Page 101 of Sour Lollipops and Sweet Nightmares
“Can’t breathe,” was all I managed to say.
“Goddamnit,” Issac grumbled. “She’s having a panic attack.”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or himself. Either way, I didn’t answer.
“Alright,” Issac stepped in and reached around me, placing his hands on the sink above mine. “You just need to breathe, Peaches.”
No shit. I also needed to get the hell away from him, but I couldn’t do that either.
“Just relax,” he said while stepping into me.
Relaxing was the last thing I was going to do. My entire body tensed when I felt him press up behind me, but I still couldn’t let go of the sink.
“Come on, Peaches,” Issac whispered in my ear. “Breathe with me.”
I was oddly okay with this situation. Especially when he sucked in a deep breath, coaxing me to follow his lead. Issac’s chest slowly rose against my back, then fell, then rose again. I focused on the rhythm and grounding weight of his presence, while trying to match my breath to his. My lungs were uncooperative at first, but the heaviness weighing my chest down began to ease up.
Inhale…
Exhale…
Inhale…
Exhale…
Issac’s breathing slowed, causing mine to do the same. Despite what every instinct told me to do, I stayed there pressed up against him and stared back at the reflection of his turquoise gaze in the mirror. There was something in his eyes. A commanding presence that pulled me back onto solid ground. And finally, the roar in my head quieted to a dull hum.
“That’s it,” he said when my breathing evened out. “Here…” He reached over and grabbed a red cup on the counter and held it out in front of me. “Drink this.”
I should’ve asked what was in the cup, but I didn’t. I was too trapped in his stare to think about it until the sweet taste hit my tongue.
What did I just drink?
Tearing my eyes away from Issac’s oddly comforting stare, I looked down at the cup in my hand. There was fruit in it. Pieces of what looked like strawberries, pineapples, and some kind of melon were floating in the liquid. It didn’t taste like alcohol and looked like punch. Not at all the kind of beverage I would’ve expected to find at a frat party. Or any party for that matter. It was tasty.
I looked up at Issac and asked, “Is this juice?”
“It has juice in it.”
That wasn’t an answer. “What else is in it?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Issac barked. “Just drink the damn thing.”
Maybe I was thinking too much about this. The drink did taste quite nice, like fresh-squeezed juice. And it made me feel better, which was weird considering sugar usually made panic attacks worse. Yet, for some reason, this drink made me feel calmer. Still, Issac did give it to me.
“You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”
His brow rose. “Why would I waste my time poisoning you when I could snap your neck?”
Well, that was comforting.
Eyeing Issac, I sniffed the contents of the cup and tentatively took a sip.
“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” I said while taking another drink.
I was simply thirsty. Panic attacks tended to make one’s throat dry.
“Like I give a fuck.” Issac stepped back, leaned against the wall, and crossed his arms. “Are you going to tell me why you flipped out?”
