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Iam pathetic.
Leave it to me to blow something within the first five minutes I arrived. I’d managed to get out of that hallway without breaking, but the second I was free of the crowd, I found my locker, put away what I didn’t need, kept what I did, and bolted out of there.
On my way back upstairs, I found an empty room that was closed for remodeling. New desks were still shrink-wrapped and were covered with opened boxes of beakers and science equipment. Whatever they used the room for before was about to be a science lab.
I didn’t care. I ran in, found a cluttered corner, and crouched down to hide as my anxiety steamrolled me. My heart raced, and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. It was relentless. My stomach felt like it was at war in there, simultaneously trying to eat itself while also purging whatever it could.
“Temperance Anne Grace,” I said to myself. “Don’t fucking puke on yourself. You’re not weak. You’re stronger than this. You just took a boy twice your size down to the floor.”
While my words were strong, my brain chimed in with an annoyingly loud voice to remind me,yeah, but now you’re on the floor, too, so did youreallywin that fight?
I inhaled as deeply as I could while counting to three and exhaled as deeply as I could while counting to six. Repeating this, I focused my thoughts on karate class. I imagined myself moving through katas. Picturing the way my body would flow through the movements. After a few short minutes, I was able to calm myself down to what I would considerantsy.
It still felt like I had bugs crawling all over my skin, but I could handle that. It would continue to calm as time went on. I knew getting to class would help a lot since I would feel safer with a teacher near—even if I didn’t want to be near any of the students.
Taking another deep breath, I stood on shaky legs, smoothed out my clothes, and exhaled. I unlocked my phone and used the camera to make sure I didn’t look wild and disheveled. After last night’s anxiety attack, I looked like I actuallyhadbeen attacked.
My eyes were a little red from restraining tears, but since none had fallen, my makeup was still in place, and I looked fine.
When that day at the church first happened, I spent the first few weeks in shock. There was an underlying feeling of dread that I now knew was blossoming anxiety, but it was easy to overlook. And as I moved from Indiana to California, that feeling grew stronger, though I used my sense of humor to hide it. I used the drastic changes in my life as an excuse.
“Oh, I’ve just had alotof changes. Ofcourse,I feel kind of weird!”
The truth was that I was in denial.
Every night I had nightmares, reliving what little bit I remembered after coming to in the blaze but waking with no hint of whatactuallyoccurred. Istillcouldn’t remember anything, and that terrified me. During the day, I had to deal with a brand-new family, half of which didn’t want me anywhere near them. Hell, Harper herself stated this morning she couldn’t care less if I was killed as long as I didn’t affect her life here.
I’d never had anxiety before, so I didn’t recognize the signs until it was too late. Until I started waking up screaming from dreams I couldn’t remember. Until I was looking at concert tickets for my favorite band and became so terrified about the thought of being in the crowd that I had to go splash water on my face. Until I was crouched in a shower or hiding in a classroom having full-blown anxiety attacks.
I didn’t see it until it was too late.
I should have seen a shrink themomentI woke up in the hospital. Instead, a grief counselor visited me asingletime nearlya week after the attack. She cleared me and said I was “adjusting well.” She recommended therapy, but that was it. No one stressed how important it was or what could—or in my casewould—happen if I didn’t. Clearly, I’d learned the hard way.
But that was okay. It was all okay. I planned to remedy that. I’d be starting a little farther behind the starting line than I’d like, but I’d get there. I was confident of that.
After sneaking out of the abandoned room, I kept my head down and made my way to literature class. When I walked in, there were only a few seats taken, most of which were the entire back row. I kicked myself for taking too long.
Normally, I was the middle of the room type of person. The front was too close to the teacher, and the back was too far. I liked the middle. No one paid much attention to the kids in the middle, and I noticed I didn’t get called on as much there either. I didn’t mind it, but I just thought calling on kids in class caused more unnecessary embarrassment when they didn’t know something than anything else. Even if I knew the idea was to keep the class engaged.
Today, that was all gone. All I wanted was a back row seat. Far away from everyone and everything. Instead, I settled for an empty seat directly in front of the back row, all the way to the left side of the room. It was the deepest available area of the class, and I hoped that meant I wouldn’t get noticed at all.
Unfortunately, a fewveryshort minutes after getting my things settled on my desk, Asher Jackson walked in and shattered that completely.
I instinctively looked up at the sound of footsteps, his eyes meeting mine. His widened for just the tiniest fraction of a second. It happened so quickly that if I’d blinked, I would have missed it. As soon as he recovered, he made a beeline directly for me.
I groaned and faced forward as he rounded the back row and walked straight over to the kid behind me.
“Move.” There was no room for discussion. His voice almost boomed out, and the other kids in the room turned to look our way.
Stifling another groan, I just looked down at my notebook while allowing my long hair to fall around my face to shield me. The desk behind me moved, and the poor boy who sat there scurried off to find another seat. When the desk moved again, I knew Asher had claimed it.
“What the hell was that, Temperance?” His voice was low and barely above a whisper. Peeking through my curtain of hair, I could still see the nosy onlookers watching us. “Is there a fucking problem?” Asher snapped, and everyone immediately faced forward.
Damn. Harper hadn’t been joking. They really were royalty, and they ruled with an iron fist.
“Temperance.”
My nerves seemed to take a backseat to my anger at that moment.