Page 87 of Heresy

She hasn’t attempted to run either.

It’s odd to watch her just sitting there, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s planning to do. I break into a run to reach her faster.

Pulling open her door, I expect for Brinley to strike out or fight in some way, but instead, she’s folded over herself, her shoulders and back heaving with labored breathing, one hand clutching her chest and the other clenched around the seatbelt that’s still in place.

“I can’t breathe,” she cries, pain obvious in her voice that is barely a whisper. “I-I can’t—”

Fuck.

I kneel down next to her, moving my hands as if to touch her but afraid of how she’ll react.

“Are you hurt?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer me. Brinley simply rocks in place, barely repeating the same complaint, my concern skyrocketing higher.

Shoving to my full height, I stare over the car at Damon and Ezra because I’m freaking the fuck out. This was not part of the damn plan.

“She can’t breathe,” I yell over the hood, hoping like hell one of them will know what to do.

When neither of them respond, I’m about to lose my shit because what the fuck am I supposed to do?

“Hey, assholes! What the fuck do I do?”

“She’s having a panic attack,” her friend yells from beneath the hood, oddly helpful despite being pinned against a car with a bag over her head.

“Okay? This would be a good time for more information.”

The friend audibly growls from under her hood. “Haven’t you ever dealt with someone in a panic attack before?”

Is she fucking joking?

“No! This isn’t my usual thing. So what the fuck do I do?”

“Calm her down!”

“How?”

I get she’s trying to be helpful, but it’s actually not helpful in the slightest. Bits and pieces aren’t going to fix this problem. I need more information.

“I don’t know … Maybe stop fucking abducting us?”

Okay.

This shit ends.

Now.

I’m not seriously standing in a middle of a fucking field arguing with some chick in a hood about how I’m supposed to abduct someone.

Kneeling back down, I reach across Brinley, unlock her seatbelt then pull her from the car. Her legs can’t support her weight and she’s hyperventilating. I almost wish I have a second hood to hold over her head because I hear that helps when people get like this.

My arm wraps around the back of her legs, and I lift her up to hold against my chest. Lowering my head, I speak against her ear.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Brinley. You need to calm down and breathe slower, okay? Breathe with me. Match the rate of my breath. Can you do that?”

Weakly, she nods her head, and I start breathing as deep and slow as I possibly can. At first, she resists, feebly tapping at my chest with her fist. But I keep going because the last thing I want is for something bad to happen to her.

“Breathe,” I remind her, my heart rate slowing down as her body stops trembling and her breathing slows.

The fact that she’s able to accomplish it is a testament to her strength. Yes, the accident sent her into a panic attack. That could happen with anybody. And yes, the abduction is probably freaking her out too. But she’s still calming down.

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