Obsession's Embrace

Panic

I've been worriedly pacing my hotel room for an hour. Calling Electra numerous times, only to be sent directly to voicemail. Sending her text after text like an obsessed girlfriend when she hasn't even claimed me as one yet.

Even resorting to sending the brattiest of messages, just in case she was ignoring me, hasn't garnered so much of an emoji as a response.

Her silence is damning. Deafening. It's haunting me. I know in my heart that Electra's plane is the one that was shot down. I can feel it. I felt something was wrong before I even heard the news.

But I don't want to believe it. Because believing it means believing that I may never see her again. Or that if I do, she could be in terrible shape. Who knows what could happen to her out there. I don't even know the beginning of the dangers she faces because I know nothing about where she's going. 

When the war raging in my head becomes too much for me to handle on my own, and I'm thrown into a full bloody panic attack, I run out of my hotel room. Running to the only person I can think of who's here and can help me. Help Electra.

I pound on his door, forgetting - and frankly not giving a fuck - about what time it is.

Damian barely got his hotel room door open before I burst inside. He jumps back and looks at me in surprise.

"Take it easy!" He says as he shuts the door.

"It's her! I know it's her it has to be her!" I rant as I pace the floor anxiously.

He frowns and walks towards me, holding his hands out and trying to calm me down.

"Rhea. Rhea! What's going on? What happened?" He asks.

"It can't be a coincidence it's just not! It's her it has to be," I continue to rant, not hearing him as I try to work through the situation in my head.

When I feel Damian's hands on my arms, stilling me, I look up into his eyes. He's staring back at me with just as much worry as he did when he showed up at the hospital.

"Talk to me. Slowly," he says.

"I haven't heard from Electra," I reply breathlessly.

"And I told you she might not have service," he nods.

"An American private jet was shot down in some jungle near Panama and Colombia, Damian. The people on the plane called for help and they heard a fucking rocket launcher, then an explosion. That's all they know," I explain.

Damian's eyebrows scrunch together, his eyes darting back and forth between mine as he slowly pieces together what I'm saying. When his eyes widen in realization, my heart sinks further. I'm not crazy.

"Electra..." he concludes.

I nod.

"Damian, it has to be her. The timing. The location. The fact she told me where she's going is risky. It's her, D," I ramble.

He pulls me into his arms and hugs me tight, kissing the top of my head like he always does when I have a panic attack. Knowing I'm in the middle of one, he holds me still until my breaths return to a normal rhythm. When I pull back, he looks into my eyes again and shakes his head.

"No. No way. Don't even suggest it," he says, reading my mind.

"We have to go find her, D!" I shout in protest.

"No, WE, do not," he replies sternly, "she wanted you here for a reason. She wanted to protect you. You're not going anywhere but home."

"Damian, she needs our help!"

"What help are we, Rhea? We've never been there. We've never done what she does. We've never explored jungles or raided tombs. We would be as much help to her as a dentist is to a patient needing open heart surgery. We're not going," he reasons.

I groan loudly and run my fingers through my hair, gripping it tightly and pulling. Pain is the only thing that can truly ground me right now. Ground my thoughts and help me think clearly. I pace again, pulling on my hair and thinking.

When nothing comes to me, I slap myself.

"Come on. Think!" I shout through gritted teeth.

Damian sighs and shakes his head, knowing my ritual all too well.

I'm mid slap when the thought hits me. It comes to me like a fucking lightbulb flicking on above my head. I never understood that saying but fuck it. That's what it feels like. Damian raises a skeptical eyebrow at me as I glance in his direction.

"I'm not going to like this idea, am I?" He asks.

"It's time to meet the parents."