“Some guy’s cherry vape.” I breathe in. “Stale coffee.” I can’t smell it, but I assume there’s that smell. “Pizza.”
The voice laughs, and something about it calms me. “That’s my lunch. Once we get you somewhat regulated I’ll share it. Can you take two medium breaths?”
Inhale … Exhale. Inhale … Exhale.
“Awesome, let’s work with colors. Can you find something black?”
Female. Whoever I’m talking to is female.
“My shoes.”
“Can you find something pink?”
“The stripes on your shirt.”
“Can you find something green?”
I already said the astroturf. “Your eyes.”
Green eyes surrounded by long lashes. Eyes that seem so familiar. The voice that feels like a soft hug. Pink lips curling into a smile.
“Take one deep breath.”
Inhale, hold, exhale.
“Find one thing to touch.”
I reach for the hands that grip my arms and clutch onto them. “Your hands.”
“Great job.” Her face finally comes into view. The darkness around the edges of my world fades, but the lingering pressure on my chest won’t release its grip.
I can see who is standing in front of me. The concerned wrinkles at the sides of her eyes tell me she doesn’t think this is over. The roundness of her cheeks, the sparks of pink on her lips, her clothes. But this is wrong. I can see it and it doesn’t make any sense.
Kitten.
“We can go through it all again. I think you need a little more time.” She leads me to the patio chair and continues to hold my hands.
I shake my head. “No. I’m good.”
She frowns and gives me the biggest side-eye. “Oh, that’s not true.” She sits down on the chair across from me and a low rumble of air escapes her ass. She freezes and lifts her head. “It is very important to me that you know—that was the cushion. I did not fart.”
“It’s fine. Everyone does it.”
Her eyebrows raise. “I know, and when I do, I can clear a room, but I don’t want you falsely assuming I farted. It was the cushion.” She wiggles around. No sound. “Oh, come on!”
“I’m in the middle of a panic attack; I don’t care if you farted.” Her concerns are seriously out of whack. Why is she acting like this? It is kinda distracting, though.
She pushes her hair back and shifts. “Well, I’m very worried about it. What a shitty first impression, literally. And this fucking chair is making a liar out of me.” Oh, wait, she is trying to distract me to de-escalate the panic attack. It’s not going to work how she thinks it will.
“I kinda have bigger issues right now—my insurance cut off my meds, and I’m going to die.”
Saying it aloud almost starts the panic again. Worse, the shock and concern all over Kitten’s face makes it so much more real.
But she raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, but did you fart in front of a really hot guy?”
The laughter escapes my lungs, a cathartic rush of emotion.
“No, but I did just have a sweaty panic attack in front of a beautiful woman.”
