She grabs on to my arm, her nails digging into my skin in desperation. “I’m dying… I can’t breathe…” she begs, gasping for air. The raw fear in her voice tears my heart to shreds and sends a chill down my spine.
“Skylar… baby, you’re fine. Look at me.” She raises her tear-filled, frantic eyes to meet mine. “You can breathe. You’re not dying, I promise. Drink this, okay? I promise it’ll go down.”
Gasping for breath, she says, “I can’t, I can’t…”
Mentally, she’s in another place—not here with me at all. It’s there in the terror in her eyes and the anguished trembling of her lips. She’s been sucked back into time, gripped by a childhood memory that hasn’t let go.
I had no idea how deep her fears ran, how strong of a hold they have on her. This isn’t just an eating disorder. It’s as if a monster is terrorizing her, threatening to kill her.
“You’re okay. I promise.” I hold the bottle to her lips. “Sip a tiny bit. The water’ll make it soft and it’ll go down.”
Pushing the bottle away, she gags and sucks in a breath. “I’m gonna pass out… I’m gonna die…”
I shake my head. “You’re fine. Trust me.” I hold the bottle to her lips again. “Just sip it. I’m right here. I’m not going to let you die.”
She’s not even close to dying. But she believes she is. Her demons are real. She didn’t leave them behind in that dump of a house. They’re right here, inhabiting her damn soul, convincing her she’s going to choke to death.
With shaking hands, she grasps the bottle and slowly swallows the water.
“It’s still there…” she sobs hopelessly as more tears spill from her eyes. My heart is wrecked seeing her like this. Maybe I should take her to a hospital. I’m not equipped to take care of someone having a serious emotional breakdown.
“Keep drinking,” I say, holding out hope that we can avoid a trip to the ER. “It’ll take a sec.”
I watch her take small sips of water, waiting for that fucker to dislodge out of her throat, and the moment it happens, I see it. Her eyes light up, her grip around the bottle loosens, and she gulps more water.
Finally, she lets out a deep, shuddering sigh. “I think it’s gone,” she whispers.
“See?” I rip off some toilet paper and hand it to her. “You’re okay.”
Sniffling, she wipes her face and blows her nose.
“Jude… I’m so sorry—”
“Hey,” I interrupt. “Don’t apologize.”
“I’m so embarrassed.” She hides her face in her hands. “I couldn’t breathe… I choked when I was little… I was so scared.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” She shakes her head and moves her hands to clutch the back of her neck. “I’m a mess. I thought I was getting better.”
“You are getting better. It’s not an overnight thing. I’m sure the doctor told you that.”
She nods weakly. “Yeah…”
“So, it’s normal to still go through stuff. You’ve been in therapy less than a month. Go easy on yourself.”
Standing, I hold my hand out to her and help her up.
“Splash your face with some water, it’ll make you feel better. We’ll go finish the movie. No more popcorn.” I chew the inside of my cheek and study her blotchy face—such a change from how happy and cute she looked earlier. “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have asked you to eat it.”
Guilt weighs heavy in my gut. This was my fault.
I’m an asshole.
“It’s not your fault I choked on your popcorn dog.” A faint smile tips her lips.
“It is. I’ll own it. But hey,” I touch her chin and lift her face up, “If I thought you were choking, or dying, there’s no way in hell I’d just sit here. I’d have you at the hospital fast as fuckin’ lightning. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know,” she says softly. Her body is still shaking as if she’s freezing. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Giving her space, I take the dog for a walk in the yard and smoke a quick cigarette while staring up at the moon. Seeing Skylar so scared and upset was unsettling. But witnessing it only solidifies that I did the right thing marrying her. She needs help to get better. No one should have to go through life being so terrified of food.
She’s waiting for me in the living room when I get back inside, and she looks incredibly young and vulnerable sitting in the middle of the couch.
I sit next to her. “Feel better?”
“A little. I still feel shaky and my heart is pounding.”
I hold my arm out to her. “Come here,” I say.
She eyes me hesitantly before slowly moving closer to me. When she leans against me and rests her head against my shoulder, I cover her with a light blanket from the back of the couch and gently put my arm around her.