Heather

I dreamt about Ryder last night. It was really just a memory of a conversation that we had shortly after breaking up. I found out that he had cheated when we were together, but somehow his words turned the situation back on me when he found out I slept with someone else. The word slut was spat out at me. 

That wasn't the worst part though. He told me that I was dead to him and that he wouldn't talk to me ever again. For the rest of the dream, I ran through my old house looking for him in the different rooms of the house. Finally, I found him in my parents' bedroom, lying on top of my mom, pressing kisses into her neck. 

I woke up with extreme uneasiness, being reminded of that conversation. My phone lit up with a text from Mac asking if I was okay. I didn't feel like answering her, so I left her on read. It seems cruel, but she knows what I'm going through and I can't lie to her and say I'm okay when I'm not.

I missed school today. I was so depressed that I couldn't leave my bed even to get breakfast or lunch.

Thankfully, I was feeling well enough to go to Kayne's house that night. I don't know whether that says more about my little crush on Kayne or my day of rest.

I just slip into a t-shirt and black leggings, not caring to dress up for Kayne today. He's already rejected me anyway. I put Max in his crate and wrangle it into my car. I don't feel comfortable letting him roam around the car while I'm driving as I take the backroads to Kayne's house. 

Kayne

I tidy up the little cabin after school, trying to make it not look like a 21-year-old guy lives here. Plus, I need to dog-proof the room—meaning remove all valuables that a puppy might want to chew on—since Heather is bringing Max with her. We are going to have dinner with Alice and then hang out for a while.

I fluff up the throw pillows and arrange them on opposite ends of the couch. I fold my blanket up and hang it on the back of the couch. As I move around the room, picking up stray socks, I think more on my predicament. I feel that since Heather did so well when we studied at the coffee shop that maybe we should do that more. 

In fact, I think it might be best to try out her strategy again on a stakeout. I need to be out in public enough to meet more people who could possibly be suspicious. It was easiest to do when Heather came with me. She's so personable that no one could possibly suspect that she is working for an undercover cop.

A car pulls up the gravel driveway. I call out for Heather to come in and she appears with Max in his travel carrier. She's struggling to carry it and puts it down a little too hard. Thankfully, Max doesn't seem bothered.

Heather's outfit surprises me. She's normally dressed in preppy-style clothing. Today, she's dressed in a plain t-shirt and some type of tight, athletic leggings. She looks a little pale as well, which might explain why she missed school today. 

Heather lets the dog out and he runs immediately to me for a belly rub. I reach down and run my hand through the black and white fur coating his stomach.

"You didn't have to come if you weren't feeling well," I assure her. 

"I wasn't feeling well earlier, but I'm okay now after a restful day." She still looks pale and tired. Her annoying chipperness is also absent. 

It goes silent between the two of us, which led me to believe that Heather wasn't telling me something. Before I can call her out on it, she speaks up. 

"I figured it would be best to leave him in his carrier while we had dinner," she says. 

"You're probably right. The last thing we need is him running into Alice's china cabinet," I reply.

Heather sets a bowl of water in the carrier and then locks the door. Then, we stroll across the yard to the main house.

The table is adorned with a potato feast. I look at Heather whose eyes are popping out of her head and her jaw is dropped.

"Alice, this all looks so delicious," Heather says in a stupor.

"Heather, dear, I felt so terrible since you were expecting potatoes last week. So this week, I pulled out my best recipes." Alice replies with a smile. 

"I can see that," Heather says.

Alice walks across the room to take something out of the oven.

I take the opportunity to whisper to Heather, "I told you that you asked for it."

"Holy shit," she whispers back, gesturing at the array of potato-based dishes.

"That large casserole dish is potato lasagna," Alice says. Heather looks at me and I wiggle my eyebrows at her. "In my blue dish, I made roasted cheesy potatoes and asparagus. Right beside it I have homemade potato rolls."

I'm a little afraid to ask what's for dessert.

Heather looks at me, eyes wide open. I can't help but let out a chuckle as much as I try to hide it from Alice.

"Kayne, what could you possibly be laughing at? No one has said anything remotely funny." When I don't respond, Alice continues scolding, "Get it together. We have a guest and you don't need to act like the house jester."

I grab the potato lasagna and dish out a serving to each person. We pass around everything else we need until we are all stuffed with potatoes. Finally, the time for dessert came along and I waited in anticipation for Heather's reaction.

"For dessert, I made a sweet potato cake with marshmallow buttercream," Alice says, putting the cake plate in the center of the table.

"Oh, wow." Heather glances at me with a pleading expression.

"So, a big slice, Heather?" I ask, slicing the cake.

She replies in the sweetest tone, "Just a small piece, please. I can't possibly eat much more. It was all delicious."

Alice hops up from the table, saying, "I'm so glad you said that." She sashays over to the refrigerator. "I made another potato lasagna to take home to your father. Don't forget to grab it when you leave. Kayne, cut them two large slices of cake, too. I'll give you some Tupperware to put it in."

"Did you know about this?" Heather whispers to me. I shake my head, struggling to keep from laughing.

Alice hands me the Tupperware and Heather finally speaks up. "Alice, thank you so much. You didn't have to do this."

"It was no trouble. I know it must be hard for a single dad and his daughter sometimes." Heather smiles at Alice appreciatively, no longer shooting me silly glances about the plethora of potatoes dinner.

"Well, dearies, I'm going to head off to bed. My back has been killing me today," she says, placing a hand on her lower back. "Kayne, be a good boy and put the dishes in the washer, please."

I load the dishwasher and Heather grabs her food to head back to the cabin. As soon as we step off the porch, I say, "I don't know about you, but I won't eat a potato for a very long time."

"Ditto."

"I've been meaning to tell you that I think it's time for our first stakeout. I've planned it for Saturday since we will have the whole day to just sit out and people watch."

"Alright, sounds good," Heather says, letting Max out of the carrier. She attaches a leash to his collar to let him outside to pee. The yard is filled with rocks which unfortunately trips Heather up. She lets go of the leash and Max runs off towards the back of the farm.

Heather jumps up from where she's fallen and chases the dog, who is quick as a whip. I follow her, quickly passing her, although neither of us are quick enough to catch the bundle of energy that is Max.

Eventually, I use my resources wisely and pick up a pinecone as an offering to the dog. Curiously, he runs up to me to sniff it as if it was a treat. Before he can run off again, I grab him by the collar and wrap the leash around my hand.

"Oh look, it's stupid." I say, causing Heather to laugh.

"I'll take him," Heather offers.

I shake my head. "No way. You pay attention to not tripping up again and I'll pay attention to Speedy Gonzalez over here."

When we three are safely back in the cabin, Heather sighs a breath of relief although I can hear that it catches in her throat. I'm able to take a deep breath soon after, but Heather keeps taking shallow breaths. I pass it off as her just being out of shape running-wise.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" I ask her. She nods. We scroll through until I stop on I, Tonya and press play.

Max makes a spot on the middle cushion of the couch, so Heather and I sit on either side of him.

We watch the movie silently, with a few laughs here and there, mostly from me. Heather can't seem to get comfortable, shifting positions on the couch.

"You're a bit antsy tonight, Heather." I say. She glances at me quickly, but doesn't say anything.

Then, the movie escalates as Sebastian Stan's character breaks his restraining order and enters Tonya's home. He gets violent, but mostly he strings together words that degrade Margot Robbie's character.

I notice Heather's shallow breathing has sped up again to the point that I think maybe she's having an asthma attack. "Heather, are you okay?" I say.

She continues staring straight at the screen. I reach out to touch her arm, but I'm swiped away.

"Heather, what's wrong?"

She slides down onto the floor until she's lying prone, pulling her knees to her chest. She pushes the coffee table away from her with a free arm. I quickly move it across the room.

I turn the movie off and sit in the darkness, too afraid to touch her again and make it worse. After a few minutes, she was able to communicate with me.

Heather made a typing gesture in the air, so I knew she was asking for her phone. I retrieved it from the couch cushion and passed it to her, careful not to accidentally brush her skin.

After a bit of typing, she turns the phone around to me so I can read the message.

I'm having a panic attack, it read.

I jump into action, knowing exactly how she's feeling. She reaches for her throat as her breathing turns into choking.

"Tell me what you need from me," I say, my voice dripping with concern.

She wheezes in response, her eyes widening, before tears cascade down her cheeks from the inability to breathe.

"Heather, breathe with me." I demonstrate deep breaths and she tries to slow her breathing, but she can't stop shaking. It almost looks like she's shivering. She thumps her head against the floor, creating a rhythm to bring herself back to reality.

I had a fair share of panic attacks after my mom died. If I was at home with Liza, she would sit behind me and hold me tightly. Although I know some people don't like being touched during panic attacks, I figure it might be worth a try.

"Heather, I'm going to try something. Trust me, okay." I wait for her confirmation. Eventually, she nods and I slowly move towards her.

I sit on the floor and slide closer to her, pulling her chest up and situating her between my legs. I wrap my arms around her body and squeeze tight.

Heather sobs deeply, making deep guttural sounds signifying severe emotional pain.

I stay in that position as she goes through fits of crying to silence. I feel her weaken in my arms, so I squeeze firmly, trying to transfer some of my strength. From my position, I look down to see spots on her knees where her fingernails have dug into the skin and left white crescents.

I rock her in my arms, giving her another rhythm to cling to. Softly, I say, "Concentrate on your breathing. Stay in the present." Heather throws her head back onto my shoulder and inhales.

A few minutes later, I'm still holding her but her breathing has returned to normal. Her violent, body-shaking crying has changed to a slow stream of liquid down her cheeks.

I feel her body relaxing in my grasp. I rub my hands on her arms while still maintaining a steady grip around her.

"You don't have to tell me anything. Just focus on breathing." I encourage her.

"No, it's okay. I'm feeling better now." Wrapping her arms around her knees, she rocks on them. Max takes the opportunity to walk up to her and lay down against her side. Heather doesn't seem to notice too much.

I break the silence, "How often does this happen?"

"I used to have them a lot with Ryder," she replies. I look at her blankly. "My ex-boyfriend." Everything clicks and I feel my muscles tense up, expecting the worst.

"When he was high, he would get..." She turns her head, simultaneously rubbing her neck with her hand until it's beet red. "Why the fuck can't I say it?" Heather slams her fists down, then covers her eyes with them. She's squeezing her fists so tightly that they're turning white.

"Heather, it's ok. We don't have to talk about this," I soothe. I watch her as she takes deep breaths to stay in control of her body and her mind.

"He liked to mix Xanax and alcohol. That combination intensified his anger issues." She said, squeezing her hands with such fierceness. "I hated that about him. He said terrible things to me. But, he never laid a hand on me, so I could just blame it on the drugs. Because that's not really him, right? It was the drugs talking."

"One day, after I left him, he texted me and told me he was going to kill himself." Heather took another deep breath, determined to continue. "I called him and stayed on the line for an hour, listening to nothing. He wasn't going to kill himself, but I had to make sure. So many times during the silence, I begged him to say something so that I knew he hadn't done it already."

"The next day..." She trails off in thought. "He came over and apologized. We made up."

My heart falls.

"Heather, you know, that's manipulation, right? An extreme case of it, but still."

"Yeah," she says. I can tell she's disconnecting from reality again.

"Heather, it's over."

A few tears leak out and she wipes them away with her sleeve. "You don't understand."

"What?"

"It'll never be over," she whispers. "The way I feel. The way he is, I don't think it will ever be over. I keep dreaming about him and somehow he's always in the back of my mind, judging me." I just wrap my arms around her and squeeze tightly the way I have been doing for the past hour. "I don't know why I told you any of this."

She winces in pain when she unsqueezes her fists. I look down at them and don't see any crescent marks from her nails. I rotate her hand in mine, examining it.

"My hands just hurt really badly," she says. "I squeezed them too hard for too long."

I sit across from her and grab a hand to massage the muscles in it. 

"Heather, you can tell me anything. We're partners after all," I say. Heather wipes another tear from her eyes, her face showing a hint of a smile for a moment before dropping back into a frown.

I switch hands and begin rubbing her skin in soothing circles with medium pressure. She just stares down our hands as mine work out the pain in hers.

"Heather, let's do something else. We can watch cartoons or something?"

"Yeah," she says faintly. I stand up from the floor and offer a hand to pull her up. When she doesn't move, I grab a bunch of throw pillows and put them on the floor beside her. She lays her head on one of the pillows. I cover her with a blanket before laying down beside her.

"Can you just put on The Office? I don't want to watch something that makes me think." She whispers. 

I comply with her wish and wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer to my chest. Although I barely know her, I feel as if the slight crush I have on her is being influenced by who she is.

Soon, Heather is laughing softly and any sign of the past hour is gone from her features, besides the faint streaks where her tears ran down. Inside, I know better than to believe that all her emotions are settled.

(A/N) This was a hard chapter to write, so I'm sure it was hard for y'all to read. Thank you for staying with me through it.