𝘾𝙊𝘿𝙀𝙋𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙉𝘾𝙀 - Rio x Reader

•Chapter 14•

As you stare down the blue dress laid atop of your laundry basket only one thought runs through your head-

Brandon.

How could you have forgotten your boyfriend? Could you even call him that anymore? Guilt shudders through your body as you take the dress into your grasp. He was good to you. Distant- but good. With everything going on, you haven't had the luxury of worrying about a boyfriend. It's been a job in and of itself making it through the day ever since Rio stepped over the threshold into your home. Brandon has probably called the phone, still lying lying on the side of the road, upwards of a million times- just for it to immediately go to voicemail. You hold your face in your hands. He probably thinks you ghosted him.

Which, you did. But not intentionally. You mentally smack yourself once again, how had he not crossed your mind at all? There's more than a fair share of drama going on but you could have at least thought about him. Even now, you could pick up the phone and shoot him a quick text- but it doesn't happen. You place him shamefully near the bottom of your list of things to be handled. There isn't much more you can bare tonight on top of selling out Luis. If that's what you still plan to do.

You begin to get ready, shedding your clothing and slipping the short blue dress over your head- all the while, you're teetering on whether you're actually going to do this. What happens if you don't? With the flashlight of your phone, you trudge into the bathroom and attempt to put on a few touches of makeup. Your face, illuminated by the harsh bright light from the phone, stares back at you in the mirror. You hardly recognize yourself. Is this really who you are now?

You shake the thoughts away, knowing Rio isn't a man you simply just say 'no' to. The house is especially dark as you click through, wearing your mother's heels. Nabbing your coat off the hook and your keys from the table, you push outside into the night air. The air shouldn't have felt so suffocating. But the closer you draw to your car, the more your lungs burn.

-

The feeling only grows as the miles slowly decrease between your car and Domingo's. Night has fallen, the black Mercedes zips past the orange buzzing street lamps. Your throat constricts as you attempt to swallow back your racing thoughts. Your thumbs hastily drum the leather steering wheel. It's not helping the sinking of your stomach. You abruptly twist the volume button. Loud music booms through the speakers. You try to sing along but no matter what you seem to try, your brain overbears it all.

It becomes suffocating- so much so that you actually can't catch your breath. Heaving, you jerk the steering wheel into the emergency lane. The tires screech to a full stop on account of the brake pedal under the stomp of your heel. Your vision blurs as your hand shoved the shifter into park. With shaky hands, you undo your seatbelt. As soon as the nylon unwraps from around your torso, you fly up out of the car. The bitterly cold air enters and exits your lungs but it still doesn't feel like enough. Your heart pounds so violently in your chest that you think it may explode. Cars zip by on the freeway, sending gushes of wind battering your frame.

A panic attack.

You haven't had one in so long that you had forgotten just how terrible they were. It's especially hard to remember anything when you feel as if you're about to die. Counting. Counting helps. Your eyes feverishly scan the area, only finding road signs, marker lines, and slews of cars shooting by.

"One, two, three,... four, five-", you begin counting the passing vehicles with your arms wrapping your coat tightly around your waist.

Around forty-six, you feel a lot farther from death than you had when you started at one. Counting up to fifty-three, you've calmed down enough to think clearly. With a more rational mind, you slip back into the drivers seat of your car, but you don't quite take off yet. The first task at hand was the decision laid before you. Tell him or not to tell him. You found yourself wishing for a daisy to magically appear- it would be easier to make the decision on a game of chance. Decide Luis's fate with the plucking of petals. But there aren't any daisies in Detroit- not this time of year.