"What is it?"Enya's voice behind me.Small.Scared.Breaking.
I turn, and she sees my face.Sees whatever expression I'm wearing.Sees the note in my hand.
Her face goes white.
"Let me see it."
“Enya—”
"Let me see it."Her voice is stronger now, demanding."I need to see it."
I hand it over.Watch her read it.Watch the color drain completely from her face.Watch her legs start to give out.
I catch her before she falls and pull her against me, one arm around her waist, the other cradling her head against my chest.
"Breathe," I say quietly, steadily."Just breathe."
But she can't.She's shaking, her whole body trembling violently, and gasping for air like she's drowning.
"He was here," she chokes out."He was right outside.Right there.He could’ve…he could’ve…”
"But he didn't.You're safe.I'm here."
"He knows where I live.He knows what door.He knows…”
"Enya.Look at me."
She does, eyes wide and terrified and lost.
"You're safe.Right now, in this moment, you're safe.I've got you.I'm not letting go."
She nods shakily, but she's still gasping, still shaking, still somewhere else in her head where I can't reach her.
"Come on."I guide her to the couch, sit her down, and kneel in front of her."Five things you can see.Tell me,” I say, remembering the talk we had last night in bed when she told me what her therapist gets her to do when she feels the panic rising, when everything starts to feel like it’s caving in.
“What…”
"Five things you can see.Right now."
She blinks.Focuses."The...the coffee table.Your face.The window.My phone.The..."She stops.Breathes."The lamp."
"Good.Four things you can touch."
She reaches out shakily.Touches my hand.The couch cushion.Her own knee.The throw blanket.
"Three things you can hear."
"Your voice.The radiator.Traffic outside."
"Good.You're doing good.Two things you can smell."
"Coffee.Your...your cologne or aftershave or whatever."
"One thing you can taste."
"The coffee.Still in my mouth.Too strong."
She laughs, weak and broken but real, then presses her face into her hands and breaks.
