Betrayal

Chapter 11

Ali

Dominic is sound asleep next to me. I watch the way his chest moves as he breathes, the comforter moving up and down, and the outline of his body in the soft light coming in from the moon.

We just fucked not even a half hour ago. He fell asleep quickly after. It was good for him and he enjoyed it. I felt nothing and pretended to come. In the beginning of our relationship I thought it would just take time for him to make me come, but he never has. Eventually I began to pretend to make him feel better about himself. I'd resigned to just not being able to come, thinking it wasn't possible for me, until...

I push the thought of him away. We haven't spoken since we were on the beach together yesterday. It was technically yesterday since it's after midnight now. I touch the inside of my left thigh with the tips of my fingers and wince. Fresh cuts are hidden beneath bandages. I couldn't stand the emotions that were overcoming me and came right up here, locked the bathroom door, and cut myself. It gave me just enough release to go on with the day.

Dominic didn't notice that I was in pain as he fucked me. He was rubbing my wounds with his thighs. But how would he know? It was dark and I pretended it didn't hurt.

I climb out of bed and go to the bathroom. I leave the light on and lean against the wall after I've finished. My eyes focus on my covered painting in the corner of the room. Dominic hasn't seen it yet unless he looked without me knowing. I don't think he would do that. I haven't looked at it either. I need to finish it. There isn't much left to do except some minor details. I'm not sure what I'll do with it after that.

Anxiety seems to come over me all at once. I take slow breaths and close my eyes, try to control my breathing, but my body feels strange. Panicky, aching, and out of place. I need some water. I need to calm myself down. I don't want this to happen right now, but I've never been able to control it.

I make my way out of the bedroom and by the time I reach the kitchen my hands have drawn up and my breathing is heavy and bordering on hyperventilating. I can hear my heart beating in my ears, those uneven palpitations that have always scared the shit out of me every time this happens. It pounds roughly and I rest my hand over the left side of my chest.

I fumble with getting the fridge open, but quickly fall to my knees. I can't see straight and press my face to the cool tile.

I'm somewhat aware that fingers are wrapping around my arms, my body is being turned over, and as my vision clears I'm staring at Warren. He's above me, cradling me in his arms, and staring at my face. Even through my haze I can see his concern.

"Shh... are you having an anxiety attack?"

His voice is soft and low. I manage to nod as he pushes my sweaty hair off of my forehead. His hand is warm and big, resting against my cheek as he continues to shush me softly. My hands are drawn up so badly that I can't move my fingers. He takes one of them into one of his hands and holds it tightly.

"Take some deep breaths... slow and easy. I know this is scary," he whispers. "But you're fine. You're going to be fine."

He takes a slow breath, holds it, and lets it out.

"Look at me. Breathe. Just breathe, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. Jesus Christ.

I'm shaking uncontrollably as I follow his lead. Over and over again we breathe together. I close my eyes and try to focus on anything other than how I feel. The panic is trying to subside. He's helping me. I know he is.

"I'm here..."

I feel weak and embarrassed as I regain the slightest bit of control over myself. And exhausted. I practically go limp in his arms and can't bear to look at him. I keep my eyes closed and nestle myself closer to him. His skin is warm and the first word that really comes into my mind is safe. He feels safe, which is something I've never felt before. Just warmth. Safety. Security. And I don't know why this man of all people gives me these feelings.