I’m a trembling mess as they yell cut. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it. Sobs are racking my shoulders, but I can’t breathe. I can feel myself slipping over the edge, losing my grip.
“Aurelia? Aurelia!”
Voices are calling out around me. Someone walks up to my side, but I jerk away when a hand lands on my shoulder.
“What’s going on?”
I can’t even lift my head from my knees. It feels like it’s full of cement. Everyone sounds far away, foggy.
And then one voice reaches me. It’s soft, soothing to my senses.
“Hey, Hollywood. Can you look at me?”
I finally drag my head up, blinking back at the familiar hazel eyes.
“What can I do to help you? What do you need from me?”
I shake my head, confused.
“Okay. This is going to pass. You’re going to be okay. Can I hold your hands? Would that help?”
I nod through gasping breaths. I can’t get enough air, my throat and chest tight and my lungs refusing to let me inhale deeply enough.
“Reach out for me. I’ve got you.”
I nod again, focusing hard on lifting my arms, reaching to grab his outstretched hands. There’s an immediate sense of safety when he squeezes my fingers. I focus on that feeling, that connection between us, to get through this.
“Now can you tell me what colors are in the sunset tonight? Is that something you can do?”
Nodding again, I look at the sky over his shoulder. The sunset has painted the sky in layers of colors. I focus on them one at a time.
“What do you see?” he asks.
“Red…”
He squeezes my hands. “That’s right, what else?”
“Pink…orange.” My breathing slows down a fraction. “Yellow.” Its beauty is almost painful and it’s enough to start pulling me out of the panic attack.
“And whatdo you hear?”
“The crickets.” The pressure on my chest starts to ease and I take a deeper breath, finally. There’s a soft hooting in the distance. “An owl.”
“That’s right. And what can you feel?”
The gentle breeze rustles through the trees and brushes my face, drying my tears. “The wind, the ground under my feet. You.” I squeeze his hands, seeking reassurance.
“Perfect. How are you doing? Do you need anything else from me? Maybe some water?”
I shake my head.
“Just you.”
“I’m right here. Whenever you need me. Always.”
I’m sitting at the kitchen table in the Holloways’ ranch house, staring at the plate of food Quint placed in front of me.
“Eat, please,” he says. “You need something in your stomach. I can make you something else if the chicken is too much. What would you like? Maybe some toast? Or you love my grilled cheese.”
