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“You’re keeping her?”
“Of course. Weren’t you listening? I already adopted Pixie.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want a dog here.”
“And I don’t want you here,” Koh replies matter-of-factly. “But until I find my own place, we’re stuck together. Trust me, you’ll learn to love Pixie. Unlike me, she doesn’t judge you.”
“Why hasn’t Aran Graves faced the media yet?” Donna Broderick huffs on TV. “He’s been back for ten days now. Grave Sinner are playing their first show tonight. Liam Barbossa and Sam Ruin have been posting rehearsal photos, but everyone is waiting for Aran Graves to finally speak. What do you think, Bruce? Is this strategy working—just acting like nothing happened?”
“No, Donna, definitely not. The longer Aran Graves waits, the higher the expectations become. Because let’s not forget: even though he went to prison, he has never publicly apologized for what he did. And that’s simply unacceptable.”
“Couldn’t agree more, Bruce.”
“Fuck!” I scream at the TV, clenching my fists. “What a load of shit!”
“Why are you even watching Broderick’s show?” Koh asks, grabbing a water from the fridge. “Everyone knows she just spews garbage.”
I drag a hand over my stubbled chin, stunned. My body feels electric. All the sleepless nights are catching up. I’m wound so tight I can’t think straight. Something inside me flips.
“You love this, don’t you?” I snarl. “You act like the paparazzi outside annoy you, but deep down you enjoy watching them tear me apart.”
Koh’s forehead wrinkles in surprise. “What are you talking about?”
“Have you already sold details about me? How much did they pay you?”
Koh squints, straining to make sense of my words. “Are you insane? I haven’t talked to them.”
“You’re probably just staying here to keep tabs on me. Then you’ll feed them whatever bullshit you want.” I know I’m spiraling, but the panic has me now, tightening around my throat. “Have you taken secret pictures of me too?”
“What the hell are you talking about? Are you losing it?”
Koh’s forehead wrinkles with worry, which is probably why he doesn’t snap back.
“You want to expose me, don’t you?”
My pulse is racing. Sweat pours out of every pore.
“I think you’re having a panic attack,” he says calmly and turns off the TV.
“You’re going to tell them, aren’t you? You’re definitely going to tell them.”
“I’m not telling anyone anything!” Koh says, raising his voice.
That only pours gasoline on the fire raging inside me.
“Shit…” I gasp, pressing a hand to my chest.
I start hyperventilating.
“Sit down. Breathe. It’s going to be okay.”
Koh guides me to the couch and helps me sit. His hand on my arm feels like a thousand needles. I flinch like I’ve been burned.
“Okay, sorry. No touching. Let’s try something else.”
I stare at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. It’s the first time anyone has ever sat with me during a panic attack and tried to help.
“Breathe in deep… and out.”
