We’re two starved people who were locked up. Kissing her has unleashed something that I didn’t want to admit I needed this badly.
I’m walking. Carrying her. Storming across the asphalt parking lot behind the brick building. I’m trying to hurry it the fuck up and get us into the truck where she’ll hopefully feel somewhat safe, but she’s so sweet. Minty. My head spins and I almost forget where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing.
I raise my head just to make sure I’m not going to walk into anything, but as soon as I do, the panic crowds back in for her. Her eyes are wild, gone completely black, the pupils blown not just with pleasure, but with danger. She sucks in the first breath available to her and clutches me tighter. Her nails become claws, tearing scores in my neck, digging into my t-shirt, but at least the cotton provides some relief from the burning pain.
“You can’t- I’ll- I- take me… back inside,” she pants between massive pulls of breath.
I can see that she’s surprised, though. She’s realizing that shecanstill breathe. That being out here, in my arms, when I promised that I wouldn’t let anything happen to her, that I’d fight the whole world for her if I had to, isn’t a solution, but she’s conscious.
She shakes her head madly, wild eyes rushing side to side, trying to sweep around her. It’s night. There are streetlights on the road that runs in front of the building, but not as many as there should be, and the parking lot itself has no lighting. It’s dark. Does that make it better or worse for her, when the sky seems closer and most things are disguised and cloaked in shadow?
“You have to take me back inside,” she whimpers. “Please.” She angles her face and buries it in my shirt.
Her tears soak through the fabric a few seconds later. All I can do is stroke her back and increase my pace. I don’t want to let her go. I’m afraid that if I do, she will have a full blown panic attack. I’ve had a few myself in the past, and nothing convinces you that you’re dying like one of those bastards.
“I’m not going to do that. You need to get out of there. You need to go someplace where you can heal.”
She goes totally rigid against me. She’s either going to relent or she’ll explode out of my arms like a wild animal and take off racing for the back door. She doesn’t have her keys. She won’t be able to get it open. I don’t want her to hurt herself trying to get back in.
I’m aware that this isn’t right, but all I’ve done is read about people who have overcome this, or are still living with it, but are fighting back. Everything I read from those cases of healing, or enduring, pointed to the fact that experiencing the discomfort and surviving it anyway, is the most successful way through.
I still feel like an asshole.
Every single one of those people said they were sure they would die. It was excruciating. But once they got through the other side and realized they didn’t, they could start rebuilding their lives.
“The cats! I can’t leave them.”
Holy fucking fuck. How could I have forgotten the cats? I didn’t see them either time I was in her apartment, but she wroteme plenty of letters that mentioned them. I still remember the day she brought them home. Pumpkin and Sprite.
Why the hell didn’t I plan properly for this?
Right. Because I was too busy trying to think how I could break into a building and then an apartment, kidnap a woman, and get her back to my place so that both of us survived the whole thing.
Loreena starts sucking in sharp breaths. Each one is more hoarse, gasping and ragged, than the last. The gasping sound is punctuated with little whimpers.
I didn’t expect the fact that I’m here to miraculously make Loreena better. I did think that it would make some difference, knowing that she could use me as a shield.
I finally get to the truck. I left the doors unlocked so I wouldn’t have to take time fumbling with them. It’s the type where I have to open the driver’s side door before I can get into the back. That takes more than enough effort. I finally wrangle the stupid thing open and edge Loreena inside. She immediately scoots up, kicking her feet against my chest for leverage.
She gasps and retches, wheezes and gags, but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was in her apartment. The panic is already loosening its hold now that she’s covered. I block her view of the exit, leaning in. Nothing is going to get through me. She can ground herself against the seat. She’s safe in here.
“Loreena.” She reacts when I say her name, though her eyes are so wide, the whites shining whiter than they should, her irises almost entirely black. “Hey. Look at me. You’re in the truck. Nothing is going to hurt you here. Feel the seatunderneath you. It’s an ugly old truck, but the seat is solid. Nothing is going to get through me.”
Her hands wrench in front of her. They’re zip tied, but she has a feral look on her face like she’d enjoy lunging at me and tearing me to shreds.
“What’s out there?” I ask her. “What can come in here now and get us? What are you afraid of? Will you let me fight it?”
“I- I- I’m just… I don’t know. I’m just scared.”
“That’s fair.”
The sweet taste of her still lingers on my tongue. The kiss woke my body up in ways that it hasn’t been aroused in a decade.
Only an asshole would be hard right now. I don’t want to be an asshole. I just want to help her. It’s not her fear or distress that turns me on. It was the kiss, her willingness and hunger for it, and just having her so close. It’s the fact that for the past ten years, I’ve been celibate. I haven’t been so much as touched with affection or kindness, and now my whole body is on sensory overload.
“I hear that you’re scared.” I want to affirm her. I want to let her know that I do, in fact, care. That this wasn’t just me kidnapping her because I’m going off halfcocked. “I do hear that you’re afraid, but fear isn’t rational for the most part. It’s your brain telling your body to flee or to fight so that you can survive. Sometimes, it gets it wrong. I know you don’t want to believe me right now. Your brain is giving you all the wrong signals. It’s telling you that you aren’t safe, and that you’re not going to be okay, but you are. I promise, you are. I’m here. I’m right here. Just focus on my breaths.” I lean and take her hands, tugging them gently up to my chest. “Can you count those beats?”
“I can’t,” she moans. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”
