A grunt leaves him, but I’m not sure what the cause of it is. I wish I could see him. Feel his presence next to me instead of just through the phone. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“My chest,” I say, trying to get another lungful of air, “is tight. I’ve tried calming myself down, but… I can’t. All I keep thinking about is the room filling up with water again.”
“It was the same dream as the last time?”
I swallow down a hard gulp and let my eyes flutter shut. “Yes, but it was so much worse.” The water rushed in faster, and Lance and Larissa were quicker in their retreat. All the love Lance once had for me vanished completely as he berated me with a cold heart and colder words.
“Alright,” he breathes out. “You’re going to be okay, you hear me? Keep trying to pull in those deep breaths. While you do that, can you close your eyes for me?”
I sink back into the wall, my shoulders relaxing a fraction.You’re not alone anymore. There’s someone here with you. Andhe’s going to help you. He’s not going to leave you stranded. He’s not going to spit vicious words at you or make you think you’re your own worst enemy.
He’s not going to let you drown, Emory.
“They are closed already.”
“Perfect. We’re going to focus on our other senses until that weight you feel in the middle of your chest gets lighter and lighter.”
I nod even though he can’t see me, my head rocking against the wall. I whisper, “Okay.”
“Focus on your sense of touch. What do you feel at this moment? It can be anything, Emory. There’s no wrong answer or way to describe it.”
“I…” I consider his words, really trying to let go and soak in his question.What do I feel?My arm is bent, my hand holding the phone up to my ear, and it’s warm from my grip on it. “The phone. It’s heavy in my hand but not too much. And my body… I feel the way it’s pressed against the floor and wall.”
“Is the floor cold?”
I think about that for a second. “Yes. I didn’t realize it before because I’m having a hot flash.”
A rough breath comes through the receiver and then, “What else?”
“It’s cold and hard; the floor and the wall. It’s uncomfortable, but in a way, the opposite, too. It feels better than the bed.” Anywhere else would be better than lying on that mattress after the vivid nightmares I have.
My breath hitches at the thought, and I realize I’m in the middle ground, in this territory between wanting to feel better and not.
Dawson must notice because he says, “Keep breathing. In through your nose and out through your mouth. I want to hear it, Emory.”
I suck in a sharp breath, my nostrils narrowing as I follow his directions. My chest expands, and I try to find that weightlessness. I chase it like I’m a kid again, trying to catch the butterflies I always found so pretty.
“That’s it. You’re doing so good, honey.”
His praise catches me by surprise and those flying little creatures zip through my stomach, especially when I stumble on my breath and lock in on one word in particular—honey.
I’m not sure he even realizes he says it because he just keeps talking. “One more time. Let me hear your breath again. And don’t cut yourself short. Relax into it and loosen your body. Wherever your muscles feel tight, actively try to release your hold on them.”
I give myself a mental once-over, noticing that he’s right. My shoulders and jaw and calves are beyond rigid, like they’re bracing for a fall or hit that’s two seconds out. In reality, the impact never comes, but I’m stuck in that place, preparing for collision anyway.
I roll my shoulders to smooth out the tightness in them. My jaw is next. I unhinge it and let it hang, forcing the joint to open up and unwind. I breathe, and then do the same to my calves, loosening them the best I know how.
“Okay, I’m done. I was more tense than I realized.”
“I know,” he murmurs, like he’s right next to me smoothing his hands down over my shoulders and arms as he assesses how my panic attack physically affects me. His soft breathing sounds through the phone, and I let it brush against the shell of my ear and across my skin until it’s theonlything I feel.
He whispers, “Are you safe?”
It’s disheartening knowing I have to think about it rather than it being an instinctive response. I open my eyes, seeing the glowing light of the fixture over the mirror and sink. It waterfallsdown over the small space, reaffirming that I am, in fact, inside my house and not in the middle of the ocean.
“I’m safe,” I confirm quietly.
I breathe a little easier knowing that there’s nothing around me that can get me, that can take me and hold me down to a point that I can’t get oxygen. That anxiousness that had me in its grasp minutes ago sizzles out, the edges of it dulling to a point that I almost feel as though I can manage my emotions.
