I’m somewhere in between dreaming and sleeping.

Water ripples with each heavy bang as a strong force pulls me forward, my body weak against the pressure. I let myself be taken, pulled through deep then shallow water, gasping once I’ve reached the surface. The pounding continues to rip me from my slumber every few seconds. But it’s not a simple knock on the door. It’s as if someone is heaving their entire body into it, shaking the sturdy wood from its hinges.

My mind races, rushing to make something of the noise. The darkness still handicaps my senses as I look around the room, slowly remembering that I’m in my father’s cottage in the middle of—somewhere. I can’t even think straight. Blood pumps through my veins, and I swear I can hear the dull thump of my heart.

Not a panic attack. Please, not now. It’s been so long since I’ve tried to control them on my own, but luckily my meds from this morning should still be flowing through my system.

I’ll be okay.

A heavy thud below jerks me fully awake. My eyes snap to the window at the head of my bed to find the swirl of debris and the whiplash of the trees as wind whistles and screams like a tea kettle’s warning. Wood cracks, then creaks beneath me, like a great force is smashing into it. I remind myself that this little cottage is surrounded by hundreds of acres of trees. If anything is trying to break in, it’s a fallen tree, or a squirrel, or…I don’t know. Clearly, I should have checked the weather before choosing tonight to arrive. If this cottage caves, then my search for enlightenment was a waste.

I slam my lids closed to focus on drowning out the noise. It’s just the storm. I release a long, steady breath and repeat the words like I’m soothing a scared child in my arms. But instead of relief, I feel starved of air. Usually it’s the darkness that helps me feels safe. But tonight, it seems to be making my panic attack worse. I need light.

Ripping the sheets from my body, I grab my phone and take the ladder to the bottom floor, then turn in a slow circle, checking out the rest of the house from here. Everything appears to be intact. I power on my phone and wait, but nothing happens. It’s dead.

A flicker of movement catches my eye from outside the kitchen door’s floor-to-ceiling window. I step closer, squinting and seeing nothing but the trees thrashing in the wind. My heart is pounding so hard and so fast on my retreat into the living room, I think it might explode.

A rumble of thunder shakes the house, followed immediately by a crash of lightning slamming into the ground right outside the cottage. I near the sliding glass doors to check the locks. I’ll feel safer once I double check every window, every door.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, I remind myself. No one even knows I’m here.

But the darkness finds me again, and everything tilts—my focus, my balance. My palms hit the glass door to steady me. My breaths come in gasps as I force my eyes to stay open, my only savior the orb of light exposed between two looming clouds.

The only way out of a panic attack is through it. My therapist’s words filter through the haze of my mind. Doctor Rohls taught me how to control the crippling anxiety as it washes over me. He trained me not to run from it. Running only makes it worse.

Breathe through it, he said. Feel it. Let yourself react to it. Your anxiety is normal, Aurora. Everyone has bouts of it, but what it manifests into is all in your mind. You want to encounter your triggers like you would any other fear. Stand up to it, breathe through it, and one day your mind will become immune.

There’s power in knowing I can take back control of my body when drowning feels so much easier. Once my breathing returns to normal, I give the handle a shake to confirm the latch is secure. There’s even a thick cylinder of wood wedged in the bottom slider for added security. A somber smile lifts my cheeks ever so slightly as a memory comes. A memory of my father securing the house each night before bed. The last thing he would do was check on the sliding window in my room downstairs, safeguarding it with a similar wooden dowel.

I turn in the direction of my old bedroom, which was also my father’s office. I slept on a pull-out couch that I could never pull out because the room was filled with so much stuff my father refused to organize. Every night, I’d wait for my father to go to bed before removing that piece of wood. My body hums at the reason why.

Jaxon Mills.

Here I go again. More thoughts of Jaxon. It’s been like this ever since my father’s death, when the attorney showed up on my doorstep with the gifted deed. Since my first visit to the cottage when I was eight years old, I considered Balsam Grove and Jaxon a package deal. But I didn’t come back here for him. That would be ridiculous. After the way we ended things, the reasons why, and the time it’s taken for me to even consider coming back… I’d be a fool to think there could be anything left between us. He’s probably long gone, anyway.

Another boom of thunder steals my attention, making me jump and turn my focus to the window. A flash illuminates the night, revealing a tall figure cloaked in a navy jacket, his head low with rain streaking down the front of the hood. A dark beard masks his face. I gasp as the man’s head tilts up, and his stormy eyes lock on mine.

Those eyes. I’d remember them anywhere.

“Jaxon?” The whisper slips out on a breath that comes straight from my heart. Could my mind be playing tricks on me? The man doesn’t look like Jaxon. At least, not like the Jaxon I left in that courtroom.

But those eyes…

Nature’s lightshow is just a flickering tease before darkness falls again. The figure backs up from the porch, trips down the steps, and stumbles off into the darkness, leaving me questioning everything I’ve missed over the past six years.

What happened to this small, tight-knit town after my father was convicted? What kind of people live here now? Will I remember any of them? Will they remember me? How long will I be here before I outstay my welcome?

My vision blurs. The pressure in my chest is too strong. I’m beginning to lose my balance, so I feel around to grasp something that can hold me up. My fingers brush against a wood cabinet beside me, but I miss my chance to grip it. I fall backward, my head hitting the floor in a thud.

The ache in my head is nothing. At least I can feel it. And this time when everything fades to black, I’m still conscious. Still aware. That’s good.

I’m not sure how long it takes for my breathing to even out again, but when it does, the storm has calmed and I’m able to stand back on my feet. Shuddering, I make my rounds, checking all the windows and locks before climbing the ladder and getting back into bed. I pull the covers up to my chin and conjure up the image of the man outside again. A man I desperately want to believe is Jaxon. So desperately, I could have easily imagined him.

Sometimes darkness settles over me like a blanket, quieting the noise and protecting me from exposure. Other times, when there’s too much to drown out, darkness becomes my mind’s prison. Complete solitude. No escape. My thoughts run rampant, chewing away at my peace like tiny insects. And in these moments, I’m reminded of just how alone I am.

In the six years since my father’s conviction, my life has been about rebuilding, settling onto a new path, and moving on. I thought after all this time, I was ready to take that final step and confront Balsam Grove. To ignore the demons dormant within me and stand on the soil of my past. But it’s clear to me now. In the last six years, I’ve been avoiding, and every step has been a step in the wrong direction. I know that now. Hopefully it’s not too late to find my way back, to move forward, and to feel right with myself again.

As I finally begin to sink into the haze of sleep, the man in the storm holds the spotlight in my mind. I can’t get over his eyes. They were the last thing I saw before he tripped off into the night and the last image that flashes through my mind before a yawn pulls me down. Eyes that lit up so clear, so gray, striking me right in the heart and reminding me of everything I once loved and lost.

Only now, I think they should terrify me.