Page 153 of Lady Killer

“Can’t . . . breathe . . .”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Stars danced in front of me.

“Aww, fuck, Luz.”

My weight suddenly shifted. An arm slipped from my waist to under my knees, my head swinging to land on Nixon’s shoulder.

“I got you. Calm down.” His words were spoken softly.

They weren’t helpful. If I could calm down, I would.

Time blurred, and the ache in my stomach subsided, but I still couldn’t breathe.

The world tilted again, and then I was on my back on a bed.

My breaths were coming in short, clipped bursts now as my chest heaved.

The bed dipped beside me.

“Just breathe.”

I let out a jagged, furious cry and rolled onto my side.

“Fuck, I’m shit at this,” Nixon murmured next to me.

How had I forgotten how to breathe? Could you forget howto breathe?

A warm, heavy hand came to rest on my back.

The storm raged on outside, but I could barely hear it over the thumping in my head.

Nixon said nothing else but began to slowly rub his hand up and down.

Finally, one breath slipped through, a little easier than before. My lungs gobbled up the oxygen.

I hiccupped and then another looser breath followed.

He kept rubbing my back.

The world still spun, but it was starting to slow down, and I released a long shuddering cry.

My breathing continued to slow down.

A wave of exhaustion slammed into me, and I fought to keep my eyes open . . .

I lost.

Once again, I woke up disoriented.

I was in my room . . . in my bed . . . but it was . . . the evening? Had I slept that long?

Swallowing brought back the reminder of what had happened to my throat.

That brought back the memory of what followed. Nixon . . . and then the panic attack that came after.

Rolling over, I grabbed my phone and checked the time. 1:23 p.m.

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