Page 112 of Haunted Spurs

I pant. The words won't form. Everything is spinning, even though I can't see a fucking thing. The panic is eating me alive, swallowing me whole in its black grip.

"Ron." Selene's tone changes instantly. Her voice becomes a beacon in the dark. Firm, low, absolute.

Her hands slide off my chest and move up, cupping my face. Her cold fingertips press against my sweaty temples.

"Look at me," she orders.

"I... I can't see anything, Selene, I-I..." I stammer, my head spinning nauseatingly.

"Look at me anyway," she commands. Her fingers grip my jaw with a firmness that anchors me to reality. "Can you feel my hands? I'm right here. I'm right here in front of you."

I take a jagged breath. The smell of rotting wood is suddenly pierced by her scent. Orchids and cold rain. It fills my nostrils.

"You're having a panic attack," she explains, her voice soft but unyielding. "You're hyperventilating. The walls aren't moving, Ron. It's in your head. Are you claustrophobic?"

Claustrophobic?

The realization hits me like a punch, but I don't even have time to process it because the terror grips my throat again.

"I can't breathe," I wheeze, trying to pull my head back, only to knock it against the hard wood.

"Yes, you are." Selene moves her hands. She slides one behind my neck, tangling her fingers in my hair to hold me steady. With the other, she takes my hand and places it exactly in the center of her sternum, between her breasts.

"Can you feel my breath?" she whispers in the dark. "Can you feel how it rises and falls?"

I focus on that sensation. The cotton of her t-shirt. The steady, calm, vital beat of her heart beneath my palm. The rhythmic movement of her ribcage.

"Do it with me," she orders me gently. I feel her hot breath brush my parted lips. "Breathe in. One, two, three..."

Her chest expands beneath my hand. My body, desperate, tries to mimic her. The air scrapes my throat.

"Hold it," she murmurs, resting her forehead against mine. "And now breathe out. Slow. With me."

Her chest falls. I exhale. A violent tremor shakes my shoulders.

"Good boy. Like that. Again."

We stay in that suffocating darkness, but the coffin isn't a coffin anymore. It's just the space containing me and her.

I follow the rhythm of her body. I inhale her scent, exhale my fear. Her fingertips keep massaging the nape of my neck with a touch so intimate, so protective, that a thick, unexpected emotion mixes with the receding terror.

Her, the woman who hates human contact. Her, who pushes everyone away. She is holding me together. She is acting as a shield between me and the dark.

"You're safe," she whispers, a millimeter from my mouth. "I'm right here, Ron. I won't let you go."

I'm right here. I won't let you go.

My heartbeat begins, slowly, painfully, to decelerate. The trembling in my legs subsides. I let my forehead drop against her shoulder, exhaling a long, exhausted breath.

"I'm sorry," I whisper against her shoulder, my voice still cracked, scraped raw by a vulnerability that leaves me feeling stripped bare.

"Don't you dare." Selene's response is immediate, sharp, but laced with a fierce sweetness. Her hands don't let me go for a single second. I feel her fingers slide through my sweat-drenched hair at the base of my neck, anchoring me to her. "Do not apologize for something like this. Ever. If you want, I'll start screaming right now. I'll stop this challenge, I'll make them open the crate, I don't give a fuck about the game—"

"No."

I cut her off, holding her even tighter against me. My arms wrap around her; my entire being, for the first time in my life, is desperately clinging to someone else.

It is a terrifying feeling. All-consuming. I am the one who holds others up, I am the one who smiles and doesn't need anything. The idea of depending physically and emotionally on someone like this should terrify me almost as much as this wooden box. But, strangely... her presence is the only thing keeping me whole. The wood around me vanishes. All that remains is the silk of her skin, the beat of her heart, and the warmth of her breath.