Static [manxman]

Introduction

Rose Coven Chronicles | 2
'Rinse' Companion Story

*Can be read out of order/can be read as a standalone book*

One second, I found myself standing in the lab, working away on new tracking algorithms, and the next I hit the floor. My back pressed against the stainless steel cabinets, a small anchor in the metal sea I drowned in. I squeezed my eyes shut, gritting my teeth, riding out the tidal wave of panic that'd slammed into me.

I wasn't even sure what incited it, but it didn't feel like it would go away anytime soon. This had to be what dying felt like. Tensing up, I forced my lungs to accept more air, to take in larger breaths.

"In." He inhaled audibly, trying to guide my breaths. "Out." He exhaled, and sighed when I kept hyperventilating.

"I-I-I'm sorry."

"No, shh, it's okay." He rubbed my back in slow circles, still breathing slow and loud. "You have nothing to apologize for. Just try to match my breathing, get as close as you can."

Gods, I wished I still had him there to get me through the panic attacks. His medical training made him perfect for serving that very purpose, but there was also a soothing aura about him. Sometimes, just being near him was the equivalent of taking a Xanax.

As usual, thinking of Wyatt brought my panic down to a manageable level. Even thousands of miles away, hidden from the world in the most remote area he could find, and I still felt the effect of him on my existence. I wondered if he'd ever had that influence on others, or if it was one of the things that occured because of how close we were. Ever since the first day he came into my lab as a consultant for an entirely different case, I found myself intrigued by him. His crooked, shy smile, warm brown eyes that carried his bitter sarcasm and unending kindness in equal amounts, and his vast intelligence from everything about biochemistry to geology: every piece of Dr. Wyatt Brenner was absolutely captivating. And the man didn't even know it, which probably made it all the more adorable.

Slowly, I cracked my eyes open. My shoulders felt tight and a headache started to bloom behind my eyes, in my neck. The panic had subsided drastically, and while my heartbeat was a bit fast, I didn't feel like I was dying anymore. Score.

Tilting my head back to look up at the high ceiling, I decided I'd call it quits for the evening. Usually, I stay up working until one of my friends came in the next morning and found out I hadn't slept or until I passed out on a workbench, tools still in hand. With the headache and incoming stress of having a panic attack over nothing, I figured it'd be in my best interest to relax, even if I wouldn't sleep.

Using the sides of the counter, I pulled myself back up to my feet. "Shut it down for the night," I said, running my fingers through my hair as everything saved and started going black.

At the door, I entered in the security code, and the entire lab went pitch black, the glass windows tinted, making it impossible to see inside. With my work saved and the lab closed up, I headed to the third floor of my home. I bit my lip and hesitated in the corridor, debating whether I wanted to go to my room or go to Wyatt's room. He'd left a lot of stuff in there. I could go through it, maybe find that blanket he brought the last time. I didn't see it in his things the last time he left, so it might have been stuffed under the bed or something.

It wasn't like he was coming back anytime soon. He'd just left a couple months ago after all. He always stayed away for at least eight months. Apparently it was a precaution that ensured he wouldn't be followed when he came back to me. Followed by what or whom, I wasn't sure. Despite all our years of keeping in contact, he liked keeping his secrets, which bugged the hell out of me.

The door creaked as it swung open, exposing a room illuminated by nothing but the few slivers of moonlight seeping in through the window. Perhaps it was force of habit, but there was a piece of me that deflated in disappointment when my gaze flickered over to the bed and saw Wyatt wasn't there. The bed was made haphazardly--because as meticulous as the man was about everything in his life, he and his belongings always carried a disheveled aura. The tea cup usually on the nightstand wasn't there, and the indent where his head rested too close to the right edge of his pillow vanished with underuse.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside, jarred by how the room didn't smell like him anymore. Instead, it smelt like the back of a dusty closet.

I went to the worn brown trunk at the foot of his bed and lifted the lid. It rested against the footboard of the bed as I ransacked the chest. Sure enough, the brown blanket I wanted was in there, underneath a stack of old journals. I rolled my eyes, hauling the stack out of the chest, plunking them on the floor. Gods, the man had so many medical journals, it wasn't even funny. If he wasn't on the run, he could actually--

Well, that wasn't a medical journal.

Frowning, I opened the slim brown book. Like the others, it was leather-bound, but that one looked significantly less worn. It was also sleeker, like he took better care of it.

On the front page was a brief inscription...

Miles,

I usually take this with me every time I leave, but you seemed like you were having a hard time. So... I left this in case you needed it.

Yes, I know you go into my room and go through my things when I disappear. It's fine, just take the book, take the blanket, and go make a cup of tea--not coffee. You need to relax and coffee just gets you wound up. Then, go back downstairs to the sofa, the one by the window in the den, not the one in the living room.

Stay there, drink your tea, enjoy the poems. Relax.

I love you,

Wyatt

I sucked in a deep breath and set the book on the blanket. He was medically trained. It was bad to not take a doctor's advice, right?

I shook my head at myself, tossed the rest of the journals back into the trunk, and gathered my things. Wyatt knew me far too well, but in that moment, I wasn't upset by it. Nights like those--it was nice to know that I still had Wyatt by my side to help pick me up, dust me off, and set me back on the right path.

As Wyatt instructed, I went back downstairs, placing the blanket and book on the sofa as I went to brew the tea. Once it finished, I returned to the living room, settled beneath the duvet we spent a few wonderful evenings wrapped up in, and turned the page of the book. I'd known Wyatt wrote poetry, but that was the first time he'd allowed me to read it.

And I really didn't know why I hadn't expected what I found.