[Book One]
Agatha Miller Nash thought she was finally starting to have the perfect life she always dreamed of while growing up.
She had a job that made her feel proud of herself, the man that she would spend the rest of her life with, and a place s...
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F O U R T E E N
There are infinite things I hate about suffering from an anxiety disorder.
The two things that I hate the most are the constant excessive worrying and irrational thoughts. Many people that suffer from the disorder get attack by symptoms without any care of where they are or what they are doing. Even when the symptoms attack me whenever they want, they love to present themselves at night.
Tonight it was one of those nights, and I was sure it was due to the anonymous letters and messages I have been receiving.
The thought of someone being out there waiting for the perfect moment to hurt me was eating me alive. No matter how hard I tried to think of who could be capable of doing such a thing, my mind would go blank.
There was a person back in Florida in which things did not end well between us, but there was no reason for them to want to hurt me. It was the other way around. I wanted to hurt them, but if I did, it would never change what they did to me.
Yanking the comforter off my sweaty body, I groaned loudly in frustration. I have been twisting and turning in bed for the past two hours trying to fall asleep, but the thoughts would not let me do such a simple thing.
The restlessness was starting to frustrate me; I need all the rest I can get, considering I have a 24-hour shift tomorrow, and if I do not get enough sleep, it will be one hell of a day for me and everyone else. I admit that I am not proud of sharing my agitation with others, but suffering from such disorder kind of blinds a person and their behaviors.
The only way I could distract myself was either baking or reading, but the kitchen already looked like a bakery, and I was mentally exhausted to read. Hating myself for what I was about to do, I slipped on an oversize hoodie I stole from Buck covering my pajama shorts and a tank top.
Quietly, I wiped the tears forming in my eyes and found my way up the stairs walking slower than a turtle. Part of me was screaming to go back into my room and deal with all this on my own while the other part kept telling me to keep walking.
The room was dark, but I could make out Buck's figure in the darkness. The sheets barely covered his sprawled body while one of the pillows was about to fall off the bed. Shaking my head, I bit my lower lip, holding in a chuckle. He was a terrible sleeper.
I approached the bed quietly, his deep breathing igniting me with jealousy. I would give anything to be peacefully sleeping like he was. I let out a soft sigh and poke him on the arm. Buck stirred in his sleep, letting out a small hum. I poke him again this time a little harder than before.
Evan lifted his head slightly, "Agatha?" His deep raspy voice sent shivers down my spine.
I cleared my throat, suddenly embarrassed that I woke him up. "I'm sorry for um— I can't seem to fall asleep," I closed my eyes, cursing under my breath. I sounded like a scared four-year-old.
