I still, the glass halfway to my lips.
Did she stay down here all night?
Setting the glass down with a quiet clink, I follow the sound, my stomach twists into knots, something sharp and sick curling low inside me.
When I step into the dimly lit living room, I see her curled up on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, her entire body shaking with silent, wrecked sobs. Her fists clutch the front of her sweatshirt, like she’s trying to hold herself together physically, but failing.
Fuck, she looks small.
So fragile, so goddamnbreakable.
Without mustering a thought about why I shouldn’t do this, I slowly move, crossing the kitchen in slow, hesitant strides.
“Catalina,” I say, keeping my voice soft, not wanting to startle her.
Her head snaps up, her tear-filled eyes go wide. She looks unrecognizable, almost like she’s trapped somewhere else, lost deep inside whatever’s eating her alive. Her breathing comes in quick, shallow gasps, chest heaving in a way that rips right through me. Her skin is pale, glistening under the faint light, and sweat clings to her like a second, suffocating skin.
She’s having an anxiety attack. She shakes her head violently and claws at her chest like she can’t pull enough air into her lungs.
My heart fucking shatters at the sight.
I’m moving again before thinking—dropping to myknees in front of her, crowding into her space. Gently, I reach out, cupping her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing across her damp cheeks, wiping away the steady stream of tears pouring down her beautiful, wrecked face.
“Catalina,” I say again, firmer now, but still soft. “Look at me, darlin’. Right here. Look at me.”
Her glassy eyes finally lift, meeting mine.
She looks so fucking broken it guts me.
“Go away, Carter,” she chokes out, her voice cracking apart. “J-just go away. Please.” Her hands weakly push at my chest.
Not a chance in fucking hell am I leaving her like this.
“Stop being stubborn,” I murmur, caressing the soft skin underneath her eye. “Listen to me, just listen to the sound of my voice.”
Her wide, tear-glossed eyes stay locked on mine, desperate and drowning.
“Deep breath in,” I coach gently, my thumb still swiping the steady flow of tears.
She attempts and lets out a shaky, ragged gasp that barely fills her lungs, but it’s something.
“Good,” I whisper, “now out.”
She exhales, still uneven, but there’s a fraction less panic in it. A sliver of space was cracking open between her and the spiral, trying to drown her.
“Again,” I say, firmer now, anchoring her to me.
We fall into a rhythm.
In. Out. In. Out.
I continue coaching her breathing until her body stops trembling, and her breaths find a steady, broken rhythm. A steady stream of tears kept falling, leaving streaks along her cheeks. Her face is so tired, so hurt, and it feels like a punchstraight to my ribs—chipping away at the walls I’ve put up around my heart.
I shouldn’t fucking ask, I should let it be, and let her keep her walls up if that’s what she needs.
But I can’t fucking help it.
I lean in, so close our foreheads nearly brush, my voice rough with something I can’t even name.
