Page 47 of The Lessons

“Jesus, why didn’t you say something? Here. Breathe slowly; we don’t want you to hyperventilate. In…and out…in…and out. Everything is fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Just concentrate on the sound of my voice.”

Out of any other options, I closed my eyes and surrendered. It felt like an eternity, but it was probably only a few moments until I was out of the woods. I let him hold me a little longer; I liked having him this close. He smelled liked he usually did—fresh, like clean laundry and soap, which helped with the whole deep breathing thing.

“Thank you,” I murmured, leaning against him. “Sorry about that.”

“Do you get many panic attacks?”

I looked up at him. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Natalie, I’m going to have my license in less than a month. Recognizing a case-study panic attack is part of the territory.”

Oh. Right. Mr. Sex God was about to become Dr. Sex God. How could I have forgotten? I sighed. “No…not any more. I haven’t had one in years.”

Ryan peeled back from me and refocused on my face, examining it with unusual focus. “Usually in elevators?”

“Yeah…I’m not claustrophobic, just not a fan of small spaces.” I leaned against the wall of the elevator. “They make me anxious. I usually avoid them. I had a foster family once that used to lock us in a tiny closet if we misbehaved.”

He cocked his head at me, and his jaw stiffened. “Seriously? That’s fucking horrible. Here, it might be a while. Let’s sit you down.” He pulled me onto the floor of the elevator with him. He was sitting close. Very close. “I didn’t know you were a foster kid.”

“Yeah.”

“What was that like?”

“Huh?” I was still a little loopy from the adrenaline. Or maybe it was the closeness.

“Being a foster kid.”

“Oh. Fine, I guess. I mean, I don’t really know another way. My mom adopted me, though, when I was thirteen. So I guess you could say I was lucky. I got out of the system.”

“That’s awesome. She must be a really good person. I mean, to take you in and all.”

Sitting next to him, I was acutely aware of his body’s position in relation to mine. Every muscle in my body tensed.

“She was,” I said softly as I considered my memory of her. It’d only been a year since she’d passed away, but already I found it hard to remember what she’d looked like as a healthy, vibrant woman. Now all I could recall was the shadow of who she’d been when she died. I hated that. It felt so unfair to her.

“Was? What happened?”

I nodded and swallowed. “You therapists, you’re observant motherfuckers, aren’t you?”

He didn’t take offense at my language and shrugged. “Requirement of the job.”

I frowned. “She died last year. Breast cancer.”

“I’m so sorry, Natalie.”

“Thank you,” I said, repeating my well-conditioned response. I was able to say it firmly and evenly after having more than ample opportunities to practice. We were silent for another beat, and I was suddenly desperate to change the subject. “So, can I ask you something? What’s the deal with the tattoos?” I looked down at his shirtsleeves, which were rolled up to his elbows, exposing a finely detailed quilt of ink on his forearms. He had very nice forearms.

He shrugged and looked down at them. “What do you mean?”

“You have a lot of them. Do they mean anything, or is asking about them against the rules?”

He paused, considering his answer. “Eh, we might be stuck here for a while. Might as well chat. Just don’t use it against me in the office.” He shot me a smile as he unfurled his arms, his left arm leaning against my lap. “Which one do you want to know about?”

I tried to focus, but his touch was very distracting. I felt my skin prickle and all the little hairs on my neck stood at attention. I tried to refocus; there were so many different images that I had to make my selection carefully. “That one,” I said finally, pointing to a scroll with Latin on it.

“Veritas Numquam Perit. It means ‘truth never perishes.’”

“Hmm…” I pondered the quote. “Kinda heavy.” I remembered the portrait on his arm. “Who’s the young woman there?” I’d been wondering about the picture for a while. To be honest, I was hoping it wasn’t an ex-girlfriend.

---