“The table was made for feet, not sex,” Porter said, coming back into the room after checking on Mattie.
Riot pulled away, but not far, his breath panting across my face. “That was some good sugar, sugar.” I couldn’t help but smile.
“Okay, teenagers,” Ella called out, obviously referring to us. “The only game we have that six people can play is Monopoly.”
“I love Monopoly,” Megan cried, and out of the corner of my eye I saw her shoot up off the couch, Patrick following, albeit slower.
I, on the other hand, froze in place, my hand still in Riot’s hair, his face just inches from mine. He must have felt it because his hands went from being wrapped around my body to framing my face.
“Just breathe, Kal,” he whispered.
I couldn’t. My lungs were like blocks of ice in my chest, frozen and unyielding, even for the air they were starting to burn for. My hands were shaking, my throat closing, and my vision was blurring.
“Kal, look at me,” he said, a little more urgently.
“Is she okay?” Someone asked from behind me, their voice laced with concern. I tried to focus on Riot, but felt my eyelids fluttering closed.
“Kal, damn it, breathe for me. In deep and out slow, okay?”
I looked in his eyes, the only thing I could focus on, and tried to take in a breath. It dragged in, as if I were pulling in air through water, as though I were drowning on dry land.
“That’s good, baby, now out.”
I pushed it out, concentrating on his face.
“In, again.” He turned and I wanted to yell at him to turn back to me, to not abandon me in the middle of it, and I heard him yelling, “Get me a glass of water.”
Finally his face returned to my vision and he said, “Deep, baby. Get in as much as you can. Good,” he said as I tried to do as he was asking. “Now push it out slow.” Slow wasn’t a problem, the air was coming in through water, but I was pushing it out through sand.
He continued to remind me to breathe for a few minutes, which seemed like years, until I could breathe easier, until I didn’t feel like I was on the very edge of death, about to topple into its depths. When I was breathing on my own, head resting against the back of the couch, brow sweating, I heard Ella’s voice.
“Should we call someone? Take her somewhere?”
“She’s okay,” I heard Riot answer, then felt his lips on my forehead as he gave me a quick kiss. “She just needs a minute.” His hand was at my face then, thumb sweeping over my cheek. “Baby, I need you to open your eyes and take a sip of this water.”
I did as he asked, but when my eyes opened they found his and never moved from them.
“Was that a bad one?” he asked, but I could tell he already knew the answer. I nodded.
“Is she having an asthma attack?” Patrick asked, and I could hear the genuine concern in his voice. I wanted to curl into a ball and go to sleep. I wanted to simply disappear.
“Panic attack,” Riot answered for me. I was grateful he was taking control, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about all my friends knowing my weakness.
“Does this happen often?” That question came from Ella and she sounded like she was near tears.
“I’m not really sure. She has triggers. This is the second one I’ve seen her have this month.”
“Oh, God.” That was Ella again, but her voice was muffled. I couldn’t see her, but I imagined her hand over her mouth. I wanted to cry.
“Just give us a minute,” Riot said to everyone, but then his face was in front of mine again. “I’m gonna pick you up and take you in the bathroom, okay?”
I nodded and felt his arm slip under my knees while the other came to my back. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face in his chest as he carried me through the house and up the stairs to our room. He continued into the bathroom and gently set me down on the counter. I gripped the edge, trying to keep my balance as he let me go. His hands came to my shoulders and he leaned down so I could see him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I managed.
He stood up and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, bringing me into him, gently rubbing his hands up and down my back. I wasn’t having a hard time breathing anymore, but my throat still felt raw and my heart was still pounding. I let his hands soothe me and we stayed that way in that bathroom for a while.
Eventually he pulled away and found a washcloth. I watched as he ran the faucet, wet the washcloth, came to me and wiped it gently over my forehead and cheeks. I let him take care of me, let him help, mostly because I knew he needed it, but partly because I needed it too. My eyes stayed on his face, but he was concentrating on making sure I was cool and dry.
“You’re flushed,” he said softly. “Are you sure it’s over?”
I shrugged. “I think so. I’m feeling a little better. Just tired now and my throat is dry.”