“I’ll be right out,” I called, a sliver of a smile on my face. Before today, a man other than Dom in my personal space would have had me bent over, hyperventilating and trembling. Yet, having Blaine waiting for me on the other side of the door only brought me comfort. I felt cared for, even a little cherished, as I imagined him holding a soothing cup of tea for me.
I brushed my teeth furiously, then stepped out into my bedroom wearing only my terry cloth robe. Blaine was at the windowsill beside my bed looking at framed pictures of me and my roommates, and my collection of little trinkets. Ordinarily, the sight of his hands on my things, disrupting the order of each item, would have sent me into a panic, but for some strange reason, I was completely content. It only gave me the warm feelings of anticipation, eager for him to get just a tiny glimpse of Kamilla Duvall without the mask.
He picked up a paper crane, one of the many pieces of origami that littered my room. “You made this?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. Picked it up when I was a kid. Keeps my fingers busy.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it aided in keeping my panic attacks at bay. The distraction helped me to put each worry in its own little cubby. Each fear had its place. And when life became too complicated and the fear took over, origami helped me focus them, tucking them away in the forbidden corners of my mind.
Blaine set down the crane and picked up another piece on pastel colored paper. “Thought origami was from Japan.”
“Do you have to be Japanese to eat sushi?” I asked with a raised brow.
“Right,” he remarked, embarrassment painting his face.
I walked over to the steaming mug on my dresser when I noticed the door. It was closed. I was in my room, alone with a man, and the door was closed. NoNoNoNo.
As casually as I could, my trembling hand threatening to spill the hot tea, I walked over and opened it, keeping it cracked just enough for me to know that it was open. If Blaine noticed, he didn’t say anything.
“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, holding up a glass jar filled with tiny paper stars.
“Just some stars I’ve been collecting.”
He shook it then set it down. “Looks like a lot of them.”
“253,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
“Huh?”
I took a sip of the tea to give my mouth something to do before it betrayed me further. “Two hundred and fifty-three. That’s how many stars are in the jar.”
I should have been adding lucky number 254 to that jar after what happened tonight. Hell, to be honest, my freak out at the bar warranted a star. But Blaine was here, and the impulse to record those fears was stifled for the time being.
His eyes continued to survey my space, his fingers grazing everything as if he were reading Braille. He was taking it all in, taking me all in. Blaine was absorbing his surroundings in hopes of getting to know me.
He made his way to the acoustic guitar in the corner of my bedroom. “You play?”
“A little,” I shrugged.
He gently ran his fingers over the strings before looking at me with wary eyes, searching my expression for signs of distress. “How are you feeling?”
I tried to give him a smile, but it felt forced. I settled for a nod. “I’m ok. I’m not even really sure what happened.”
Blaine approached me in three easy strides and eased the mug of tea from my hands, before ushering me to the bed. We sat side by side, our knees and shoulders touching, as he gathered his thoughts.
“I came out to try to stop you from leaving. To talk to you. I was locking up when I heard you cry. That sonofabitch had his hands on you,” he said through tightly clenched teeth, his fists balled on his thighs. “I don’t really know what happened after that. I snapped. All I saw was red. He was touching you, and I wanted to kill him.”
Blaine turned to look at me, his jaw ticking violently with contempt. “I shouldn’t have let you walk away. I should have seen you to your car, and for that, I am truly sorry. I just keep thinking what would’ve happened if I was two minutes later. I can’t get the image of you standing there, frozen with terror, out of my damn head. God, Kami… I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”
“What happened wasn’t your fault.” The words fell from my lips unconsciously. I had been told the same countless times. I figured it was the go-to phrase for times like these. “I’m ok, I swear. Go on home. You can even take my car if you want.”
Instinctively, I reached out and placed my hand on his, causing him to release the strain on his knuckles. I didn’t know why I did it; there was just an impulse to touch him, to comfort him. I knew what it felt like to be absolutely stripped of control. Our reactions may have differed but the fear, the anger, was the same.