Page 25 of Under Fyre

I try and push him away, panicked tears springing up in my eyes. His smell is all around me, and I recognize it now.

Peter’s cologne.

“You’re safe,” Fyre says, over and over again until his words lose all meaning. He sounds like he’s talking in a different language.

He wraps me up in a hug, drags me onto the bed. I try to fight him, but my body betrays me, laying there like a dead thing.

Fyre strokes my head, keeps murmuring, “You’re safe,” into my ear, like it’s supposed to stop the attack.

Doesn’t he know?

Is hethatstupid?

Attacks can’t be stopped. You just have to ride them out, convince yourself you’re not dying, and hope your body will believe you.

Doctors have told me this.

Therapists have told me this.

So why is it working? Why is the panic retreating? Why are my lungs functioning again?

Short, shallow breaths deepen.

The pins and needles ebb away.

I don’t know how long we lie there for, but eventually Fyre stops murmuring into my ear. Eventually he stops stroking my head.

“Has it passed?” he asks quietly.

I nod, my body still too shaky for words.

He presses his lips to the side of my neck. I suppose it was meant to be a quick peck, but he keeps his mouth there, his breath a warm tickle against my skin.

I wriggle into him before I can stop myself.

His muscles tense, and he moves away from me. Then he lets out a huff against my neck, and his lips move to my ear.

“I’d stay like this all day,” he says, “but we have work to do.”

Work?

My body feels lame. My mind like undercooked scrambled eggs. “Can’t I just sleep?”

“It’ll be worth it. Trust me.”

So I do.

I trust Fyre…and he uses that trust like a motherfucking hammer.

Chapter Thirteen

Charlotte

“Ican’t.” My lips tremble. “Please, Gideon, I can’t—”

“Fyre.”

“F-Fyre.”

---