As far as panic attacks went, this one was a doozy.
Anytime I was even the slightest bit upset, the same two damn things always happened. My throat would close until I could barely swallow. Then I’d throw up. I dug my fingers into the grass. Something was rising from deep within me, and it was going to force its way to the top no matter how hard I fought.
Maybe I should have let it surface. Maybe it would have freed me from all this upheaval. But the woman I was at forty-eight didn’t have the common sense that my eighteen-year-old self had. Or the emotional anchor of another person to pull me back from the edge.
When I was young, my mother had been a pro at talking me down from panic attacks. They’d happened almost daily after she died, and Agatha had taken over for her. In college, I learned a dozen tools to help my clients when they were lost in emotion. Still, the basic technique from my childhood was still the most effective.
I reached into the dregs of my memories to find their voices, buried deep.
Something about senses. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them wide.
First, name five things I can see. A magic house. A magic town. Fresh daisies. Purple people. A talking cat.
Next, name four things I can touch. A shirt altered to my body. Pants that fit my short legs. The cold stone of my mother’s burial site. The tears on my cheeks.
I couldn’t think straight. Three things I could hear? Wasn’t that next?
The rush of blood in my ears. A whimpering sound that apparently came from me. A bird chirping overhead as if it had any right to be so damn cheerful.
I let out a frustrated grunt, shocking the laughing family. They mumbled something to one another, then walked away, leaving me alone.
Except I wasn’t alone. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. A wake of chills blanketed my skin. I was being watched.
I hauled myself up, brushing dirt off my pants and peered around the corner of the mausoleum. Squinting, I could just make it out.
A dog. But if it was a dog, it was a massive one. It was like a wolf. A wolf that, even crouching behind a gravestone, could not hide how tall it was. Its eyes bore into me. They were familiar enough that I debated taking a step forward, which was testament to just how far gone I was.
Sure, Simone. Walk toward the not-at-all-native animal that looks like it could eat you with one bite.
“Fancy a pet, CC?” I let out a squeak as Gumbo weaved his lanky frame around my legs. “You still get panic attacks?”
I glanced down at Gumbo, then back to where the wolf stood seconds earlier. There was nothing there.
“I think I’m hallucinating.” I plopped down to the earth. “I think I’m broken, Gumbo.”
“You’re going to be fine. I can help.” Gumbo rubbed his tail against me, his adorable little voice lightening my mood. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment while my thoughts ricocheted around my head like a manic ping-pong ball. “Pet the kitty whose fur is softer than silk.”
The cat talked me down. A talking cat talked me down from a panic attack. Sure.
Gradually, while Gumbo reassured me, my emotional tunnel widened, and my chest opened. His purr was like a vibration that connected me to the universe, giving me a feeling of being rooted in place that I hadn’t realized I longed for. My stomach settled, though I wished I had a soda or something to absorb the acid. Something cool and wet cupped my palm. A glass of ginger ale, packed in ice.
“Did you do that?”
“Did I do what?” Gumbo’s bow and nails were now a bright lime green.
“This.” I waved my glass. “What happened to your ear?”
“A battle. Long ago.” Gumbo’s words were a slur. He adjusted again and curled onto my lap, tucking his tail and paws underneath like a talking, furry potato, his eyes on the glass in my hand. “You must have done that. House is too tired.”
I replayed the past few moments in my head. I didn’t remember saying I wanted a soda out loud. Of all the strange things that had happened, though, a mystical soda seemed the least important. “House?”
“It only has so much energy these days, and the board meeting ran long. That’s not completely your fault. The Twins’ shenanigans didn’t help matters.” For a moment, the cute kitten facade faded, and his voice was rough and angry. “I knew they would toy with you. Irksome fools.
“With their mayhem, your questions, and holding two Supremes in one space, the meeting took more power than usual. House doesn’t exactly have it in spades right now.” His innocent kitty voice was back. He stretched his paws, circled again, then settled with his head resting on my knee.
“Two Supremes?”
“I’m sure Ethan will explain it all tomorrow.” Gumbo closed his eyes.
