“Hey, hey, you’re okay. I’m here. What do you need?”
“To get out of here… Air… I can’t breathe.”
Her feet get tangled up in her hurry to back up, and her foot catches on a crack in the floor. It happens so fast I have no idea how I get there in time, but I do. My hands wrap around her sides before she can hit the ground, and I slowly ease her down until she’s sitting on the hard concrete floor, eyes wide, still breathing too fast.
I’ve seen this before. One of my good friends from college used to get panic attacks. He always said it felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he was dying, when they happened. But we learned how to help him through it.
“You’re okay. I’m here. Flash is here. Check her out? She’s worried about you.” I point to the horse, who still has her long nose hanging over the stall door. She bobs her head in a nod as if she’s agreeing with me.
Aura’s gaze follows my finger pointing at the horse and she gives a slow nod.
“Can you breathe with me? Take a deep breath in. Remember what you told me it smelled like? What was it?”
“Shit,” she gasps.
I almost laugh. At any other time, it would be funny. “What else? Take a deep breath.”
“Hay…leather…horse, I guess.”
“Right. You got this. Anything else?”
“Like a forest. Pine trees. It’s nice.”
Her breathing is starting to even out as she focuses on the smells. Pine trees, though? What’s… My cologne. She’s smelling me. Hmmm. If it helps.
“Good. Can I touch you, or no? Just your shoulder.”
She nods. “Yeah.”
I reach out slowly like I’m approaching a young horse, dropping one hand on her shoulder. “How you doing?”
“I’m okay. I’m fine.” She shakes her head as if she’s trying to reset and starts to scramble up. “I’m good. I’m fine. Let’s get on with this.”
And while she seems better, I can still feel her trembling under my hand. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead.
“You probably need another minute. Can you stay put for a second? I’ll get you some water.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“You don’t have to pretend everything’s okay. You had a panic attack. You need a minute to recover. It’s okay.”
I suspect from her reaction that she hates me seeing her like this even more than I hate it. But for different reasons.
“Don’t tell me how I’m feeling, or what I need. I said I’d be fine, and I will.” She struggles to get up again.
“Fine. You got this but at least let me help you up.” My thighs burn as I stand up from my prolonged squat and offer her my hand.
She only hesitates for a moment before placing her palm on mine. It’s cold and a little damp but seems steadier. She lets me pull her up.
Her breath brushes my face, she’s standing so close. Even in the dim lighting of the barn, I can see the dark specks scattered across the lighter brown of her eyes. There’s a gentle tug on my hand and I realize I’m still holding hers. Tight. I release it, rubbing my own hand along the softened denim on my thigh.
She shivers, and I study her for a moment to make sure she’s not slipping under again. But no, she seems okay. A neutral mask smooths her sharp features once more. The barn is a good several degrees cooler than outside in the sun, so that’s probably the cause of the shiver. That, and the remnants of her anxiety.
I glance around, looking for something to warm her up. Somehow I don’t think she’d appreciate one of the horses’ sheets, so I pull my hat off. “Can you hold that for a second?” She looks at the hat in my hand like it’s aforeign object but takes it. Dragging my hoodie off over my head gives me a staticky shock. I hand that to her as well.
“Here, put this on.”
A series of minute lines appear between her eyebrows as she pinches them together. “You want me to put that on?” She sounds about as disgusted as if I had offered her the blanket covered in horsehair.
