Page 42 of The Souls We Claim

I run outside the clubhouse, looking left and right. The tree line at the end of the property has a wire fence and an army of brambles. There’s a garage across the lot, and the door appears to be open. I could run there until Halo calms down.

Why do I always find myself in these situations?

Headed straight for the door, I run by Gwen, who is getting something out of the back of Clutch’s truck.

“You okay, Arianne?” she shouts.

If I stop and talk to her, Halo might see me. I just need distance.

So, I keep running. Once inside, I look for a hiding place. The pit beneath a vehicle raised up on a platform. Behind some oil drums. An office.

Tears sting my eyes.

I try to regain some control of my heart that feels one beat away from exploding. Halo isn’t Patrick. I’m not at risk.

I repeat it over and over.

I’m not at risk.

I’m not at risk.

I’m not at risk.

I slide down against the wall, all out of energy. Someone once said that your emotional load is like a snow globe. A snow globe needs time to settle between shakes. But I feel utterly shaken out.

I take a breath, then another. Slow and steady. Trying to bring myself down.

I’ll deal with Halo’s words once I feel like I’m not going to die of a heart attack. The concrete is hard and cool as I lean my head back against it.

Minutes pass. I’m not sure how long it is before I hear a voice.

“Arianne? It’s Rae. Can I come in and talk with you, or would you rather be alone for a while?”

At least it’s not Halo.

“Sure,” I say, swiping beneath my eyes and then smoothing my hair down.

She stops about seven feet away and hops onto a large tool bench. “Tough day?” she asks.

“You ever get your tire stuck in a snowbank?” I ask.

“I used to live in Michigan, so snow tires went on before the first snow, but I get the phenomenon.”

I glance over at some wrenches hung in diminishing sizes on hooks. “I feel like I’m stuck in a snowbank. It’s a mess. I feel trapped, like I can’t get out. I try to ease back to move forward, and all I do is lose ground. I try to plough forward, and I just make a mess. I’m going back and forth, never making progress.”

“And how does that feel?”

I glance up at Rae. “Fucking exhausting.”

Rae nods in agreement. “I can imagine. You’ve gone through a lot in a short period of time.”

I drape my forearms over my knees. “I don’t even know why I’m here. It was the prompt I needed to leave Patrick. But I need to find my own independence. I barely know you, and I’m in the aftermath of an embarrassing panic attack brought on by a man saying some awful things about me. I need to leave. I need to take Lola with me. I don’t even know where to start, because I’ve got no job, no place to live, nowhere to?—”

“Arianne,” Rae says firmly.

“Sorry.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t need to say sorry. But your emotions are like marbles right now. They’re pouring out of you like an overfilled cup, spilling all over the floor. We need to organize your emotions and separate them from the practical responsibilities you need to manage.”