Page 17 of Bi-Partisan

“How many does that make?” I ask, my voice croaking.

“Two, officially,” Ben says tightly. “But everyone that Andrea met with yesterday and had all but secured are now on the fence.”

Shit. District Buzz first posted the article an hour ago and donors have already pulled their support. It’s only a matter of time before more do the same.

The dull pressure in the middle of my sternum grows, and I fumble in my jogger pocket for my keys so I can pop one of the Pepcid I keep in a key-ring pill container. But then I realize Mina still has them since she drove my car here.

Ben lets out a long-suffering sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, this is a clusterfuck.”

Riley immediately sends him a glare. “Ben,” she hisses, channeling every ounce of the mom energy I know she has. Although, I’ve never heard her speak to Ben like that. Hell, I’ve never heard her use that tone with anyone.

“What?” he snaps back. “There’s no point…”

Whatever comes after that, I don’t hear. But Ben is right. This is a clusterfuck.

I’m screwed. I’m going to lose this election. Fuck, I’m probably not even going to make it past the primaries. I’m going to lose the Democratic nomination, and I’m going to be another case study for why people under the age of thirty aren’t cut out for the House of Representatives.

Suddenly instead of dull pressure, it feels like tight bands are wrapping around my whole chest. My vision narrows. I feel unsteady on my feet. And I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe? Fuck, what is happening? Am I having a heart attack?

“No, sir, this isn’t a heart attack.” Riley’s gentle voice cuts through the thundering in my ears.

Shit, I must have said that out loud. I blink a few times until I can focus on her face. “Then, what—”

“I think you’re having a panic attack. Do you think you can make it to a chair?”

I shake my head and desperately try to suck in a breath, but it ends up being more like a gasp.

“Okay, that’s fine,” she says, her tone much like one a person would use on a spooked horse. “We can sit here on the floor, then. Is it alright if I touch you?”

I nod, and the second her hand wraps around my arm, my knees give out. Fuck.

“Mina, a little help,” Riley says as she does her best to catch my weight.

Mina jumps into action, grabbing my other arm and helping Riley lower me to the ground. They both sit with me as I hug my knees into my chest. Riley shifts in front of me, and my vision narrows on her face. Blindly, I reach for Mina.

She takes my hand immediately and laces our fingers together. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

“Alright, that’s good. Now I need you to breathe with me, got it?” Riley instructs. “Inhale, nice and slow.”

I try to inhale, but it’s like it gets stuck. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. I know it probably feels scary right now, but this will pass. For right now, focus on me.” Her tone is soft, soothing, and it’s kind of acting as an anchor for me right now. I’m able to take a shallow breath, then let it out. “Okay, good. That’s really good. Just like that,” she says.

If I weren’t still partially convinced I’m having a heart attack, I would find the fact that Riley’s calming assurances are nearly word for word what Adrian said to me last night either hilarious or mortifying. But instead, I follow her instructions to keep breathing. I take another breath, deeper this time, and hold it for a few seconds before letting it out. Inhale, hold, exhale, repeat. Finally, my heart rate slows, and I come back to my body in pieces. My vision clears. It no longer feels like I’m being squeezed by a boa constrictor.

“Better?” Mina asks.

I tentatively nod, then let my head hang as I squeeze my eyes shut. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, sounds about right for your first panic attack,” she says.

“And hopefully last because that was not fun,” I say flatly.

I take one more deep breath before looking around at everyone—these people that I’ve spent the past two and a half years with, seeing them more than I see the inside of either of my apartments—and fuck, if that isn’t a mistake because now I’m dangerously close to tears. “I’m sorry, y’all. I didn’t mean to...”

“No, I’m sorry, sir,” Ben says, his tone considerably more gentle, and honestly, I can’t decide if that’s better or worse. “I was unnecessarily harsh. I realize this is a lot to process, but I have to be honest here. This is bad.”

“I know,” I say, my voice cracking. “But it’s not like I cheated on my wife, or hired a sex worker, or slept with an intern—all of which my esteemed colleagues have done, by the way. No one was hurt. There was no power imbalance or abuse of power. I’m single, and I went to a bar where I met another single person.”

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