Blaze

Thirty-Five; James

Just when I'm right on the verge of sleep, my phone rings. I roll over with a groan and reach blindly into the darkness, tipping over a glass of water on my nightstand. I groan again.

I jump up to grab a towel when I see her name flash across the screen. I flip the switch on the sconce above my headboard, illuminating the room in a soft, dim glow. I eye the clock on the wall. It's three a.m. A chill runs down my spine and I'm suddenly wide awake. I answer.

"Blaise?"

"I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called so late."

"Blaise, what's wrong? Is everything okay?"

"I'm at the Pike. I think I'm having a panic attack."

Shit. "Where are the girls?"

"They went back to campus on the shuttle, but it didn't come back."

Fuck. "Have you been drinking? Are you drunk?"

She laughs, then hiccups again. "It's a keg party. Why does everyone keep asking me that?" She sounds irritated, so I keep my tone as calm and soft as possible.

"No judgment. I'm just trying to figure out the best way to help you right now. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispers. She's breathing too fast.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit up, rubbing my face with my hands. "Okay, I'm on my way."

"No!" she shouts. And then giggles. And then hiccups. "No, that would probably look bad. You don't have to do that. I just need..." She pauses. "I can't breathe."

"Okay, where are you, specifically? What do you see?"

"I'm on the hood of a car. I don't know. Trees? Stars?"

"Okay, good. Lay back against the windshield." I hear shuffling, but she doesn't speak.

"Are you laying down?"

"Yes." Her breathy voice resonates through my body. I lay back against my pillow, pulling one hand behind my head.

"Okay. Shut your eyes. What do you feel? Name five things."

"The hood of the car is cold against the back of my legs. The metal is damp under my fingertips."

"Good. Three more." I hear her shaky breaths. They're quick and uneven.

"Take a deep breath, Blaise. Three more."

"My skin is slippery." I don't allow myself to dwell on that, instead I focus on the sounds of her labored breath.

"Okay, two more."

"My knee socks are itchy." I chuckle at that one.

"Good. One more."

"My cheeks are wet." Jesus. My chest tightens at the thought of her crying, alone, in the middle of the night. She hiccups again, but otherwise sounds better. Her breaths still come in uneven spurts, but they're softer, slower.