Her shoulders collapsed in and she covered her face with her hands. “What will everyone think? This is so embarrassing.” The muscles on her neck tensed, and she shook her head.
I reached over and pulled her against my chest. She seemed to like the pressure before. “Would you stop worrying about other people? Focus on you. I couldn’t care less about anyone else right now.” I placed my chin on top of her head. “What do you need, Faith?” I rubbed my hands down her arms, trying to release the tight muscles.
She rubbed her hands down her throat. “Just stop. Please stop…” she begged.
I stepped back and held my hands in front of me. “Sorry, I’m not sure how to help.”
“No.” Her neck flexed, and she took short gasps. “Not you.”
It seemed difficult for her to answer besides clipped answers.
I nodded. Her jaw tensed over and over.
“Faith.”
She looked at the ground, gasping. I grabbed her hands in mine and leaned down so I could see her eyes. She seemed miles away. “Faith, please look at me,” I whispered, not wanting my voice to add to her stress. I reached into my truck and grabbed my coach jacket and put it over her shoulders. Her gaze met mine before they flicked away. She tilted her chin up, her breathing still too fast and too shallow.
My blood ran colder than the freezing temperature outside. Was she okay? What should I do? “Faith, I don’t know how to help?” The weakness in my voice was something I would break apart later. “Do I take you to the hospital?”
She shook her head no. “Hold me.” She muttered between gasps. “Tight.”
I closed the distance between us, pulling her body against mine, grateful for her direction of how to help. Her tiny frame wascompletely swallowed by my own. I reached down and grabbed her hand in mine, and then I placed her palm on my chest, so she could feel it rise and fall.
I took slow, deliberate breaths, hoping she would follow subconsciously.
It seemed to help.
Breathe in…hold for three…breathe out.
Repeat.
We stood there, her reeling, and me desperately trying to protect her from some unseen danger.
I hadn’t seen her jaw flex for a bit.
I kept up my slow, exaggerated breathing.
She released a tight, shaky breath of air.
“Good.” I whispered.
Slowly, she seemed to reset with her breathing and her whole body was shaking.
She groaned. “Why am I like this?” She buried her face into my chest, and I squeezed her hand under mine. “I’m so embarrassed.”
I could tell her body was resetting, and by her response, this had happened before. “Hey, you’re okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Yeah, right.” She shook her head against my chest and avoided my eyes. “I just want to be normal.” She whimpered.
I looked at the snow that was falling in tiny flurries around us. “We all came unique. Kinda like snowflakes.” I shrugged. “Think of how boring everything would be if we were all the same.”
“Well, I think my snowflake is bad.” Some of the color was returning to her face, and the muscles in her arms were now relaxed.
I laughed, my fear settling. “I remember someone telling me once there wasn’t good or bad, just different.” I winked at her.
“You can’t use my own logic against me.” Her cheek rested on my chest. I hoped she didn’t feel my own erratic heartbeat.
“You know, if you wanted to get me alone outside, you could have just asked.”
