Crimson Lace

Chapter 44

WARNING: This Chapter contains subjects that may be triggering for some individuals. Such subjects include but are not limited to: depiction of anxiety.

ALEC
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

The future is inevitable. It is more or less impossible to change it. There shall not be any forms of power to manipulate fate. People either survive or they pass on. Rarely do people truly live. I've experienced both sides of the balance. Death and survival. It was not long ago that I finally experienced what it means to live. But it is only when I am with her that I feel it.

Elle and I spent half the night discussing our fears for tomorrow. She makes for an excellent listener. That is one of the things I love about our relationship. It is never out of balance. You give what you receive and we are both giving our all.

She eventually fell asleep. Her head rested on my chest and soft chestnut hair tickling my neck. I'm consumed by her scent—lilacs and sugar—lulling me into a calm. Though, even so, I can't sleep. If I close my eyes, I fear that when they open, she will be gone.

My throat contracts at the thought, nearly cutting off my next breath. Keaton will take her tomorrow. Who knows what the outcome could be? But the idea of her having to go back to that man who was the root of her trauma—I feel physically ill.

I have no doubt my father will be there too. The snake by Keaton's side. I can't imagine how he'll react to seeing his son—me amongst the Variants. A mutant creature. If he has the chance to get near me . . . he'll finish what he started. Kill me like he killed Mom.

I inhale a sharp breath. If Mom saw my changed eyes now. If she could see what I have become, I fear that I wouldn't be the son she brought into this world. The Alec she loved. I'm no longer her little lightning prince. I'm a monster.

Pain.

I feel like a concrete slab has been dropped on my chest and as though my father's boot is keeping it pinned. Right over my cardiovascular system. This is a feeling I have experienced before. Many times, but usually this anxiety comes after my father yelled or forced me to kill someone.

My whole body shakes and I narrow my eyes at the sleeping beauty on my chest, before lightly lifting her off of me and lowering her onto a pillow.

I take all but four steps before the weight of this sensation crushes my lungs. I stumble into the bathroom and shut the door, slumping down against it until I am seated. This must be what a heart attack feels like.

My own heart will kill me before my father gets the chance.

You're not dying, I tell myself. Because I know better than to think my heart is failing.

It's a panic attack.

Water lines my eyes, stinging like hell. A pressure builds in my throat until it hurts to imprison it within me any longer. Sobs burst forth from me, so violent they wrack my whole body. I place a hand over the agony in my chest as images of everything that has gone wrong in my life, flash before me.

No breaks. Father's voice echoes, only worsening my pain. No mistakes. No relief.

The memories attack me so violently, so wickedly, that I debate holding my breath until I fall unconscious. At least then I would have that relief.

I've had anxiety such as this for as long as I can remember. Father told me it was a weakness. That I needed to ignore it. But Mom taught me how to cope. To find the things I care for and that bring me peace and to hold onto those until I feel better. But Elle is all that I have left right now and she is asleep.