packing. I have to leave. I don’t know where I’ll go or what I’ll do, but I can’t stay here. I can’t keep pretending these men care about me or that I deserve any of this. I don’t belong out here; I’m not even welcome. Nash never invited me, and now it’s so fucking obvious how much I’ve imposed myself.
Fuck. What is wrong with me?
Does he care about me? He does. He does, he does, he does, I tell myself, but it hurts to even say it. It hurts to lie to myself. Nash doesn’t care about me, and neither does Ellis. I let them fuck me like the slut I am, so of course they want me to stay now. God, I’m so stupid.
In a fit, I toss my bag against the wall, tears streaming down my face as my chest starts to burn, radiating out from the center and spreading like fire across my skin all the way down to my fingers and toes.
No, no, no. Not again. Please not again.
All of my energy drains out of my body, and all I want to do is lie down, and scream and break things and cry. So, I crawl into the bed and sob, trying to stop my chest from moving so fast. My lungs refuse to take full breaths, and I feel like I’m suffocating. Clenching the bedsheets in my fists, I wait for the episode to subside, but it won’t fade away, and I know the more I panic, the more intense it becomes.
I can’t breathe.
I’m going to die here on the guest bed on an island where I’m not welcome surrounded by people who don’t care about me.
“Hanna!” The front door slams against the wall as heavy footfalls chase into the bedroom.
“Jesus Christ,” Ellis mutters.
“Please go away!” I gasp, trying to speak through strangled breaths. It hurts to speak, my oxygen-deprived lungs burn as I try to force the words out. “Leave me alone.”
There’s a weight on the bed. “Fuck, she’s pale.”
“Let’s fly her to the hospital,” Nash says in alarm, and I feel his arms trying to pry me away from the bed, my face still buried in the pillows. On reflex from being touched, I panic and start swinging at him. The first thing I feel is his face against my palm, and I cry even harder.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Okay, baby. It’s okay.” His hands are gone.
“What’s happening?” Nash asks. I can’t see him, but I hear the fear, no, disgust in his tone.
“Panic attack,” Ellis answers, and I gasp loudly for breath again.
“What do we do? She can’t breathe!”
“Nash, relax. Give her space. How about a cold washcloth?”
There’s a hand on my back, and it’s running smooth circles. It’s like needles on my bare skin, but at the same time, it’s warm and comforting.
“That’s it, baby. Just keep breathing.”
With my focus on his hand, I don’t even realize the tightness in my chest has subsided. It still hurts to breathe, but I can take deeper breaths.
“Here,” Nash stammers in a panic before I feel ice against my neck, and I jolt and shiver from the contact.
“That’s my girl. It’s passing.”
With my face in the pillow, I try to pretend they’re not here. I want the room to stop moving and my chest to stop aching, so I think about the motion of his hand on my back, the new scent of Nash’s cologne in my nose, and before too long, I’m left with only my tears.
And they come on strong. The thrumming in my ears is gone, and the exhaustion in my body feels like I swam a thousand miles.
“Hanna,” he whispers. As I peel my eyes open slowly, I’m surprised to see Nash’s face, lying on the pillow inches from mine. He’s sprawled next to me, but it’s not his hand on my back. I can tell by the weight and movement Ellis is behind me, but I don’t turn toward him.
Instead, I bury my face again and sob. This is so fucking humiliating. I hate myself so much right now. Why am I like this?
Nash’s hand touches mine, releasing it from the clench around the blankets to lace his fingers with mine.
“Please go away,” I whisper against the wet pillow.
“We’re not leaving you.”
I don’t know which one of them says it, but it doesn’t matter because they don’t leave. They both settle close against me, still rubbing my back and squeezing my hand until the exhaustion takes over and I’m lost to