Page 7 of Redemption
She narrows her eyes, and I fight to hide my wince.
“Young lady,” she says, “I do not need your sass right now. Why does everything have to be so hard with you? I mean, honestly, I raised you better than that. Langston would have—”
Her voice trails off. A sharp pain radiates from the center of my chest like someone has punched me, and my breathing becomes shallow.
I take a deep breath, hoping to pull air into my lungs, but they are frozen. I’m spiraling, and from the look on Mom’s face, she is too. I can’t focus long enough to consider the guilt written on her features. Blackness starts to form on the edges of my eyes as I try desperately to breathe normally.
I just need to breathe.
One gulp of fresh air—that’s all I need.
Looking around me, I look for an exit. I need out of here. There has to be a way out.
Coming back was a mistake.
What was I thinking?
Why can I never get anything right?
As I flip my head back and forth, looking for an exit, a door opens, and suddenly, Hayes is there, holding my arms against my body, face inches from mine.
“Breathe, MJ. I need you to breathe.” His voice is gruff, tortured—demanding that I listen to him—but I can’t.
I thrash my arms against his hold, trying to find my escape so I can breathe.
Ineedout.
Logically, I know I’m having a panic attack. I’ve dealt with them for six years, but logic never seems to matter when I’m like this. I can never talk myself out of it.
“I…can’t…I can’t breathe,” I huff out.
Hayes’s hands move from my arms to cup each side of my face. The roughness of the callouses against my face gives me a focus point, and I try hard to put all my attention there instead of how my lungs feel like they may collapse.
“Okay,” he says, keeping his voice calm this time, “Let’s do this together then. Are you ready?”
I jerk my head, acknowledging him and keeping my eyes on his as he takes a deep breath and releases it. I mirror him, slowly pulling air in and then pushing it out, the pressure on my chest dissipating with each breath we take in sync. Then, as the air starts to reach the bottom of my lungs again, I become conscious of how his eyes are locked on mine, the smokiness of the gray turning to charcoal as I continue to breathe with him.
The darkness I see there finally pulls me out of the panic I was drowning in.
I wrench my face out of his hands and step back, creating distance between us. It’s important I remember who I’m dealing with, and from the look on his face, I can’t tell if he’s angry with me or not. It’s not like I asked for his help.
He reaches out for me, but I take another step back.
“I’m fine,” I snip.
Dropping his hand, he flexes it in and out of a fist by his side.
“What was that, MJ? What just happened?” he asks, watching me as if I’m a flight risk.
I can’t stand the kindness in his voice. Not now, at least. There was a time that I basked in the warmth of his attention. He was my brother’s best friend, but he never once made me feel like I was the annoying little sister. He always tried to include me, even when Langston wanted to leave me behind.
Now I can see that kindness for what it was—placating. Hayes hated conflict, and I always caused it. All the actions I thought were out of kindness were actually to keep the peace.
“Well, I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but I would say it was a panic attack,” I snap, voice dripping with condescension. I can’t do this with him, not here. I’ve played all the games I can today.
His concern is replaced with a sneer as fury ripples across his body, shoulders stiffening, and his hand finally landing a full fist. This man in front of me is different from the boy I used to know—his anger simmering just below the surface of the carefully constructed boy next door persona.
“Am I free to go, Officer?” I ask in a tone that is nothing less than syrupy and sweet.
