Page 22 of Release (Symbols of Love 3)

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice brusque. My eyes snap open and find him watching me, his eyes still irritated but now tinged with some concern. "Are you claustrophobic or something?" He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I freeze. My blood runs cold, and I can't remember where I am.

I look at his hand, so large that it completely covers my shoulder. It's also suddenly too heavy. I can't bear the weight. My heart is beating so fast that I'm sure it's going to rupture. I hear myself whimper. He drops his hand and takes a step back. I close my eyes again and count backward from ten.

He continues talking. "Hey. You need to breathe."

I try to speak, but my mouth won't move. I try to take a deep breath, but my lungs won't cooperate, and I clutch my throat as they burn with the effort it's taking for me to get air into them. I haven't had an attack like this in almost three years. I can't believe it's happening to me now. When I can't hide it or do anything to stop it.

"Listen, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. Or touched you. I promise I'm not going to hurt you."

I'm not going to hurt you.

Instead of his voice, I hear those words spoken by a voice that I usually only hear in my nightmares. It sets my panic into overdrive. I can feel my head spinning and my eyes lose their focus. I can't move. I can't breathe. All I can do is sit here, helpless and unable to save myself. Again.

8

Harry

She's having a panic attack. My twin sister, Freya, had them for years when we were teenagers. She was involved in a horrific car accident she walked away from, but which killed her best friend. The trauma manifested itself in frequent bouts of acute panic. They threw my entire family into a tailspin, and we all went to counseling to learn how to help her cope.

I look down at the woman in front of me. She's gone from trembling to shaking, and I'm worried that she is going to fall over. I want to put my arm around her, but I'm not sure that it won't just make things worse. "Hey, I know you're scared, but they must know we've broken down. They will probably have it fixed in just a few minutes,” I say in as soothing a voice as I can manage given how nervous I feel.

She doesn't respond, only shrinks further into the corner of the elevator. Her eyes, the first thing I noticed about her, are wide open but unseeing. The flecks of gold in them, which seemed to cut through the shadows cast by the ambient lighting in the hotel's restaurant, first reminded me of the summer and sunshine. But right now, they’re dull and full of terror and confusion.

I need to get her and myself off the elevator. Until I can manage that, I need to help her calm down before this escalates and becomes a crisis. I take a step towards her, and she shakes her head and whimpers. I stop moving but try to figure out how I’m going to get her to focus and calm down.

She's clearly claustrophobic because she went from looking like the reincarnation of the Greek goddess Athena, ready to battle me to the death, to looking like she's afraid for her life. She’s shivering. The elevator is cold and her white tunic is slightly see-through, but it covers every bit of her, except her throat and hands. Her jeans are form fitting, but her tunic hits her at mid-thigh. Her feet are encased in black thong sandals, are also exposed.

I’d noticed her toes earlier by the pool. They’re painted a bright, cheerful red. It’s the one flare of color she seems to allow on her person. Now they peek out of her sandals and I see them flexing a little and recognize that as a sign of stress. But Freya never trembled like this during her attacks. And I feel a stab of guilt at the way I treated her tonight. Shit.

I decide to try and help her in the only way I know how. I reach out slowly and gently wrap a hand around her arm. She whimpers again but doesn't fight me as I pull her close. She's only a few inches shorter than me, and her head comes to rest on my shoulder. Her hair tickles my nose, and I can't believe how good it feels to have this woman - as infuriating as she is beautiful - in my arms.

After our confrontation yesterday, I hadn’t expected to see her again.

I was struck how, even in the waning light of dusk and with only a few torches lighting the outdoor bar, her flawless skin glowed like dark honey. She watched the crowd as I watched her, her face reflecting disgust, annoyance and at times envy.

When that man approached, she'd flashed that fake smile, but I could see the moment she decided to go with him. She ordered another drink, but I could see, even across the pool, how white her knuckles were as she clutched the glass and threw it back.

When they got up, I sprang into action. Even though I’d resolved to stay away from her, I couldn’t sit there and watch her leave with another man. I knew she'd be angry when she found me behind her. I hadn’t expected her to crumble when I touched her.

I don't know what to do about her. She’s drives me crazy, but I’m also drawn to her. I know that no matter how angry I was, I wouldn’t have been able to keep my distance. Not as long as she was nearby.

She sobs softly and I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her and feel her shiver. I try to lend her some of my body heat. A sweet fragrance from her dark, loose, and glossy curls wafts up to my nose. Her arms are by her side, but she’s tucked tightly against me.

I feel the heat of her body through the cotton of my shirt, and I can feel the thud of her thundering heart against my diaphragm. I don't move, don't speak - I just stand there with this puzzle in my arms and say a silent prayer hoping that what worked for Freya will work for her. I don't know how much time passes, but her shaking recedes to a tremble and then to an occasional shudder. Her breathing goes from hitched to deep and slow.

I'm careful not to move, for fear of reigniting her panic. But I start to speak. "Are you okay?"

She gives a slow, halting nod and lifts her head to look at me. Her eyes are still wide with fear and now glassy with unshed tears. She puts her hand to her throat, and I immediately drop my arms and take a step back. Without turning my back to her, I back up and sit down on the floor of the elevator. I hope this assures her that I am not going to touch her again. I clear my throat to make sure my voice sounds neutral before I speak.

"Have you been to Italy before?" I say.

Her eyes are wide with confusion, and I try to stay focused on my task. But this close, I can see the flecks of color that make the tawny gold of her eyes, the tourmaline, amber, hazel, the nut-brown ring around her irises. They are so beautiful that I forget where we are. That tether that knows better than we do coils around us and holds fast.

We stare at each other. I don't have a single thought in my head but her. How can it be that I met this woman less than a week ago?

She should be a stranger, but I feel like I know her. Her eyes regain their focus, and her breathing slows. Her hand finally comes away from her throat.

That movement reminds me why I started speaking, and so I continue.

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