Page 38 of Slaying for Santa
“Here, try to drink this.”
He holds out the glass for me, and I take it, reading the concern in his gaze. He’s studying me, something I don’t particularly like, and when my eyes flick to Ghost, he nods towards the glass. So, I drink it. All of it.
“Do you have panic attacks often?” Doc asks, lowering to his haunches, and Ghost has to flatten his back against the wall where he sits next to me to allow Doc better access in the small space.
“I used to. As a teen. Haven’t had one in a while,” I mutter, my voice scratchy from purging.
“Yeah, I guess Kit’s outburst triggered it,” he says like it’s no big deal, his big hands cupping my face as he tips my head back to assess my eyes. “You’ll be okay, but I can give you some Xanax to take the edge off.”
Shit. Xanax. I’m so tempted to say yes. To just let him give me something that will settle this fear still lurking in the back of my mind.
But no, I’m stronger than that. I have to be. I can’t just throw away nine hundred and twenty days of sobriety because of one stupid panic attack.
So, I shake my head. “Thanks anyway, but I’m sober. I have to… feel everything.”
Doc’s brows shoot up as he gently releases my face, nodding before his eyes drift out the door, and I realise Kit is talking to him.
“Is she alright?”
“She’ll be fine,” Doc says, shifting to stand. “She’s a tough one.”
“Fuck… I know.”
Something about the concern lacing Kit’s voice has me relaxing, like a part of me thought he’d switched into a monster and would never switch back.
My dad never switched back. He was a monster with every breath he took.
Ghost stands, offering me a hand, and I take it, letting him pull me up on shaky legs.
“Trauma has a way of sneaking up on us,” Ghost mutters past his dark facial hair. “We think we have a handle on it, and then it tests us.”
“You’re speaking from experience?” I ask, and he shrugs, but nods as his eyes shift out into the hall.
“Everyone here carries trauma. Some just hide it better than others.” And with that, Ghost steps out of the room.
As I follow, I feel multiple sets of eyes on me, and all of a sudden it feels like the ink has melted off my skin, and all of my scars are visible. I haven’t felt this vulnerable in years, and it has tears burning the backs of my eyes, making me want to shrink back inside the powder room to hide away.
“Bellicent.”
Kit’s voice is laced with pain, and my eyes lift to meet his, rimmed red and filled with agony.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Jesus… he shouldn’t be worrying about me right now.
“What are you talking about? You didn’t scare me,” I scoff, rolling my shoulders back and holding my head high. “I just didn’t like you having all the attention.”
The guys snicker, and slowly, Kit’s lips twitch in the ghost of a smile.
“Get the fuck over here.” He points to the floor in front ofhim, and the brat in me wants to say no, or make me, but shit, this guy has made me weak, and I don’t know what to do about it.
Well, other than slowly walk over to him like his good little bitch.
“What do you want, Santa?” I practically purr, mentally latching onto my inner brat to try and normalise this very not normal situation.
I peer up at him through my lashes as I stand before him, ignoring the snickers of his mates, instead focusing on the deep growl that rumbles in his chest.
And then he kisses me. Right there in front of everyone.
