pushed me down on the large, white sectional before leaving the room.
I shifted around on the couch, but it was about as comfortable as an ironing board. I finally got somewhat comfortable and leaned back against the cushion. "Alright," he called out, walking back into the room with an arm full of DVDs and a blanket. "I have Titanic because for some reason chicks think it's romantic to see their apparent ‘love of their life’ die in front of them or something." He held up the DVD in front of him, showing me the cover, completely clueless how his words affected me.
Every muscle in my body locked up and I instantly pulled my legs into my chest, forming a ball to create my own, private barrier. Air punched from my lungs as my breathing began to grow shallower. I counted to ten like my therapist had trained me to do whenever this happened, but it wasn't working. My heart was pressing harder into my chest and I got slightly panicky. My hands slid up my face to cover my embarrassment and I slid it in between my knees, just in time for the first tear to slip through my eyelashes.
"Shit," I overheard Keegan curse and the couch dented in beside me. "Are you okay?" I couldn't see him, but I caught the concern in his voice. Keeping my face masked, I nodded slowly. Was I always going to be a damn basket case? My body flinched at the gentle touch of his hand running down my crouched back while the tears flooded faster. His hands massaged my back, moving his hand in small circles.
"It's okay," he murmured softly, into my hair. "I’ll be right back," he said, wrapping his hand around my arm and giving it a small squeeze. I exhaled at the loss of his touch, tucking my body into itself tighter.
"Daisy," he said when he got back. "Look at me real quick, babe." He grabbed my chin with two fingers and lifted my head up to look at him. I blinked away the wetness in my eyes, seeing him kneeling in front of me, worry lining his features. "Are you okay?" He asked again, stroking his fingers across my tingling cheek. God, I was so sick of people asking me that foolish question.
I nodded, though, like I always did. Giving me a forced, fake smile, letting me know he knew I was lying, he twisted around and grabbed some tissues behind him before handing them over. I grabbed them, roughly trying to wipe away the evidence from my breakdown.
"Take this," he ordered, appearing in front of me again with a glass of water and two white pills. "I should have given this to you earlier, but I'm a sucky nurse." I studied the pills he put in my hand. "It's ibuprofen," he assured me.
I popped them onto my tongue and swallowed them. He gave me a warm smile and took it from my hand before setting it down on the table. "You wanna talk about it?" He asked, scratching his cheek.
I shook my head, looking away from him. I never wanted to talk about it and that was my problem. "Not Titanic ," I said lightly, squirming in my seat.
"I don't blame you," he said, standing up and grabbing the blanket. "I hate that movie, too. Everyone knows there was plenty of room for Jack on that door." His large hands wrapped around the blanket, sprawling it along my still-trembling body. I gave him a sore smile and snuggled into the warm cotton of the blanket.
"Alright then, I also grabbed some horror movies since it's Halloween time and all," he announced.
I grunted. "Please tell me your ‘horror movies,’" my fingers lifted into the air to emphasize the words, "are not Saw or The Wrong Turn because those aren't real horror movies."
His nose wrinkled and he held up Saw. "I beg to differ," he said, tapping his finger against the case. "How could you possibly say this is not a horror movie? I'm pretty sure being forced to play a game where you either had to saw off your own foot or die categorizes itself as a scary movie."
"It's gore," I threw out. "So called horror movies these days just put as much blood and gore as they can and then try to call it a scary movie." My
I shifted around on the couch, but it was about as comfortable as an ironing board. I finally got somewhat comfortable and leaned back against the cushion. "Alright," he called out, walking back into the room with an arm full of DVDs and a blanket. "I have Titanic because for some reason chicks think it's romantic to see their apparent ‘love of their life’ die in front of them or something." He held up the DVD in front of him, showing me the cover, completely clueless how his words affected me.
Every muscle in my body locked up and I instantly pulled my legs into my chest, forming a ball to create my own, private barrier. Air punched from my lungs as my breathing began to grow shallower. I counted to ten like my therapist had trained me to do whenever this happened, but it wasn't working. My heart was pressing harder into my chest and I got slightly panicky. My hands slid up my face to cover my embarrassment and I slid it in between my knees, just in time for the first tear to slip through my eyelashes.
"Shit," I overheard Keegan curse and the couch dented in beside me. "Are you okay?" I couldn't see him, but I caught the concern in his voice. Keeping my face masked, I nodded slowly. Was I always going to be a damn basket case? My body flinched at the gentle touch of his hand running down my crouched back while the tears flooded faster. His hands massaged my back, moving his hand in small circles.
"It's okay," he murmured softly, into my hair. "I’ll be right back," he said, wrapping his hand around my arm and giving it a small squeeze. I exhaled at the loss of his touch, tucking my body into itself tighter.
"Daisy," he said when he got back. "Look at me real quick, babe." He grabbed my chin with two fingers and lifted my head up to look at him. I blinked away the wetness in my eyes, seeing him kneeling in front of me, worry lining his features. "Are you okay?" He asked again, stroking his fingers across my tingling cheek. God, I was so sick of people asking me that foolish question.
I nodded, though, like I always did. Giving me a forced, fake smile, letting me know he knew I was lying, he twisted around and grabbed some tissues behind him before handing them over. I grabbed them, roughly trying to wipe away the evidence from my breakdown.
"Take this," he ordered, appearing in front of me again with a glass of water and two white pills. "I should have given this to you earlier, but I'm a sucky nurse." I studied the pills he put in my hand. "It's ibuprofen," he assured me.
I popped them onto my tongue and swallowed them. He gave me a warm smile and took it from my hand before setting it down on the table. "You wanna talk about it?" He asked, scratching his cheek.
I shook my head, looking away from him. I never wanted to talk about it and that was my problem. "Not Titanic ," I said lightly, squirming in my seat.
"I don't blame you," he said, standing up and grabbing the blanket. "I hate that movie, too. Everyone knows there was plenty of room for Jack on that door." His large hands wrapped around the blanket, sprawling it along my still-trembling body. I gave him a sore smile and snuggled into the warm cotton of the blanket.
"Alright then, I also grabbed some horror movies since it's Halloween time and all," he announced.
I grunted. "Please tell me your ‘horror movies,’" my fingers lifted into the air to emphasize the words, "are not Saw or The Wrong Turn because those aren't real horror movies."
His nose wrinkled and he held up Saw. "I beg to differ," he said, tapping his finger against the case. "How could you possibly say this is not a horror movie? I'm pretty sure being forced to play a game where you either had to saw off your own foot or die categorizes itself as a scary movie."
"It's gore," I threw out. "So called horror movies these days just put as much blood and gore as they can and then try to call it a scary movie." My
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