Page 41 of Our Little Cliche
The winds continue to roar, sending my nervous system into a state of both flight, and freeze.Acting on a panicked impulse I startle, jolting closer to Cyrus. “Ah!” I cry. We need fire and rescue to take us to safety, immediately. “What do we do? Should I call triple… wait, nine one one?”
Triple zero? Really?
Moisture begins to clam at my palms. I’ve never experienced a storm like this. Heavy rain, and hail sure, but never a storm that traps you inside and shuts down all ability of survival. We have no power, how will we eat? How will we shower? How will we… The feeling of panic, and claustrophobia creeps under my skin.
I’m going to die here!
He pockets his phone after checking it, probably for service. “Uhh, apart from the fact that we probably won’t reach down under’s emergency line, the phones are dead. We won’t reach any of ours either.” Why is he speaking so calm? Why is he not panicking?
Oh, god.
The walls are closing in.
Chest hyperventilating.
Heart tachy.
Brain cloudy.
Fog setting in.
I notice my hands trembling by my sides, with no idea what to do with them. My next string of words come out one by one between a bated breath. “I need fresh air. I need to get out. I need?—”
“Hey, hey, hey!? Look at me. Look at me!” He snatches my shoulders, forcing my gaze to focus on his. Cyrus’s body language telling me;follow my voice, you are safe. I’m like a deer to headlights, his voice in full control and taking over my ability to function. “It’s just a little snowstorm, they happen all the time here. We’re okay,” he adds.
“Okay.”
Okay.
After a long moment of eye contact, my breathing slows. He eventually lets go of me and when he gets up and grabs a beanie from the hanger my stomach spins. “I’ll just go check the mains.”
The air feels thin around me without his touch. “Wait, please don’t leave me!” I squeak all too desperately, and it takes far too long to realize that my hand is firmly gripped around his bicep—okay,aroundisn’t the right word, at this point my hand looks like an infant’s against his muscle.
I don’t know what it is that’s written on my face right now but his expression goes from: she’s touching me, toshe’s touching me.
“You’re really scared, aren’t you?”
“No. I just need?—”
I try to snatch my hand back but when he stops me I gasp.
A minute.
I need a minute.
My hand disappears inside his palm as he cups it, holding it between us momentarily. “Yes,” I say, barely audible. “I am.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
Chapter Twenty
CYRUS
I thinkI’ve found athing:sitting by a crackling fire when the rest of the house is as quiet as a mouse, with a bottle of wine, no power, no devices, a snow storm roaring outside and a beauty of a woman sitting next to me who gives a sensation words could never explain. Not even in a book. As good an author as I may be, and as much as I’ve written so far, I could never replicate this feeling onto a page.
And I’m not even touching her.
I’ve been trying to keep her calm by bickering over our favorite movies, and showing her how wine is correctly poured, and arguing about which is the correct side of the road to drive on. It seems to have worked, her breathing is no longer erratic and the whites of her eyes aren’t popping out of her gorgeous little head. But every time the howling wind hisses against the window, she flares back up again.
