10 Years Later

“Well, that means his phone is off. Maybe he’s still at work?” she suggested. “Or sleeping?”

Why wasn’t she listening to me? Why wasn’t she helping me?

“Kristy!” I cried and couldn’t stop the tears. “I’m completely freaking out right now. Can you come get me? Please? Something is wrong with me and I can’t drive.”

“I’ll be right there. Graziano’s, right?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Once I’d ended the call, I buried my head in my hands and sobbed. Thoughts of worst-case scenarios filled my mind, holding me in their grip. If something had happened to Dalton, I’d never know. No one would call me, would they? Dalton could be hurt or worse, and I’d never fucking hear about it because no one knew that I even existed. These nightmarish thoughts niggled in the back of my mind, and I tried my best to toss them away, ignore them, give them no life, but they refused to leave. They took root in my brain and grew to epic proportions.

Something had happened to Dalton, something bad; I knew it. And there was nothing I could do about it.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Kristy’s voice rang out from the passenger seat as she entered it through the unlocked door.

I looked over at her, wondering if I looked as insane as I felt. “You have to take me to the hospital. Please. Something is definitely wrong with me.”

A concerned expression crossed her face as she reached out and touched my shoulder. “I think you’re having a panic attack. Just breathe.”

“I can’t fucking breathe!” I screamed out at her. She wasn’t listening, and I was going to die because she wouldn’t listen. “Take me to a hospital or call 911. Your choice.”

“Okay, let’s go. But we’re taking my car,” she said firmly, her tone allowing me no room to argue.

She jumped out and came over to the driver’s side to help me, then hustled me over to her car. Once she had me settled, she drove like a bat out of hell, and I probably should have been relieved, but her new sense of urgency only fueled my panic.

“I can’t breathe,” I squeaked out, pressing a trembling hand to my chest. “Every time I try to breathe, it feels like no air will come in. You can’t live without air, Kristy.”

“I know. I know,” she said in a soothing voice. “It’s going to be okay. We’re almost there.” She threw me a quick glance, sympathy filling her eyes as she navigated between me and the road.

Once at the hospital, I overheard Kristy yelling at someone at the check-in counter. The woman peered around Kristy’s shoulder and glanced at me before nodding her head, probably agreeing with my assessment about my impending death.

When a wheelchair was brought over, Kristy had to help me into it since my legs were shaking so much I was pretty unsteady. She wheeled me down the hall as we followed a nurse dressed in scrubs. Why wasn’t she going faster?

I was placed in a hospital gown and asked way too many questions. What seemed like a million pieces of equipment were quickly attached to my body, monitoring my vitals and doing who knows what else. The nurse set me up with an IV, and came back a few minutes later with a syringe that she injected into it, explaining to me that it contained a mild sedative.

My heart instantly started to slow to a normal pace and began beating less violently. The bands that had constricted my chest eased their grip, and I was soon able to breathe easier.

“Feel better?” the nurse asked.

“That’s definitely helping. Thank you.” I let out a sigh of relief and wiped at my cheeks, sure my mascara had probably run at some point during this debacle.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Kristy said sternly from her perch in the only visitor’s chair.

“You? I have no idea what the hell that was. That was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever experienced. I felt completely out of control, like I was losing my mind,” I admitted, still wondering what the heck had happened to me.

The doctor walked in, a beautiful dark-skinned woman not much older than me, glancing down at my chart in her hands before looking up and greeting me with a smile. “Well, Miss Carmichael, that was one heck of a panic attack you were having.”

I glanced over at Kristy, half expecting to see an I told you so look on her face, but instead found nothing but concern.

“I’m Dr. Patel,” she said by way of introduction. “Have you ever had a panic attack before?”

I shook my head. “No. Never. Are you sure that’s what it was?”

Dr. Patel nodded, tucking my chart under her arm and then clasping her hands in front of her. “Yes. You display all the standard symptoms. Usually they’re triggered by something. Did anything happen that might have upset you before it started?”

Dalton not showing up for our date and my not being able to get a hold of him was one hell of an emotional trigger.

“Yeah,” I said. “Something definitely happened.” And so I told her about what had happened tonight, as well as what had happened the last time someone I loved hadn’t shown up . . .