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“It is now.”
His phone pings and he looks at it, grinning.
“Whew. We’re safe. Let’s go for broke.”
“Go for broke?”
“Drive straight on through.”
“Oh.”
As the food quells my hunger and the water quenches my thirst, the immediacy of danger begins to recede. My mind is on a racing loop, playing images of the day over and over, yet none of them is coherent. I cannot remember what Cam said before pretending to be a trainer at the house this morning. I cannot sequence how he convinced Jason and Malcolm to bow before him. It’s all a jumble of emotion and fear and pictures of pieces of a scene.
I feel my pulse in every pore.
I feel like I need a three-day nap.
I feel like I ran a marathon barefoot.
I feel like the biggest mistake in the world.
I start crying, my stomach curling in, belly so tight I can’t breathe. Crying when you can’t inhale is paralyzing, and as each second passes, I feel worse.
Nothing in my body works.
Nothing in my mind, either.
Gasping, I start to grunt, panic setting in as Winnie licks my face, letting out a small bark.
“Paigelynn?” Cam looks at me, slowing the car down slightly. “What’s wrong?”
I want to tell him. I want to be strong. I want to be one of those women I’ve seen in some of my training videos, the fearless warriors for our cause, those who endure adversity but come out triumphant.
I’m not those women.
I’m not.
“Can’t. Breathe,” I squeak out, hunching over as Winnie yelps. A hand goes to my back, between my shoulder blades, and he rubs slowly.
“Just try,” he says, voice filled with concern. “You’ll either faint or breathe. One or the other will happen.”
He doesn’t slow down or stop.
White dots fill the space behind my eyelids. I’m dizzy, my nose desperate for air, mouth open but throat closed. It’s my stomach, tight as a knot, full with a ball of lead. Nothing I do makes a difference, until suddenly, my knees lift and the back of my nose opens up. I gag on the air, retching, though nothing comes up.
“There you go,” Cam soothes, still rubbing my back. “Just let it happen.”
I don’t have words for what my body is doing, but it feels like everything leaving me all at once. Falling apart like this is not how a queen behaves. If I am so weak that I tremble and panic after what just happened, how can I lead the world by my husband’s side?
“I’m – sorry,” I stutter, air suddenly, painfully exploding inside lungs that fill and fill and fill until I fear they’ll pop. I let it all out in a big whoosh, then inhale again, my muscles jerky and twitching.
“It takes time. You’ll regulate. Let it all happen. It’s harder if you fight it,” he says. My head is still down so I can’t see his face, but his voice is so kind. Sweet, even.
This is the Cam I love. The Cam I want to know better. The Cam who drew me to him.
Not the cold killer who murdered Jason and Malcolm. Not the man who drove me around with two dead bodies in the van. Not the man who smashed Rooney’s face into a glass desk and taunted him afterward.
Thisis the real Cam. The man gently caressing my back, calming me down.
