Page 45 of Too Safe

“Are you okay?”

All I can do is shake my head. No words come out as I open my mouth in a pathetic attempt to make him understand.

“Come sit.”

He uses his grip on my shoulders to guide me toward the edge of the bed. Once seated, I take in what I can see of the small, dark space. There are no windows. No natural light. Red, blue, and purple LED track lights line the walls, emitting a colorful glow.

I take a deep breath—the deepest I’ve accomplished in several minutes—and relish in the hint of calm that flows through me with the oxygen. Eventually, I look up and meet his gaze.

As soon as we lock eyes, a boom of thunder shakes the damn house. I yelp and jump to my feet.

“Fuck. Sorry, sorry,” I mumble, trying to catch my erratic breath as I pace in front of his bed.

“I’m texting Locke—”

“No!”

The thought of him—or anyone else—seeing me like this is too much to handle. With Kylian, though, I feel safe. I don’t know why it doesn’t bother me to be in the midst of a panic attack in front of him, but I get the sense that he won’t judge me. Like I might be okay.

“Please. No.” The request is weaker the second time, but it’s enough to make him stash his phone in his pocket.

“I hate storms,” I confess, wrapping my arms around my front as if that will protect me from the next rumble of thunder.

It’s not until I’m hugging myself that I realize I’m shaking. Frustratingly, the awareness of my own trembling only makes it worse.

I’m so wrapped up in my own head that I don’t realize Kylian’s come closer until his fingers find my chin and lift it. The contact startles me so badly I let out a pathetic whimper.

“Here,” he says, a breath away. He removes something from his ears—earplugs, perhaps? And slowly lifts his hands so I can follow his movement as he inches even closer and gently pushes against each of my ears.

The sounds around me muffle in an instant. I hiccup a breath as I search his face. The sharp angle of his jaw and the rims of his glasses glow red from the LEDs.

“Sensory earplugs,” he explains, his voice faraway and dreamlike, even though he’s just inches from my face.

“Lie down,” he encourages, nodding toward his bed.

My heart rate ratchets up again, and my lungs threaten to close off. But Kylian holds both hands up and takes a step back.

“Jo… you’re safe. Please lie down.”

Safe.

Safe, and so fucking tired.

I don’t give myself time to overthink. I just do as he says.

As soon as I’m flat on my back, he drapes something warm and heavy over my body. The weight of it presses into all my limbs and eases the tightness in my chest, stripping away a layer of anxiety.

Fuck. Okay. I’m all right.

I am here. This is now.

I am here. I’m safe.

Though I can feel the intensity of Kylian’s focus on me, I don’t dare look at him. I focus on the ceiling instead—on the track lighting—on the individual points of light that connect and blur together when I squint.

The windowless space is small and perfectly square. It’s just big enough for the bed, a desk with multiple computer monitors set up against one wall, and several bookshelves opposite that.

In the middle of the ceiling is a square that’s lighter than the surface around it. It isn’t a light, but rather a translucent patch that illuminates each time lightning strikes. Watching the storm through that square is like looking at a picture through a filter. It’s softer around the edges… subdued, somehow.

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