Page 23 of Seven
All these therapy sessions with Dr. Carney…
Seeing your attackercan trigger severePTSD symptoms, Kimmy.
Flashbacks, fear, re-traumatization.
We will get through this together.
We will make sure you're back to where you once were—feeling safe and comfortable.
But it wasn't working. It just wasn't.
Ronan was there, across the room, and I felt like he held my entire life in the grasp of his palm. If he wanted me permanently out, all he needed to do was squeeze.
"…cuse me?"
Someone was talking to me, I realized. A woman, maybe thirty, with short blonde hair and in a pantsuit that probably cost more than my rent.
"Are you Kimberly Holt?"
I nodded, words lost somewhere down my throat. Forced a smile.
She stuck out her hand. "Amanda. I'm with Castell Funding. Geneva and I have been friends forever. I thought I should introduce myself. How is she doing? Any news about her father?"
I shook her hand. It was like grabbing onto an electric fence.
"He's going to make it," I replied.
"Oh. I'm so glad to hear it."
"Yes."
"Beautiful event," Amanda said, scanning the crowd. "Is this your first time?"
"No. I mean, yes. First time at Wildhaven. Not the first event." My voice sounded like it belonged to a robot.
Amanda laughed. "Well, you're doing great."
We exchanged a few more pleasantries and Amanda excused herself, leaving me to my own devices. My hands trembled and I tried to name things again, but my mind skipped and skidded, couldn't find any traction.
A tall server moved past, refilling glasses, and for a second, I thought about grabbing his arm and asking for help. But help with what? He was just a server.
I forced myself to count to ten, then turned, scanning the crowd for Ronan. He was closer now, laughing with another group of men. His teeth were too white, too even. I wanted to shove my fist into his jaw.
Instead, I panicked and pivoted.
Screw this and screw flaky Solange.
I needed to take myself out of this situation before I lost all control of my mind and body.
I walked fast, not quite running, but almost, straight for the far wall. There was a marble column with a potted plant beside it. I ducked behindthe column and pressed my back to the stone, closing my eyes, counting heartbeats.
When I peeked around, Ronan was still in the cluster of men, but now he was scanning the room. I shrank back and tried to calm down.
My brain went into tactical mode. Three ways out. The main doors, the service corridor, or the west patio. All of them required passing through the open. I cursed myself for not memorizing the floor plan better.
There are two kinds of footsteps. The ones you hear, and the ones you feel.
I felt them before I heard them. A presence, a displacement of air, like the vacuum when a door seals shut behind you. I tried to become smaller behind the column, but my dress and my bones betrayed me. The next instant, a hand materialized on my elbow.
