Page 97 of Eye of the Hurricane
“Can you come here?” I choke the words out through gasps for air.
“Are you okay?” I sit down on the kitchen floor exactly where I’m standing, not bothering to walk to the couch.
“I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I snap.
“I’m on my way. Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to stay on the phone with you until I get there?”
“Yes.”
I don’t even comprehend the minutes between him telling me he’d stay on the line and when he walks through my front door. I spend that time trapped in a loop of counting heartbeats per minute and forcing air into my lungs. I feel like I’m living manually right now.
As soon as he steps inside the house his eyes fall to me and his features soften. In three long strides, he’s next to me and dropping to the floor beside me.
“Honey…” he breathes, pulling me into his lap. “What happened?”
“Promise me you won’t laugh at me,” I demand. He offers me his pinky finger for a promise. “I think I’m having a heart attack. I know it’s crazy but I’ve been so stressed with this job interview and I feel like I can’t breathe… like I can’t catch my breath… and my heart is racing. I feel weird. Like impending doom.”
“A panic attack, honey.” He gathers my hair in his hands and pulls it up off of my neck. He pulls the hair tie off of my wrist and ties my hair into what I’m sure is the worst bun ever done.
“What?”
“You’re having a panic attack, not a heart attack.” He pulls my back to his chest.
“How do you know?”
“Audra has them. She has since we were kids,” he tells me.
“I’ve never had one. I don’t even have anxiety. Are you sure?” He presses a firm palm to the center of my chest to feel my heart.
“I’m sure,” he confirms. The assurance that this isn’t going to be the thing that kills me takes a weight off of my shoulders. I huff a breath, loosening the tenseness in my muscles. I slump my weight against his body. “Breathe.”
I drag in a few breaths and he lets out a chuckle. “Breathe slower.”
“I can’t,” I whine.
“You can. Match your breathing to mine. Pay attention to the rise and fall of my chest under you. Focus on that,” he instructs. I do as he says and I laser my focus on his breathing. At every inhale, I drag in a breath of my own. Slowly but surely I feel my body calm down.
“Is this how you help Audra?” I ask and he laughs.
“Definitely not.”
“How’d you know what to do?”
“Instinct I guess. I just saw you on the floor hugging your knees and everything in my body was begging to hold you and make it better,” he admits.
A similar spark of panic ignites at his words. Lately, things between us don’t feel like we’re faking any of it. To the extent that I’m not sure we ever were.
It would be so easy to melt into this. To let him hold me the rest of the day and into the night. To be done with the plan and let him show me what life could be like.
Except I won’t let myself have this. Not until I know if I got the position. Not until I know if all of the focus and work paid off.
