The Fairytale Killer would have no reason whatsoever to come looking for her at her friend’s place. She appreciated Naomi and Sam letting her hide out here, and she should be safe here.
If she didn't lose her mind first.
It felt like the walls were closing in on her. Since no one lived here the place was small, one open plan living, kitchen, dining area, and upstairs there were two bedrooms and a bathroom. That was it. Rylla usually avoided places this small if she could help it. It just wasn't worth the suffocating feeling.
She’d been here before, several times, and she didn't remember it being this small then.
Pacing wasn't helping. Nor was it good for her injured knee, each step sent pain jarring through the joint.
Up and down, up and down. From the front door to the back door and back again. Over and over again. She counted her steps for something to do, hoping the monotonous task would put a stop to the near crushing claustrophobia.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine …
“Rylla.”
She started as Nate suddenly appeared before her, halting her pacing.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She wasn't going to discuss her phobia with him, it was embarrassing.
“Well, I can't take any more of the pacing so come and sit down.” He took her elbow and attempted to maneuver her to the sofa.
She tried to let him. Shereallydidn't want to explain her claustrophobia. But as soon as she sat, she felt a rush of cold flush through her body. She shivered. She knew Nate must have felt it too because he was still touching her.
“Rylla, what’s going on?”
She couldn’t answer even if she had wanted to.
A rush of heat followed the cold, and her entire body broke out into a sweat, drenching her in seconds.
“Are you sick?” He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “You are burning up.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t speak. The walls were closing in on her. There was no air. Little white dots danced about in front of her eyes. She needed to get out of here.
Now.
Staggering to her feet, she shoved off Nate’s hands, and hobbled for the door as quickly as her knee allowed.
Outside she bent over, hands on her thighs, dragging in huge, deep mouthfuls of fresh air.
She felt Nate’s hand on her back, rubbing circles. His presence helped to calm her, and she appreciated that he didn't ask her any questions and allowed her some time to gather herself. Eventually she felt calm enough to straighten, without a word she turned and wrapped her arms around Nate, leaning into him.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
She had to tell him. They were in this together. “Claustrophobia,” she mumbled against his chest.
“I knew you suffered from it, I just didn't realize it was so bad. Have you always suffered from it?”
“No. Since the accident.”
“Josh and Elianna’s accident?”
“Yes.”
“What about the accident started it?” His hands were still rubbing circles on her back, and she focused all her energy on that so she didn't fall apart.
“It was raining really badly that day. The roads were slippery. Someone was speeding, they lost control of their car and hit Josh’s car. The car flipped, then slammed into a tree. Elianna was killed instantly but Josh wasn't. He was trapped in that car, dying, with our dead daughter, for almost thirty minutes. I can't imagine what that was like. I can't get that picture out of my head. Whenever I'm in a space that feels too small, I think of what it must have been like for him.”