Page 26 of Play Dirty

“I…” My breath is choppy. “I need… I’m having… a panic…attack.”

“Okay.” Without a word, he scoops me into his arms. “Hey! My girlfriend is hypoglycemic and needs to get out. Can someone help us please?”

The guy with the chainsaw is immediately behind us. “Yeah, come on—follow me.”

And just like that, we wind through a bunch of hallways with the chainsaw guy saying “medical emergency” as we go past each subsequent room and scene.

Finally, I see the exit sign and he motions us out.

“Hope you feel better,” he says in a perfectly reasonable voice, unlike his chainsaw bearing persona.

The minute we’re outside, Marty carries me to a nearby bench and puts me down.

“What can I do?” he asks, kneeling in front of me. His dark eyes are filled with concern—not annoyance or frustration, just worry. He’s not worried that I embarrassed him or ruined his good time. He’s just concerned about me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It was too much like—” I cut myself off. I really don’t like talking about what happened.

“Like what happened to you,” he finishes my sentence.

All I can do is nod. I still feel a little shaky and clammy, but my heart is starting to slow down.

“Do you want me to get you some water?”

I shake my head. “No. Please don’t leave me alone.”

“Okay.” He sinks onto the bench next to me. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes.”

He puts his arm around me and pulls me to his side. I hesitate for a second but then drop my head onto his shoulder.

You’re safe, Stevie. This isn’t Damien. Marty is safe.

I don’t know why I know this, but I do.

So we sit there for a few minutes, until I start to feel like myself again.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks softly.

“I talked about it ad nauseum with my therapist,” I say. “I’m so tired of that day defining who I am and how I live my life. But I guess I’m not past it.”

“It’s been what? Eight months? That’s not a long time for a major trauma.”

“I love haunted houses,” I whisper, suddenly battling tears. “Lovethem. Stephen King is my unicorn author.The Birdsis one of my all-time favorite movies. The Haunted Mansion at Disney is my favorite ride. I love Halloween…” A tear slides down my cheek and I swipe at it in annoyance. “I hate that he took that from me.”

“You’ll love those things again,” he says quietly. “I promise. It’ll just take time.”

“Thank you,” I say. “Seriously. For being here. For getting me out of there—that was quick thinking, saying I was hypoglycemic.”

“I think legally they have to be ready to help in a medical emergency, versus a panic attack. I just wanted to get you out.”

“Well, I appreciate it. I appreciate you. You’re becoming a good friend, Marty.”

“I’m glad.” He leans over and presses a light kiss on my forehead.

My eyes close and we sit there for a little longer.

While my heart rate goes back to normal and my thoughts stop racing.

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