by J. S. Scott
“Blackwood supported you?” Ben asked, sounding perplexed.
“My father was paying for my education that wasn’t covered by scholarships,” I explained. “And he didn’t exactly work for that money himself.”
“He was?” The gorgeous Ben looked even more confused. “I thought he never even paid your mom’s child support. My mom was livid when she found the paperwork proving that your father had never paid your mother a dime.”
“He didn’t. I guess he had a change of heart when my mom died. He helped me through my bachelor’s.”
“That’s…surprising,” Ben said cautiously.
“I never really understood it myself,” I answered. “Maybe he felt guilty.”
“Maybe,” Ben said, sounding unconvinced that my dad had changed his freeloading ways.
We were interrupted by a woman pushing through the crowd around us calling Ben’s name.
I watched my stepbrother’s expression. It revealed little emotion about the gorgeous blonde woman coming our way.
“I think I’ll go for a walk,” I told Ben, freeing him so he could chat with the woman who looked like a supermodel.
Ben leaned closer. “Never forget that you have allies, Katie. I might not be your blood, but I’m still your stepbrother. You can ask me for anything you need. We can get you through your master’s program.”
I knew his words were meant to be comforting and kind, but I wasn’t feeling the brotherly love, no matter how much I wished that I had a sibling right now. I was pretty sure I’d developed some kind of crush on Ben Blackwood over the few days we’d spent together arranging the funeral, and the last thing I associated with him was family.
I had no family anymore.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, then started pushing my way through the people surrounding me on all sides.
Ben’s words had made me remember just how alone I was at the age of twenty-two, and my body had suddenly started to react violently.
My heart was racing, and my vision was blurred as I tried to escape through the dense crowd of people in my way.
No family.
I have nobody.
My mom’s side had pretty much washed their hands of her when she’d married my father. None of them had liked him—for good reason, so I wasn’t close to anybody related to my mother. Most of the ones still alive were distant relations, anyway. And my father didn’t have family that would claim him…or me.
All I had was these strangers who treated my father’s funeral more like a party, and my stepfamily.
The Blackwoods weren’t blood, nor did I really know any of them.
I didn’t belong.
I’d never been part of the Blackwood family because they weren’t mine to care about.
I felt claustrophobic as I pushed my way toward the exit to the patio, reality crashing down on me with a vengeance.
No! This doesn’t happen to me anymore. Dammit! Not now.
I knew I was having a panic attack, and I was helpless to stop the encroaching fear that was manifesting within my body, causing physical symptoms I couldn’t control.
It had been a long time since I’d experienced a full-blown panic attack, but I knew I’d never forget exactly how it felt, and I recognized the frightening symptoms of my anxiety because I’d been in this state before.
“I have to calm myself down,” I huffed as I stumbled away from the patio and down toward the water. The welcoming darkness beyond the lights of the mansion and the veranda beckoned me to keep moving forward until I could completely escape.
My father had never been a dad to me, but at least he’d been living and helping me get through college.
Now, I was truly and completely alone.
I dropped to my ass when I arrived at the Blackwood dock, not only because I couldn’t go any farther without ending up in the Gulf, but because I was shaking too hard to continue. In the back of my mind, I acknowledged that I’d lost my low black heels on my journey to the water, but I didn’t care.
All I wanted was control over my physical self.
I hated the helplessness that came with knowing I wasn’t in control of my body.
I gulped for air as I heard the water hitting the dock all around me. It wasn’t the first time I’d experienced a panic attack, but every one of them was still terrifying.
Since it had been a long time since I’d experienced my last physical episode, I’d thought they’d disappeared forever.
I was wrong.
My body wasn’t my own as I stared into the darkness, my heart racing, my vision still unclear, and my breathing ragged.
I should be used to the short periods of losing control. They’d started when my mother had died suddenly over four years ago, and over time, they had settled down with the use of medication and the low cost therapy I’d sought out in Massachusetts. But during the last couple of days, I’d suffered through my fear and stress alone, and my body was using the protective mechanism that would release that tension.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I focused on simply getting air in and out of my lungs at a deeper and slower pace, like I’d been taught. I consciously tried to relax every taut muscle while I continued to suck on the salt air around me.
Slowly, my body started to return to normal function, and my vision began to come back into focus. My heartrate decelerated after a few minutes, and I began to relax after I’d stopped trying to fight my attack, which only made things worse.
The reality of my father’s death was finally hitting me hard, and I allowed myself to feel every emotion now that the episode was subsiding.
I let myself fall gently backward, and I lay on the wooden surface, feeling completely wiped out.
I always felt this way after my own body had chewed me up and spit me out.
I sobbed out all of my loneliness as I finally felt the pain of being alone in the world, instead of keeping it all inside my tense frame for the last several days.
No one could see me, nor did anybody care if I was scared and heartbroken.
I curled up in a fetal position, not feeling the slight chill of the ocean breeze while I was swamped with sadness.
Maybe I was only mourning the relationship that I didn’t have with my dad, but mostly, I just felt like an outsider in a world where everybody had somebody… except me.
I finally sat up in the darkness, lulled by the lapping of the Gulf waters against the dock.
“I have friends. And I have Ariel,” I said firmly, trying to cease my stupid pity party. “I’ll be fine. I’m not really alone.”
Maybe I hadn’t made very many new friends in Massachusetts, but I still kept in touch with my childhood best friend here in Florida, and I planned on seeing her as soon as possible. I’d wanted to get done with the funeral before we met up.
I sighed. Ariel had wanted to be here for me today, but she had a boss who was a major jerk, and she hadn’t been able to get out of working unless she quit. And there was no way I was going to allow that to happen to her.
I stumbled to my feet after an unknown period of time rocking myself to the rhythm of the waves hitting against the wooden structure.
Part of me hated myself for giving in to my emotions. No matter how I felt inside, I’d learned to hide the negative, sad stuff away. I kept my head up like my mom had taught me to do, and relied on my own intelligence to get by.
Maybe I was inelegant in social situations, but I was gifted in other ways, so I needed to get a grip. I’d take care of myself without relatives. I’d never really had a father anyway, right?
“Bad day,” I muttered into the darkness.
My stockings were all torn to hell, and I had my doubt that I’d find my shoes in the darkness of the lawn beyond the Blackwood patio.
I just needed to move my ass and look for them. If I went back the way I’d come, I’d probably trip over them.
My stance wasn’t quite stable. I’d had a few too many glasses of alcohol, and that liquid courage may have
very well been the trigger for my meltdown.
Panic attacks and alcohol didn’t mix well.
Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure how I’d made my way to the water as I stared back at the Blackwood mansion in the distance. As always, the actions that had occurred during the height of my attack were blurred.
“It doesn’t matter,” I muttered into the blackness of the night.
I don’t really need to find my shoes.
I’d leave from here and make my way back to my motel. I had no reason to stop back inside. I didn’t belong in this group of guests anyway. Other than Ben, I knew nobody, and I didn’t need to say goodbye to my stepbrother.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him. I just didn’t know how.
I smoothed down the black dress I was wearing with shaky hands. It was nothing fancy, but I liked the fact that it had two pockets that carried my ID, my older cell phone, and a small amount of cash for my cab ride back to my motel.
Leave! Just go!
I knew I’d feel a thousand times better once I could get away and back to my current software project. I could lose myself in the world of technology, and not think about how much I wanted somewhere to belong.
I stepped carefully down the dock, tears still pouring down my face as I brushed past the boathouse, and then hesitated to feel around with my foot. There was probably some kind of uneven ground between the dock and the lawn, and I didn’t want to fall on my face.
“I’ll be okay alone. I’ll make it. I always have,” I said out loud, as though saying those words would make everything better.
I wasn’t prepared when I felt myself being pulled into the boathouse, so I didn’t have time to scream as the door slammed closed behind me, a hand clapped over my mouth. I was submerged into a profound darkness that terrified the hell out of me.
Continue reading…Dearest Stalker: Part 1
About the Author
Lane Parker is an alter-ego of J.S. Scott. She got sucked into reading romance since her teenage years. She reads all kinds of romance books, the hotter the better. She writes what she loves, hot happily ever after contemporary romance stories that feature strong women and bossy Alpha Males.
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Books by Lane Parker
Dearest Stalker: A Complete Collection
Dearest Stalker: Part 1
A Christmas Dream
A Valentine’s Dream
Lost: A Mountain Man Rescue Romance