Page 150 of Saving Her

I keep stumbling, keep retreating. There’s not enough oxygen. I can’t fill my lungs.

“Penny, are you having a panic attack?”

I spin around and stagger for the kitchen.Water.

This was all too soon. I’m not ready.

I’ll never be ready.

I lunge for the faucet, cupping liquid so I can drink, drink, drink away the mindlessness.

“Tell me what’s going on.” His hand brushes my shoulder. “Jesus, just talk to me.”

I hunch over the counter, sucking in breath after breath. I’m suffocating. About to pass out.

“He choked you.” His words aren’t a question. “He fucking choked you, and you didn’t think to bring it up? Why?”

I sway, my head heavy, my legs weak.

“You should’ve told me.” He grabs my arms, stabilizing me, tugging me toward him. Gently, he guides me to sit on the cool tile, the cabinets at my back. “Why didn’t you tell me this was a trigger?”

I shake my head, still feeling the grip around my throat, still seeing Luther’s face staring back at me with smug satisfaction. “Everything’s a trigger.”

“Then tell me everything.”

“No.” I squeeze my eyes closed. “That’s not going to happen.” Not only because I’d struggle reliving the intricate details of my imprisonment, but because Luca’s demeanor changes whenever we talk about my past. His mood shifts. His posture changes. And even though his aggression isn’t directed at me, I still don’t appreciate being the cause of his negative energy.

“Did he do it more than once?” he asks.

“Luca…” I sigh to fill the void when words escape me. “Let it go.”

“I wish I could,” he grates. “How I fucking wish.”

He shifts beside me, making me panic—is he finally leaving me, running from my multitude of problems? But when I open my eyes he’s still there, his head pressed back against the cabinets, his expression filled with failure as he stares blankly ahead.

Weary silence consumes the few inches between us.

“I’m sorry I can’t be the person you want me to be.” It feels strange apologizing to him. A month ago, I didn’t even know this man. Now he’s my world. My recovery and survival. “I wish I was the warrior you think I am, but I’m not.”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re a warrior. I just want to help.” His words are growled. Brutal and guttural. “It fucking kills me to watch you go through this on your own. That you won’t talk to me.”

“Because I hate seeing you angry. Every time I mention him you change.”

“Of course I change. Of course I get fucking angry.” His eyes narrow. “Don’t you understand how much I want to go back in time and kill Luther the way he deserved to be killed? You have no idea how I wish I could’ve found you sooner. How I’d give anything to have known you beforehand so you never had to suffer in the first place.”

“Luca…”

“I’d do anything for you.” He holds my gaze, intense and unwavering. “Anything.”

The warmth he inspired earlier reignites, the flickering flame shedding light on the darkness within.

I swallow again, my mouth needing moisture.

My clothes become more restrictive. The sports bra tightens around my breasts.

I’m drawn to him. All the strength and protection.

I want to breathe it in, suck it deep. Fill my lungs, my heart, and my weary head.

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