“It’s okay, Veronica,” I tell her over and over again as I wrestle her onto the front porch. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Her only answer is to rake her stiletto heel straight down my shin. She doesn’t stop until the sharp tip is digging into my foot through the top of my shoe and fuck. Just fuck! I don’t have time to do anything more than register the pain, though, because she’s rearing back at the same time, trying to head-butt me.
Jesus Christ. Whoever taught this girl to fight taught her to fight dirty. Forget the Big, Bad Wolf and think Terminator instead. And if she wasn’t currently using all that fighting knowledge against me, I’d be incredibly impressed. As it is, I’m just hoping that we both make it through with no concussions or broken bones.
I still have the height advantage on her, but with the shoes on, she stands tall enough to do some damage. The first two times she rears back, I manage to dodge, but the third time she hits me squarely on the chin with the back of her head.
I see stars from the impact, which only lends fuel to the whole confused hysteria of the moment. Still, I somehow manage to get her inside just as she starts screaming for help, thank God, and I slam the heavy front door behind us.
The instant the door is closed, I let go of her and throw my hands in the air in an effort to look as unthreatening as possible. “Veronica, sweetheart, look at me! I’m not going to hurt you! I swear, I’m not going to hurt you.” My own voice is raised now as confusion and panic race through me and I make a concerted effort to steady it…and to steady myself. One of us needs to stay calm in this situation or things are going to go to hell real fast. That is, if they aren’t there already.
“Just stay there,” she tells me as she backs up, her own hands held out in front of her in the age-old gesture for self-defense. “Just stay away from me.”
I would, but she’s heading back down the hallway toward the kitchen and I’m afraid she’s going to make a break for it again. Or worse, come at me with a knife or some other kind of weapon. At this point, she’s so far gone that I wouldn’t put anything past her. I just wish I knew what had set her off. Maybe then I could figure out how to calm her back down.
There’s a part of me that thinks my best bet here is to just leave, to just get in my car and go before this gets any worse. But she’s past hysterical at this point, tears streaming down her face and strangled noises coming from her throat even as she sucks great gulps of air in through her open mouth. I know I’m the one she’s afraid of, but I can’t leave her like this. Not when she’s so close to hyperventilating.
And so I follow her, making sure to keep as comfortable a distance from her as I can. “Get out!” she screams at me when we’re halfway down the hallway. “Just get out and leave me alone!”
“Okay,” I tell her, making sure to keep my hands in the air as I advance. “If you want me to leave, I will. I swear. But you’ve got to calm down first, sweetheart. I can’t leave you here like this. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” She takes another couple steps backward.
“Because I care about you. I can’t let you go running through the streets of L.A. in your underwear, baby. Anything could happen to you.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Still, she looks down for the first time since this nightmare began and seems to finally register what she’s wearing. “Get out! Just get out and leave me alone and I’ll be fine.”
Except that’s obviously not true. Her breathing is growing more and more harsh with every second that passes. Her face is pale, her whole body shaking with the strain and I’m terrified she’s going to pass out at any moment.
“Veronica, listen to me.” I take a few steps forward, working to keep my voice low and soothing as I do. “I don’t know what’s going on here, don’t have a clue what made you think you can’t trust me. I’ll leave if you want me to, but you’ve got to calm down first. You have to start breathing normally because I can’t leave you like this.”
“I’m breathing fine,” she answers, but it’s obviously a lie. She nearly strangles just trying to get the words out. Plus she keeps flexing her hands, making fists and relaxing them like she’s trying to stretch them out.
Goddamn it.
“Okay, sweetheart, I know you don’t want to, but I need you to listen to me. What you’re feeling right now…you’re having a panic attack and you’re beginning to hyperventilate. All those weird things going on in your body right now, it’s because you’re over-oxygenating. Your chest hurts. Your lips and fingers are tingling. Your hands are starting to cramp up. You’ve got to bring it down, baby, or you’re going to end up having a seizure or passing out. I know it feels like you can’t breathe, but you can.”