I wish my mother were here. She always recognized the signs, like when I started pulling on my fingers as if trying to lengthen them, or when I rolled back my shoulders and rocked my head back and forth; something was triggering me.
It’d gotten worse after my eighteenth birthday, but my mother always said it was fine, and we’d sort it out together. She insisted that when we took that trip for my twenty-first birthday, everything would be better.
She never explained, but I always trusted my mother. She always knew what was best for me, and she always kept me safe.
Now there was no one to soothe my unease. If anything, I was surrounded by those who seemed to trigger it more frequently.
With a sigh, I forced myself to stop pacing the house. I needed to calm down before Liam arrived, or he
