The Saint Jones [Completed]

chapter 9: Panic Attack

"What a beautiful night, isn't it?"

All of sudden my body feels paralyzed by the voice that seems to be so close to me. I am scared to look at my right even though I already know who is standing close beside me.

"It's unusual to have so many stars in the sky. It's exceptional." my saliva hardly slides into my throat as I slowly turn my head towards him. My breath increases, the back of my neck starts to burn when I look at the side of his face, his beautiful smooth face, illuminated by the moonlight. A murdering kind of handsomeness.

Suddenly, I feel hot again, but a different kind of hot, it forms from my belly and goes down, which forces me to squeeze my thighs but by doing that, I swear I look strange right now.

"Why aren't you inside?" He asks, he is looking straight at the moving horizon, not at me, which suits me, because if he turns his head towards me, my world will collapse or I will collapse.

I clear my throat and give him an answer, "I–I wanted to take some... fresh air." My voice gets out as a murmur, but I guess it was loud enough for him to comprehend what I said.

He nods and says, "Me too." He leans forward, both hands on the rail, his back stretch, and the muscles can be seen against his skintight uniform. Breathtaking.

"You're not much of a talker, are you? I mean, not like earlier," he says, his voice dancing in the wind that hit our bodies, hitting my hair, strong enough to shuffle through my bangs, I run my fingers in it quickly, placing it properly.

"I do not know," I answer. God, I should be talking, it is an opportunity. This morning I was confident, very confident, I had a tongue, now he is the one with the tongue.

"I'm not, either," he mumbles and stands straight. He is tall but not too tall, enough to make him more attractive.

He looks down at me and I can feel his eyes through his tinted sunglasses. I feel like someone who is about to die here. My heart begins to beat uncontrollably, too fast to my liking. Suddenly, I feel suffocated, for real this time, my chest starts to hurt, causing tears to emerge in my eyes, faster than ever and slipping down my cheeks. I press my hand on my left chest, squeezing it hard enough.

Something gets stuck in my throat, restricting air from getting in and out. The pain in my chest increases like a fist shoving my insides.

"Hey, are you okay?" I can hear his voice near my ears but all I can do is to shake my head slowly.

"It's okay, breath, breath," he whispers and strokes my back as I am leaning over him, my left hand on his forearm, breathing harder and trying to catch my normal breath.

Without thinking, I put my heavy head on his shoulder, as I slowly regain my breath, my heart stop aching as I feel fortunately better. His big hand keep on stroking my back, from top to bottom. At this point, I do not care about the fact that this may look weird, all that matters to me is that he helped me, he did not panic. Like you did, idiot.

Slowly, I lift my head off his shoulder and he withdraws his hand from my back gradually. Something tickles my cheek and when I pass a finger, I realize that my makeup is sinking off my face because I just cried, oh my God, I should have worn waterproof makeup.

"You feel better?" He asks, fear can be heard in his voice.

"Yes... thank you," I say and look away from him.

"Excuse my question, but are you sick?" He goes on.

"I am not." The words leave my mouth so quickly that my mind did not have the time to comprehend what I said. 'I am not', well I wish I was not, although what I have just had is a simple panic attack, a stupid panic attack that appeared for no reason or is it because I did not expect him to look at me?