Page 52 of Once Upon a Lie

Vigilance. Sexual arousal. Emotional war.

I’m a fucking mess.

I close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come easy. I may have finally had my breakthrough in getting closer to Valentina Cordone, but with the way I’m feeling about Teeny, things are only bound to get harder from here on out.

16

Valentina

Saturday, October 16

2:45 a.m.

At first, I think the sound I’m hearing is glass breaking. A sharp, splintering, deafening sound that becomes a loop inside my head.

My chest heaves and my eyes snap open, but when I sit up, I’m surrounded by complete darkness and depthless quiet. There’s no helicopter or howling wind, but my heart races anyway.

A trauma-related dream, I suppose.

I push the blanket off, press my palms to my face, and realize my skin’s damp with sweat. My chest feels tight, and my breathing is shallow.

Just take a breath, I tell myself. Everything is fine.

But nothing feels fine. I’m not in my bed, and the darkness feels like it’s closing in on me in a way that’ll crush my bones. For half a second, I don’t even know where I am—only that it smells unfamiliar.

I forcibly blink my eyes, urging my vision to adjust to the dark, all while telling myself, “You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

The realization that I’m in Shane’s condo, on his couch, doesn’t soothe me. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because I’m too far gone. Panic is a living, breathing thing, and it’s sucking at my soul like a demon with the desire to destroy me. My mind joins in on the party, and before I can stop it, a wave of memories hits me like a tidal wave.

The crash. The noise. The glass. The way the helicopter’s shadow cut across my balcony. The fear.

It’s too much like the night before we left New York, a memory I’ve been blocking for a lifetime.

Our front door busting in. My dad rushing us to the safe room. My mom’s quiet sob while my dad watched men he was friends with break everything in our house, the sound of our valuables shattering blaring through the cameras.

We left the next day, and I haven’t thought of it since. I know a therapist would have a field day with that, but no level of self-awareness makes it feel better right now.

My lungs threaten to close in on themselves, and I gasp for whatever oxygen I can grab on to. The choking, terrified, incoherent sound that results is horrifying and involuntary, and I’m not surprised when the light flicks on overhead.

“Hey, hey,” someone whispers toward me. I realize I’m hugging my knees to my chest and rocking back and forth as he crouches down in front of me and my eyes fight to focus.

“It’s okay,” Shane says. His voice is low and rough with sleep, and I know without a shadow of a doubt I’ve woken him up.

He doesn’t touch me at first. Instead, he just stays close enough that I know he’s there. And there’s no edge to him. No urgency. Just steady calm, like he knows exactly what to do.

But I can’t speak. I can’t think. The only thing I can do is cry.

“It’s okay,” he says, and gently places a steady hand to my shoulder. “You’re safe.”

I’m shaking so hard I can barely nod. “I d-don’t understand what’s happening,” I say through gasping sobs. “I just feel so s-scared.”

“This is normal, Teeny.” He grips my shoulder tighter. “After what happened today, this is completely normal.”

“A-are you sure?” I cry. “Maybe I’m having a heart attack or a stroke or—”

“It’s a panic attack,” he says with sympathy and care in the gentleness of his voice. “Remember how I used the word trauma earlier today? Well, this is why. There’s no doubt you were in a state of shock earlier, and now everything is just kind of hitting you from all angles. It’s a terrible fucking feeling, but it’s one hundred percent normal. Try to remind yourself that you’re safe, okay? Try to stay calm and just breathe through it. It will pass eventually, I promise.”

I don’t mention my other memories or that this may go a lot deeper than Ken Fortune and his helicopter. Frankly, I don’t even think I could summarize the whole thing if I tried.