“I’m Arabel.” Her smile was radiant like the sun reflected on snow, beautiful but also dangerous without sunglasses to protect the corneas. Or walls to protect the heart.
My heart.
“Nice to meet you, Arabel. You were amazing up there.” I lifted my head, gesturing toward the ceiling.
“Where are you from? I can hear a thick accent but can't quite place it.” She changed the subject and didn’t acknowledge my praise.
“I’m from Italy, but I—”
Her body went rigid in my grasp, staggering back and breaking our link. With one hand on her chest, she clutched the pretty locket resting between her collarbones. Her eyes flickered with fear. I frowned, watching the chaotic movement of her chest as she took several steps back, almost falling as she bumped into the crowd behind her. She looked at me with tortured eyes that gleamed with unshed tears before turning and running toward the exit, leaving me lost and confused in the middle of the dance floor.
Chapter Three
Arabel
I sat in my bathtub, numb and ashamed of my behavior. I ran out of the club like greased lightning after meeting the most beautiful man. A man who could potentially help me reclaim the boldness I once owned. The panic surging through me was so all-consuming, I’d taken off empty-handed, leaving all my belongings behind, including money, phone, and my people.
Shit.
I’d hailed a cab outside the venue, watching in horror as Lorenzo ran after the taxi, yelling my name, his face contorted with confusion and disappointment. I’d collapsed on the heavily worn-leather backseat of the car as the waterworks ensued. My chest had constricted, a whale of dread sitting on it, heavy with pressure. My vision had blurred, and my breathing came in short bursts. Hyperventilating. Having a panic attack.
Good guys don’t like ruined girls.
The cab driver had repeatedly asked if I was okay, but my throat was too dry for words. My sister and friends must have run out of the club the moment they witnessed my humiliating escape. They’d pulled up in my car just as the cabbie dropped me off. My friend Ben had paid him while Fiona dragged my shaking body into the house and into my bathtub. Water always helped calm me down.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had an attack.
Over time, I’d worked hard at keeping my post-traumatic stress under control, and it angered me that it chose to return, but it infuriated me even more that I let it. I never appreciated when fear won, particularly when it came on the day I’d met someone who made me want to overcome. I’d wanted to grab that sexy man and kiss him on the mouth, but my protective mechanisms kicked in and I opted for a kiss on the cheek.
Maybe I’d expected too much of myself. It’s not like women generally make out with complete strangers, do they? I mean, I’d been out of the game for so long I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing anymore. I rolled my eyes at myself because I was once again relying on excuses so I wouldn’t have to confront my issues. Though it was a rational justification, deep down I knew my only reason for not going through with that kiss was fear.
But I was no victim. Correction: I was a victim before, but no more, and I refused to act like one. I was responsible for choosing the correct colored-glasses to filter my life through, and I refused to perpetuate the terror I’d felt on that horrible night.
I may have lost the battle tonight, but I’ll never lose the war.
I ran my thumb over my lips and shivered, not because the bathwater was cold, but because I could still feel him. Lorenzo’s strong arm wrapping around me, his splayed fingers producing the heat that scorched every inch of my back. The way he smelled of brandy and cinnamon. The vibrant topaz blue of his eyes. A magnificent specimen of a man, and I’d fucked it all up.
I squeezed the locket dangling from a platinum chain between my collarbones. The one my grandmother gave me on my sixteenth birthday. It was a family heirloom that had been passed down to the oldest daughter for generations. It was meant to go to my mother, but she refused, asking Granny to save it for me. It had a picture of her with my late grandfather, the love of her life. It was as precious to me as my Granny, so I got into the habit of holding on to the diamond-lattice heart whenever anxious or scared.
Taking a bottle of lavender essential oil from the shower shelf, I poured a few drops into the water. I breathed in the potent flowery scent that never failed to calm my nerves. I loved the stuff and dabbed it over my wrists and temples every day, huffing it like bored teenagers huffed glue behind the 7 -Eleven.
But tonight, no amount of aromatic oils could erase my regret.
It all happened so fast, the trigger setting off an avalanche of instinctive reactions in me, kicking my survival mode into full gear and stealing my capacity for rational thought. I understood my lizard brain was just trying to protect me but couldn’t it have waited until I’d at least gotten his last name? Even better, his phone number?
I submerged my body—head and all—into the water when the reality hit me that I’d never see him again, or have the opportunity to correct my unfortunate actions. I considered finding him, but it would have proven impossible when all I had was his first name, and in forty-eight hours I’d be relocating three hours north into the mountains.
After blowing bubbles out of my nose like a toddler, I pulled my head out of the water, inhaled the remnants of lavender, and let out a deep sigh. It was for the best. It was a bad idea to get involved with anyone right before moving. After a few minutes, my breathing normalized, my heart recovered its composure, and my vision regained its clarity.
Once again, my panic attack hadn’t killed me, though it seemed as if my nerves planned to rip the air from my lungs forever. Every time I panicked, I was convinced death would come. But it never did, and I took comfort in that knowledge.
I heard a soft rapping at the door. “Arie, are you feeling better?” Fiona’s voice sounded an octave higher than usual. She didn’t want to sound worried but she couldn’t help it because she loved me so much.
“Yes, Fi. I'll be right out.” I hoped my words soothed her worries. I recognized my issues weren’t my fault, yet, I couldn't erase the guilt in my gut for what I'd put my loved ones through, and still subjected them to every so often.
I rose out of the bathtub, making sure my legs could hold my weight again. I pulled a green towel off the rack and dried off the excess water on my skin. Walking into my closet, I threw on my favorite purple sweatpants and a gray University of San Francisco hoodie two sizes too big.
With nerves still frazzled but under control, I walked out of my bedroom and found Ben and Fiona sitting in the living room, twiddling their thumbs with serious expressions on their faces, concern seeping out of their pores.
I balled up on the couch next to my sister, with Ben on the loveseat across from us. I spotted my cell phone and clutch on the kitchen island and silently thanked them for taking care of me. They were quiet, waiting for me to tell them what had transpired. How blessed was I to have such beautiful people in my life? Gratitude replaced the shame and regret, and I hugged my knees. “He was Italian.”
They knew exactly what those words meant.
Chapter Four