Manic Attack

V. He Gave Me Hermes

"After all the encounters with death we just dodged, you choose to suffocate over thin air?" Rod asked with a shake of his head. "What a waste of lies."

"C-can't breathe," I managed. The tremors pulsing through my body blurred my vision. The fear of dying overthrew every other concern that had previously polluted my head. I couldn't kick the bucket yet. Not when my readers thought I was a cheating and greedy little snake. "H-hel--"

Everything had spiraled uncontrollably out of my grip- my relationship, my career, my reputation, my authority as a mentor. Heck, even my ability to breathe was rebelling against me and I couldn't do a thing about it.

A firm hand squeeze around my shoulder. Rod's physical warmth raised goosebumps all over my exposed, shivering arms. "Remember Ariana Grande and just keep breathing, Monica," he ordered, "Forget what I said earlier, you're not dying. You're panicking."

I collapsed to the floor. My arms were around my knees as I felt an invisible force wrap around my lungs and squeeze. Why can't I breathe? Is this asthma? 

"Monica, listen to me. Let's count to ten, okay?"

Count to ten? I don't have time for that.

Rod spoke slowly and clearly. Enough for his voice to cut through the tornado in my head. "One."

How do I convince Edward Moseby? After ripping off his tie and not even returning it, how do I convince him to cooperate?

"One, Monica!"

Okay, okay. One.

"Two."

T-two.

"Three."

Oh, God, I am going to lose my job! Three.

"Four."

Four.

"Five."

"Five."

"Seven."

"Sev—" I looked up. "You mean six?"

Rod smiled. "Yeah, six."

The sight of him smiling down at me made me overly aware of the empty elevator and the vulnerable position I was crouching in. Cool air tickled my nostrils as I let it fill my chest in massive gulps. "I'm sorry you had to see that," I finally said after a couple of strangled coughs.

"See you get dragged through hell and still come powering back?" Rod asked raising an eyebrow. "It was an honor."

A tiny ding sounded as the elevator came to a halt. It wasn't our floor. We had company.

With astonishing speed, Rod grabbed my shoulders and lifted me to my feet. "Stay behind me. Don't let anyone see you like this. Ever."

A pair of tall, skinny girls strutted in. Their eyes were trained on their cell phones. Neither registered Rodney's presence let alone mine- the frazzled, sweaty mess hiding behind him. With growing horror, I recognized the blonde girl who was flaunting ink blue Manolo Blahniks on her feet.

"She's Angelique," I whispered to Rod. "Cruella's only child."

"What?" Rod exclaimed really loudly. I kicked his shin. He grimace before continuing, "time is Love Island today, I wonder."

The girls exchanged glances. Probably too weirded out by Rod's exclamation to look at him. Phew.

We had picked Angelique and her friend from the fifteenth floor, where I had had my first fateful encounter with Dan. It was where all the photographers, stylists, and models worked together to produce visuals for the magazine.