Page 7 of Protected from Reprisal
Danger,my body shouts silently.Get out! Get out! Before it’s too late! Don’t just sit there. Run!
But I can’t.
My muscles won’t obey.
Though it’s going on three years now, the memories come flooding back in, just as fresh as if they happened yesterday.
The gunfire.
The ambush.
The shouting. Screaming.
The blood.
Barked commands telling me I’d die if I didn’t obey.
Then the fear. The guilt. The devastation.
The craziest feeling comes over me, like I’m detached from my body, watching from a distance. I see myself sitting on the edge of the stage, deceptively calm while my mind is spinning madly off-center.
I see Camden pocketing his phone with an irritated look on his face. He spots me and his expression shifts into a smile. As he approaches me, he says, “Sorry about that, Yara. Just had to take care of some business. Are you ready?”
I can hear him. But drowning out his voice are the memories I’ve never forgotten.
They’re suffocating.
My breathing speeds, coming in frantic, uneven gasps.
Images flicker across my vision. Ones I know aren’t real; they can’t be, but still?—
No,my inner voice of logic says firmly.It’s nothing. Get your shit together before you screw everything up.
I know,I argue back.I know. Now, can we just convince my body of that?
“Come on, Yara,” Camden says. He tugs me to my feet, and this time when I stumble, it’s for real. He tucks me against his side, then lets his hand drift down to cup my ass. “You need a nap.”
My legs move like an uncoordinated puppet’s; jerky and not feeling like my own. My heartbeat rushes in my head, so loudly it nearly drowns out what Camden is saying.
It’s a panic attack. I’ve had enough of them to recognize the signs. But it’s been over a year since my last one, and fortunately, it happened at home, so no one saw. No one had to witness badass Yara crumbling into a weak and pitiful mess.
But now.
This can’t be happening. Not here. Not now.
The hand on my ass gives a rough squeeze. Hard enough to hurt, but I don’t even feel it.
“Oh, Yara,” Camden purrs. Then he squeezes my ass again. “You reallycan’thandle your wine, can you?”
I try to answer him. But all that comes out is a dry click.
“It’s okay,” he adds. His lips come to my cheek, warm and wet. “I’ll take care of you. Don’t you worry your little head for a second.”
Get it together,I tell myself.Now.Do your box breathing. Find your five things. Focus on something. The texture of your dress. The sound of your heels on the floor. Anything.
But it’s not working. Nothing is. All I can feel are the waves of panic crashing over me, stealing my breath and making my head spin.
Nausea rises.
