Book IV of UNC Series
Carter Blake hates the world, but most importantly, the people that occupy it. He wants to insulate himself and only focus on getting through school and basketball. After suffering at the hands of his alcoholic mother, he wants...
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I sit on the couch, hunched over with my arms resting against my thighs. My eyes roam over Addison, who's sleeping on the couch beside me, exhausted from earlier. I know I should leave and give her some space after the incident she has had, but I can't seem to move. And it has nothing to do with the headphones still over her ears, blasting music like we're at a rave.
For once, her thick brows aren't furrowed or knotted in frustration and anger. My gaze roams over her closed eyelids and to her freckled nose that twitches. Her puffy lips are parted slightly, still soft and pouty from earlier.
Her chest rises as she inhales deeply, and my chest warms and eases at how easy it is for her to do that now. Glancing down her left arm, I notice the sleeve of tattoos inked across her skin—swirls of black and colour, leaving no room for any skin. It reminds me so much of Carsen, yet it's uniquely different, uniquely Addison.
I exhale, leaning back to let my head thud against the top of the couch. I may never know what happened or what caused her panic attack, but I can surely recognize the feeling. I know well what it feels like to have the room closing in on me like I'm suffocating despite the fresh air and open space around me.
I recognize the pain she's feeling, the panic, the anxiety, and the fear.
It was all familiar. I haven't had one in a long time, but that doesn't mean that I'm completely unaware of them.
I was confused when Olive rushed out of my room, as if knowing Addison was there and needed her. I don't know why I reacted in such a way, why I moved across the room, why my first instinct was to bring her closer to me when I saw her hunched over, consumed by her fears, unable to breathe. Seeing Olive press down on Addison's chest to ease the pain, it felt like the routine was so familiar that it had been done so many times before. I saw her, and I knew precisely what she needed.
I didn't think at that moment, knowing her walls were so high up that she would reject anything I did and offered, but also that they were a result of these panic attacks, her attitude, her outlook.
I allowed her into a space I typically didn't let anyone into. I shared a part of my healing process, the distracting piece, the part that enables me to escape. Even if it's for a few minutes.
I clear my throat, tearing my eyes away from hers, when I hear Olive whine and scratch at the floor. She gets up and bounds around the couch as my eyes trail after her. Recognizing her need to go outside to do her business, I hastily get up to escape this room for a while, too.
I only hesitate for a second about leaving Addison alone, but noting how deeply she sleeps, I figure there's no harm in stepping away for a few minutes.
"Come on." I usher Olive to the front door, where I realize Addison keeps Olive's leash and dog bags. I clasp the leash to Olive's collar and guide her outside.
I stare up at the inky night sky that's only now tinted in hues of dark purple and midnight blue as a myriad of stars twinkle and sparkle the sky, trailing after the sun that just barely dipped below the horizon. But my vision is riddled by the heaps of fluffy snowflakes that float so delicately with no disruption or hindrance of wind or breeze as they accumulate on my messy, matted hair and the shoulders of my jacket. My skin pricks from the rush of cold, but it's a welcomed sensation as I walk across the street and let Olive do her thing.
