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"No, no, no," I murmured, returning my hand almost immediately to her face with my thumb tracing circles into her tear-stained skin. "It's okay, and I’m here. You're doing so well, mio tesoro." I reassured her, never stopping to encourage her to follow my breath.
As I continued his actions, I could see her chest loosen to the smallest degree, muscles finally relaxing and letting her take larger mouthfuls of air down her throat. Even so, I never stopped, quietly saying praise and love to try and help Aryana calm down.
Slowly but steadily, she calmed down and opened her mouth.
"You're…" she started, pausing to take a deep breath. "You're alive." Aryana managed to say, leaning her head back against the wall behind her once the sentence was out in the open.
My eyes widened in surprise. Of course, I was alive. Why would she think otherwise? What had happened to her to make her feel I wasn't alive?
I touched her cheek and coaxed her to lean forward again until her forehead rested on my shoulder.
"Of course I'm alive," I murmured, gently rocking back and forth where I was crouched. "I will not leave you or our child alone. I will make sure nothing happens to you while you're pregnant. You don't need to fear, mio tesoro." I promised, trailing my hand to brush through her hair.
She snorted tearfully before lifting her head.
"Tesoro?" She questioned, not pronouncing the word correctly.
Then, I realized just what I had been calling her instinctively. I froze. I had been calling her my treasure. I wanted to hit my face. I had even called her my beautiful treasure. Why had I done that?
"What does it mean?" She asked once again when I didn't respond.
I cleared my throat. "It means treasure."
"Treasure." She repeated.
I cleared my throat once again, feeling like a fool. I stood up and helped her up.
"You should drink water to ease your throat," I stated as I led her to the kitchen and filled a glass before handing it to her.
She collected the glass with a muttered 'thanks.' I watched her drink the water, letting silence descend over us. This was the first time we were in each other's presence without trying to avoid the other. Albeit the circumstances were unfavorable, being in each other's company was not so bad, but I was worried about what had led to her panic attack.
"What happened to you?" I spoke up after she drained the glass.
"It was a bad dream.
I frowned. A bad dream? A bad dream made her think…I was dead?
"What happened in your… dream?" I worded my question delicately.
She raised an eyebrow at me.
"Why does it matter?"
I shrugged. I didn't know why she was suddenly feeling distrustful, but I didn't dwell on it as she had just had a panic attack, so she may have still felt sensitive.
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but it might help," I said, watching her with a calm expression which she returned, looking apprehensive.
"I dreamt…of you."
I blinked. I hadn't been expecting that.
"Of me?" It was my turn to repeat what she said in a surprised manner. I curled an eyebrow.
"You…" She trailed off, clearing her throat. "You were dead. Shot multiple times."
I didn't know what to say. I could see why she had looked apprehensive before, but I was intrigued that she had been dreaming of me.
"And you were…scared?" I gently asked, but she stared at the floor, cradling the empty glass cup. "Of course. If you die, then what will happen to me?" She whispered the latter part, but with how silent the kitchen was, I heard her.
