Page 120 of Cold-Blooded Creatures
“Yes, you can.” Zion ripped my hand away from my neck. “Focus on squeezing my fingers as hard as you can. Break them.”
“Inhale.” Gedeon stroked my both-on-fire-and-freezing back in an upward motion.
I begged my lungs to execute his command. If they dismissed my pleas as not satisfactory enough, maybe they’d listen to him. But air hit the wall inside my trachea, bounced off it, and I choked.
“That’s okay. We will try again,” Gedeon encouraged. “Inhale.”
Zion’s grip squashed the bones in my hand and a shriek rippled through me from the sudden pain, shocking me enough for air to drift into my lungs.
“Exhale.” Gedeon caressed lower, and I expelled that precious swirl of air, wishing I wouldn’t have to release it. Tears streamed down my cheeks, as if their saltiness could trap it.
Ten more times, I went along with his rhythm. My pulse slowed enough for the street outside to come into focus.
“Can you talk?” Zion asked.
“I thi— I think so,” I whispered.
“Name any three things you see. Doesn’t matter what, any three things will do,” he said.
“The roofs.” I inhaled per Gedeon’s order moving up my back, this time deeper. “The night outside. The full moon.”
“Now, can you tell me three things you hear?”
“People in the street, the wind, the noise from the hall,” I rushed out, in turn losing the rhythm and panting.
“Breathe in.” Gedeon continued his pace. “Breathe out.”
“Now the last one. Can you tell me three things you feel?” Zion tucked my sweaty hair behind my ears, as if he knew it made it easier to breathe.
“You.” I inhaled deeply. “Gedeon’s hand on my back.” I exhaled deliberately slowly and blinked as my vision sharpened. “The breeze.”
“You are doing so good. So good.” Gedeon rubbed my lower back, away from my weighted lungs. “How do you feel?”
“I’m…better.” I turned around, swaying slightly. “I think.”
He swiped the wetness from under my eyes and the concern drawing his eyebrows together made more spill immediately after.
He cared.
He had come to find me.
They both had.
“I don’t know what that was.” I clutched the edge of the windowsill as my knees grew weak.
Zion brought a chair for me, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and began dabbing my cheeks with it to soak up the tears. A situation as such, and yet he’d found a way to do a crazy thing. A fleeting smile tugged on my lips.
“You had a panic attack.” Gedeon situated himself in another seat and rested his elbows on his thighs. “Have you always had them?”
“Panic attacks? No.” I stuck my palms between my thighs to restrain them from going to my throat. “How did you know what it was?”
“His sister used to have them. I learned how to calm someone down from watching him take care of her.”
Zion put his t-shirt back on and lowered to the floor at my feet. Between his bent legs, he positioned the tip of his knife on the floor. His forefinger on top of the handle held the blade in place as his thumb spun the instrument around its axis. The steel gleamed in the faint moonlight streaming through the windows, and the flickers morphed into realization.
“Is that the knife—” I cut off, my voice too loud for such a question. “The one your sister used when you found her?” I whispered.
His head dropped on his chest.
