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Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Even as her mind held onto the sound, her body lay limp on the bed, the back of her head pushed into the pillow. The convulsing had slowed to shivering. Her limbs were numb and her legs were in at an awkward position. She tried to move them, but they didn’t budge, so she just left them there. She focused on that word. And it came. Just as she needed it. The moment before she knew her convulsions would return, it came again. And again. And again. It was never ending. Monotone. Rhythmic. Soothing. Perfect.
Who was that? How had they known she needed help? And more importantly, how in the world did they know how to help her?
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
The word was now echoing in her head in a soft gray color that seemed to absorb all the blackness and flashing lights of the other incessant sounds. It didn’t feel like her skull was going to split in half anymore and she relaxed into the semi-peaceful state the sound of that word created in her mind.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
***
Luke lay on the floor next to Orly’s bed, an invisible weight plastered to him. He wanted to hold Orly, but with all the thrashing around she was doing, he feared it would only hurt her more. So, he’d dropped onto the floor, and done the only thing he could think of.
With each breath he took, he told her to breathe. He had no idea if it would help, but it was the only thing he could think of besides calling 911 and he didn’t think there was a drug that would help whatever was happening to her.
This breathing technique was something his mother used to do with him when he got panic attacks as a kid after being bullied throughout most of middle school. This was decidedly more than a panic attack, but there was no way of asking her about it yet. Not while she was barely hanging on, her mind searching for his voice, leaning into the word as soon as it left his mind.
He wasn’t sure what had caused Orly’s attack, but he hoped like hell the result would be the same. With every hour that passed, he felt more and more of her weight pressing onto his chest. Luke had no idea how he could feel her like this without even touching her, but he took it as a positive sign she was coming down from whatever this episode was. He continued to hold her to him while repeating breathe on each of his breaths.
It had been pitch dark outside when he’d first woken up and the sun was now shining through the closed blinds. He didn’t move though, didn’t let any other thought penetrate his mind, as he let his own breathing regulate hers. Never in his life had he been more scared than when she’d first reached out to him, ripping him from a dead sleep. He’d heard the panic in her voice, and was about to press her for information when it became clear she was in no condition to talk or explain anything. She was spiraling fast. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and flew into her room, only to see her thrashing and convulsing on the bed, completely unresponsive. That was when he’d dropped to the floor beside her bed and started chanting, hoping he could still reach her.
