Page 6 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
Calm the fuck down.
I focus on pulling air into my constricted lungs as I walk away from Zane and into my bathroom.
“Liv, what the fuck? What happened?”
Of course he follows me in here.
Anxiety swirls in my chest, and I try to call on all the tools Joanne taught me in the few years of therapy I had with her.
Maybe it’s time for a check-in session.
“I just realized I have a really important meeting I’m about to be late for, so I don’t have time for this.” Lies.
I grab a makeup cloth and scrub at my face, still remembering that Derrick’s spit is on my skin.
“Oh. Um. Okay,” Zane says, confusion clear in his voice. “So…we’re not gonna fuck?”
I don’t mean to laugh in his face, so I realize it’s rude when I do.
“No,” I snap, now feeling awkward. “Duty calls.”
Zane hums, and I turn my attention to the mirror, focusing hard as I scrub at my cheeks.
What I really need is a shower to cleanse away all this toxic energy.
First Derrick.
Then Zane, my friend-slash-fuck, who I don’t really like fucking all that much but do anyway because what else am I supposed to do?
And then….
And then the fucking devil himself.
Thunder rattles the thick glass across the room, and I’m sure the ancestors are playing a mean trick on me, because why would they send a storm when I’m thinking abouthim?
Jesus.
“All right,” Zane says, and I don’t appreciate the frustration in his tone.
“Yes,” I say, my voice hard and cold. “Itisall right.”
I stare Zane down, calling on all my energy to remind him who the fuck I am.
He backs up, his eyes flicking down.
“See you later,” he mumbles, and finally, I’m alone. I close my eyes as my ears begin to ring, one of the signs of an impending panic attack.
At least I know it’s not likely a stroke.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
I try to access that peaceful space I cherish in the silence, but when another boom of thunder sounds, I snap out of my meditative state and startle even more when He Who Shall Not Be Named’s face materializes in my consciousness.
“Shit,” I hiss, spinning to turn the spigot in the tiled shower on screaming hot and wrenching my arms out of the peplum top that felt oh-so-fashionable when I put it on this morning.
Naked, I throw on a shower cap and step under the spray. I let the water singe my skin, hoping the pain will give me something else to focus on—will allow me to think about…ornotthink about the man who broke my heart.
Sweet.
