Page 20 of The Jellybean Dilemma

But it wasn’t there.

I searched in a wider circle, my movements becoming more panicked when I still came up empty. My hand knocked into a lamp, which crashed to the floor, but I barely heard it as the panic overwhelmed me. My breaths came in short gasps, and the blood roared in my ears. I knew the walls were closing in.

Then the light flicked on. The sweet, sweet light. The walls retreated to their normal places, and my fisted hands loosened a fraction where I clutched the sheets.

Tears of relief poured down my cheeks, and I started shaking. Greg’s deep voice rumbled from far away. It wasn’t until I felt the bed dip, until my lungs filled with his blend of cedar and peppermint, that I realized he was there.

He pulled me to his bare torso. I curled against him, soaking up his warmth as he cradled me in his arms. The nonsensical words he murmured rumbled through his chest to vibrate against my ear.

My upper half cuddled right up to his chest, my cheek resting just below his collarbone. One of his large hands stroked my hair, the other splayed across my lower back. My legs were curled up on his lap, his spooned around me. Eventually I became aware of how much of my bare skin was pressed against his. I slept in a silky spaghetti strap tank with matching shorts while he had on boxers.

That was it.

Even though I’d never felt safer, never come out of a full-blown attack faster, I’d never felt more embarrassed when I realized what had happened. I stiffened against him. Ignoring his exasperated sigh, I disentangled myself from his embrace to reclaim my dignity as I scrambled to put my walls back into place.

Greg swiped a hand over his face. “Jellybean, it’s three in the morning. Please, just talk to me. I want to help. Won’t you tell me what’s going on?” He reached for me, trying to bridge the distance I was so desperately trying to put between us. “Rhonda.”

My name was the softest whisper, a butterfly’s wing of a caress that slipped through my defenses, and I admitted, “I’m claustrophobic. At one of my friends’ sixteenth birthday parties, we played sardines. It was my turn to hide, and I’d never been there before. I went into a closet, shutting the door behind me without checking it out fully.”

I shuddered at the memory, gripping the blanket to ground me. “The door was supposed to be locked already, so it locked behind me. The light switch was on the outside, and there was no room.” I recalled the moment I realized I was trapped. My breaths came faster as I remembered how narrow the space was, barely big enough for me to turn around in. “My phone was in my purse, nowhere near me. It took hours before my friends found me. Then they had to get help because they didn’t know where the key was.”

Greg’s hand covered mine, his thumb rubbing my skin in a soothing motion.

Might as well get it all out. “I hate using public bathrooms because they’re so small. At the diner today, the bathroom door stuck for a minute, and I freaked out. That’s why I looked so awful when I came back to the table.”

His hand squeezed mine.

One more shaky breath in and out. “I hate the dark. The light was on in the sitting room when I went to sleep, so I didn’t think about it. But when I woke up…”

His face fell. “I turned off the light.” His thumb continued its hypnotic motion. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, hating the guilt on his face. “You didn’t know.” I added in a chagrined whisper, “No one does.”

“Why?” This time his voice held a myriad of hurt. “Why didn’t you tell us? Tell me? Did you think I would judge you? Make fun of you?”

Each word stabbed at me. “I saw a therapist for a while, and it got better. It never disappeared completely, but I figured out how to cope.” I shrugged. “With my reputation, my status, I didn’t want to appear imperfect. I just hoped it’d go away, I guess.”

Greg released my hand to cup my cheek, wiping away the remnants of moisture. “Are you okay now? Right now?”

I nodded. “I want to use the bathroom, then I’ll plug in my phone so it’s here.” I swung my legs over to stand up.

“Wait!”

I managed to freeze mid-swing.

“Just—” He stood to peer over the end table at the floor. “The crash woke me. The lamp shattered, and I don’t want you to cut yourself. Don’t go that way?”

The last part was a question, more like a favor. I listened, not wanting to get cut, but also wanting to please him. I took his outstretched hand, letting him help me to my feet, then followed in his footsteps into the sitting room.

“Where’s your phone and charger?”

I told him as he slipped some shoes on.

He returned a few minutes later with my things. “Okay, come on then.”

When he turned toward his room, I studied his bare, muscular back. And gasped. “You have a tattoo!”

It was unique, daring, and, most of all, unexpected. A black dragon curved its way from just below his neck over his right shoulder blade, ending near his rib cage. As I studied it, I realized it was more of the idea of a dragon. Carefully placed black lines formed an abstract outline, but none of them connected. I loved it.

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