box breathing. Look. That sidewalk square. Kira, the square! Do you see it?”
I nod.
“Four breaths in while your eyes walk along the bottom. One, two, three, four.”
Box breathing. Box breathing. If I was in any situation except this one, I’d find it fucking hilarious that Isaak learned about box breathing. I told him about my panic attacks and he went and learned what to do for them.
I desperately try to suck in breath while he slowly counts.
“Now hold while your eyes walk up the side of the tile, two, three, four. Now, over along the top of the tile. Hold two, three, four. In, two, three, four.”