Their Paid Girl

Their Paid Girl - Part 33

[Re-cap]:

          “What are you talking about, Shawna?” he demanded in a tight voice.

          I opened my mouth to wave away my words. My shoulders were ready to shrug it off. My hair was positioned perfectly for one tilt of the head, and the curtain would close on my face, blocking him out.

          So I scared myself when, instead of hearing the word “Nothing,” casually come from my throat, I heard myself burst into tears.

***

{Part 33} 

          I sniffled, trying to get myself back in control, but the damn tears wouldn’t stop flowing and I’d forgotten how to turn them off. I hadn’t cried like this in front of anyone in a long time, and somewhere in the back of my mind, the humiliation was getting unbearable as I gave a hiccup, my crying now turning into full-out sobbing.

          Adam had frozen as soon as I’d burst into tears, letting our car come to a stop in the middle of the road. An angry honking suddenly blared out behind us, jolting Adam out of his transfixed state, and he slammed down on the gas pedal so that we lurched sideways and onto the shoulder of the road.

          The traffic that had been behind us started moving again, cars now speeding past us as we sat at the side of the road, with me completely falling apart in front of Adam, the most worshipped guy on campus who really had better things to be doing on a Saturday morning than seeing girls lose it.

          “You’re crying,” Adam finally observed in a horrified voice, “Oh, God, why are you crying? No – please don’t.”

          If some other girl had been crying and I’d been observing, I would have found Adam’s reaction funny. His eyes held an almost panicked look as he helplessly stared at me in the passenger seat of his car, bawling.

          “I’m s-s-sorry,” I cried, “I c-can’t s-s-top.” I wrestled with the uncontrollable emotion that was literally pouring out of me, desperately trying to find the switch that had held me together for so long.

          Adam was mumbling something under his breath, running one hand through his thick dark hair in a helpless gesture. I didn’t blame him for not knowing what to do; heck, even I didn’t know where this was coming from or why I couldn’t stop.

          “Tissues? Food? Water? Back rub? Make-out session?” Adam muttered, rummaging around for something in the cabinet between our seats. I realized he was still trying to figure out what to do to get me to stop crying, and I gave a hiccup that was half-laugh, half-sob.

          “I’m ok-k-k-ay,” I gave a shuddering gasp, trying to breathe deeply.

          “Breathing, yeah,” Adam said, now handing me enough tissues to wrap his car with three times, “Air is good.”

          I quieted down after a few minutes, and every so often I gave a deep, shuddering breath that hitched on the way out, the way a person’s body gets after hysterics. The tears wouldn’t stop flowing, but at least I wasn’t making the gasping noises anymore.

          Red and splotchy from the crying and embarrassment, I dabbed at my face and cautiously peeked over at Adam. He hadn’t moved since giving me the tissues and instead sat frozen, like he thought that by not moving, I’d calm down faster.