Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,30
of Tate’s lips on me—down there—flooded my mind, and I moaned as the unusual tightness took hold of my body once more. Would he look up at me from his knees, those pale azure eyes connecting with mine? Would I be able to see his dimple as he smirked from between my thighs?
My pant, followed by a low, throaty moan echoed in the shower, and I fell back against the wall, speeding up the movement of my fingers. It felt good—it felt right, what I was doing. Sparks danced across my nerve endings as the feelings intensified, rippling low in my belly, and heat uncoiled there as I inserted a finger deep inside myself. The muscles tightened in response around my knuckle.
The memory of Tate overcame me as I thought of him hovering over my body, his muscular arms bearing the majority of his weight, flanking either side of me. I imagined myself pushing my hips into the air, grinding myself into the obvious erection that had brushed my thigh earlier this afternoon.
But just as quickly as his image had flashed into my mind, the repressed memory I fought so hard to tamp down filled my thoughts. An overwhelming stench of sweat and coffee breath. A massive amount of male weight pinning my face between his legs despite my muffled pleas for him to stop. His deep grunt followed by a clumsy thrust into my mouth. I winced at the hazy flashback, my breaths becoming shorter, more panicked. They strangled in my throat and constricted on my chest.
Placing both hands on the tiled wall, I turned, pressing my body against it—a trick the therapist taught me. The steaming water hit my back and though I was safe, home in my own shower with no threats present, blood rushed and throbbed in my brain. I deepened my breathing, taking air low into my diaphragm like Reagan had showed me, and slowly it returned to normal.
Through the shower glass, I saw my cell phone sitting on the edge of the sink, and a hollow sadness echoed in my chest. Normally, this would be when I would call my mom—I wouldn’t need to tell her what set me off or what brought on the memories. She would just listen and talk me down to a calmer state. Now who was I to call? Harrison? Reagan? It wasn’t the same—it would never be the same. My rock was gone.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I quickly shoved my face under the running water as a few escaped down my cheeks. I didn’t want to know which drops were from the shower and which were from my eyes. I just wanted them gone, washed down the drain.
When I finally calmed down, I buried my face in my hands. I didn’t always flashback during a sexual experience. But my PTSD was an ever-present ghost.
I turned the shower off and wrapped a towel around me. Sliding my hand over the fogged mirror, I saw the scar at my temple reflected back at me—always the first thing. I quickly looked away, brushing my wet bangs down over my forehead.
Once my scar was covered, I forced myself to look at my reflection, just as my therapist said to do.
“The fear is real,” I chanted against the tightness in my throat.
“But the threat is not. The fear is real, but the threat—” My cell rang beside me, cutting through the quietness of my apartment. Mom, I thought. A blast of potent grief burned in my stomach, and I immediately pinched my eyes shut against the swell of tears. The reflex to believe a call was from her, or that a knock at the door was Mom surprising me with a milkshake after a final exam—would that ever go away? I wanted to throw my fist into something. Those same deep breaths I’d nearly fucking perfected lodged in my chest, swelling and blocking the airway. The phone rang again, needling into the weakest points of my soul.
I collapsed onto the floor, pulling the towel tighter around my body. There was no use answering the phone, because whoever was on the other line didn’t matter. It wasn’t her.
It would never be her again.
Chapter Ten
SHELBY
Friday’s French class flew by—and while I still only understood a handful of Professor Ceele’s discussion, the class was less daunting with Tate as my tutor. I may not get an A, but I could pass with a good enough grade that someone would hire me after graduation.
A few hours