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Mace closes the distance between us, looming over melike a storm cloud. “Too fucking bad. Sit your ass on the couch and watchSchitt’s Creek.”
“Do you know how dumb that sounds?Sorry you had to see a dead body and have your future stolen, but forget that, let’s Netflix and chill.”
“Cassia,” he says, voice severe with a reprimand. “It’s on Hulu.”
A scream lodges in my chest, but I don’t dare give him the satisfaction of letting it out. “I hate you.”
His eyes darken. “I know.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Like it or not, Mace is here, and unless I want to die, I have to marry him. An argument about folding cheese fills the silence between us.
David Rose huffs. “If you say ‘fold in’ one more time...”
Mace lifts an eyebrow. “We’re missing the best part.”
There are a few options. Kick him out and face my anxiety alone, try to argue my way out of this arrangement, or give in. Suddenly, I’m too exhausted to fight. If he’s not here to distract me, I’ll spiral until the medicine knocks me out. “Okay,” I relent.
We sit side by side, watchingSchitt’s Creek. Mace’s arm rests on the back of the cushions, his fingertips scarcely brushing my shoulder, and stupid as it is, something about it feels protective. I glance at him a few times, waiting for him to get bored or irritated, but he’s fully absorbed in the show, content to simply watch it with me. I settle into the couch, cocoon myself in my favorite blanket, and finally relax.
A while later, my eyelids droop. Mace hooks my arm over his shoulder and scoops up my legs, carrying me to the bed, despite my incoherent protests, tucking me under the weighted blanket and smoothing my hair away from my face.
“Sleep.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” I mumble, staring up at him.
His lips twitch. “Go to sleep.” He pauses, then adds, “Please.”
“I hate you,” I confess for the second time, snuggling into my soft pillow. His response is lost as the medicine relaxing my body takes over and pulls me under.
six
CASSIA
A single ray of sunlight spills between my curtains, illuminating my airy gray bedroom walls and eradicating shadows. Curled on my side, tucked beneath the secure weight of my blankets, I inhale.One, two, three, four. Hold. Exhale. Four, three, two, one. Hold.
The only way for me to stave off more anxiety attacks is to start with trying to control my traitorous body. Next will be my daily medicine to keep it in check. Worst case, and I hope it doesn’t come to that today, is the emergency prescription in my clutch.
With the heavy sleep my medicine inspired, the worst of the oppressive panic and suffocating irritability has subsided. The medicine has worked through my system, but some effects linger, leaving me with a strange disconnection from reality. It’s there—I could reach out and brush my fingers against it—but it’s as if the real world is encased in a bubble I can’t quite penetrate.
That’s probably for the best right now.
Blips of what happened last night flit across my mind,but I push it back, back, back into the far recesses of my mind. Burying it so deep, like a body I’m trying to hide, I start to wonder if any of it was real. Maybe it was a bad dream.
The floor creaks outside my bedroom. My heart turns hard as a stone, and I hold my breath. The rasp of knuckles on wood sends terror shooting through my veins.
“Do you want some breakfast?”
Relief isn’t a word I’m accustomed to when it comes to thinking about Mace, but it’s instant, and I greedily inhale, hating the way my hands tremble as they clutch the blanket. Honestly, I’m glad he’s here because it means I’m not navigating this fucked-up situation alone.
“Cassia?” His tone makes it clear he’ll come in if I don’t respond.
My stomach turns. I’m not ready to face him yet. “Uh, sure. Breakfast sounds good.”
His footsteps fade away from the door. Pans clatter in the kitchen, each clang hitting a different part of my body, awakening my senses. That bubble is about to burst.
An alert hits my phone with a melodicding. Scrubbing my hands over my face, I groan and grab it. There are a bunch of messages from Rose last night.
ROSE