Chapter 3 #2
Pity settled in my stomach as I forced my gaze forwards.
I recognised the signs of anxiety all too well.
Growing up with my mum meant I was well-versed in spotting an oncoming anxiety attack.
I’d known about grounding techniques before I’d learned to tie my own shoelaces.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he was okay, but I bit it back.
Given how hard he was trying to hide it, the last thing he probably wanted was some random stranger interfering.
Two floors to go. I took some deep breaths, running through potential interview answers in my head. I straightened my jacket, trying to cover the coffee stain and failing miserably.
I sighed. I didn’t know why I was stressing out about it. I was now so late I’d probably blown what little chance I’d stood of getting the job anyway.
The display had just clicked over to the eleventh floor when it happened.
The overhead lights and the lights from the displays all went out. We were plunged into complete darkness. The lift ground to a halt, the emergency brakes screeching as they kicked in.
“What the fuck?” Luca exclaimed.
I grabbed the rail behind me, using it to keep me grounded. The darkness was so all-encompassing I couldn’t see an inch in front of my face. “Must be a power cut. Don’t worry. Lifts have backup generators. The emergency lights should kick on any second now.”
The only response was a low moan that seemed to come from the floor. My eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Luca, are you okay?”
That was the moment the emergency system started up. The lights were dim, but it was enough to show that Luca clearly wasn’t okay.
He was sat on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest. His head was on his knees as he shook his hands furiously.
“Can’t feel my hands,” he whimpered, still shaking them. “Can’t feel them. Can’t…”
Muscle memory kicked in. I dropped to my knees, careful to give him space but close enough that he knew I was there. “You’re having an anxiety attack, Luca. Focus on my voice. Can you do that for me?”
“Can’t breathe,” he moaned. Sure enough, his breath was coming in ragged pants. He yanked at his tight necklaces against his skin and pulled the collar of his shirt. “Can’t breathe.”
“Can I touch you?”
His nod was barely perceptible, but it was enough for me.
Moving fast, I reached around the back of his neck, unclasping the two chains and letting them fall into his lap.
It took me another ten seconds to unbutton his collar and open the neck wide.
Neither of those things was actually impeding his breathing, but rationality wasn’t a factor when it came to anxiety attacks.
He was still breathing far too fast for my liking. Hesitating, I tried to decide whether to cup my hands in front of his face to help him stop hyperventilating.
That felt too intimate. Instead, I grabbed one of Luca’s hands and put it on my chest, holding it there. Immediately I regretted it as electricity zipped through me. How had I thought having him touch me would be less intimate?
My heart was racing now. It had to be related to the situation. I was just in a heightened state because anxiety attacks triggered memories I’d rather forget. That was all it was. “Breathe with me now. In. Out. In. Out.”
I took deep breaths, silently counting to seven as I inhaled and eleven on the exhale. “In and out. You can do it, Luca.”
It took a few moments, but with encouragement, Luca began to mimic my breaths.
“Tell me five things you can see.”
My chest ached at how fast he responded. He was familiar with this grounding technique, which meant it wasn’t his first attack. “The tile floor. The wall. The bar. The doors. You.”
We made our way through the rest of the list quietly, helping Luca using all his senses to ground him.
By the time we reached the end, his trembling had mostly subsided, a sure sign the worst was over.
“Still can’t feel my hands.”
Luca spoke so quietly that I almost missed it. Pulling his hand from my chest, I grabbed his other and rubbed them vigorously with my own. “It’s the lack of oxygen. It’ll feel better in a few minutes.”
Luca didn’t reply, but he also didn’t stop me.
I didn’t know how long we sat there, his head bowed and me kneeling beside him. My side began to protest the awkward angle, but I wouldn’t let Luca go until I knew the attack had completely finished.
He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.”
He closed his eyes, his chin on his chest. “It’s not nothing. You didn’t sign up to deal with this.”
“Neither did you.”
That made his eyes snap open. They were so breathtaking that, for a split second, I forgot how to breathe. “What do you mean?”
What was Luca doing to me? Since when did I think any man was breathtaking? I forced a smile onto my face. “Pretty sure you didn’t choose to have anxiety. Therefore, you didn’t sign up to deal with it either.”
His lips twisted into a rueful grin, and my heart just about stopped. “Can’t argue with that.” His gaze dropped south and uncertainty crossed his face. “You can let go of my hands now.”
Shit. I hadn’t realised I was still holding them. Dropping them like they were hot coals, I scooted away. I moved so fast that when my back collided with the wall opposite, I winced. “Sorry.”
Luca looked bemused. “You don’t need to apologise.”
“But I was touching you.”
“Is that a bad thing? Touching me?”
“Of course not,” I said hastily. Too hastily. Great. Now he probably thought I was a homophobe. Which I wasn’t.
No, but I was freaking out about how bad it hadn’t been. How natural it’d felt to hold Luca’s hands in mine. I groaned, dropping my head into my hands.
Seriously, how much was the universe going to throw at me today?
I definitely hadn’t had enough coffee for this.
“What’s your name?”
“Ollie.”
“You know, Ollie, a lot of people would pay good money to touch me.”
Luca’s arrogant remark had me pulling my head out of my hands.
One look at the soft grin on his face suggested he was teasing.
Relief flooded through me as I realised he wasn’t going to make a big deal over my obvious freakout.
“Good to know. My car could do with a new set of brakes. Do you think I could charge your fans to touch my hands knowing they’d touched yours? ”
He pretended to consider it. “They’d probably go for it, but you wouldn’t be able to wash them until you’d made the money. Plus, then you’d have to deal with all the germs from strangers…”
I shuddered. “Yeah, maybe not. How about a lock of your hair? That’d probably go for over 10K on eBay.”
“Only 10K?” Luca put a hand to his chest in mock outrage. “Honey, I’m worth at least twenty.”
A small thrill went through me at the casual endearment before I stamped down on it.
“In that case, sod the brakes. I’m getting a whole new car.”
“Why stop there?” Luca flashed me a grin, showing off his perfect Hollywood teeth. “You could shave my head and buy a house. Ooh, I bet some weirdos out there would pay a fortune for my nail clippings.”
I made a mock gagging noise and held up a hand. “Okay, that’s a step too far.”
Luca’s laugh filled the small space, the rich sound ricocheting off the walls, lighting something deep inside me. I frowned and surreptitiously pressed a hand against my forehead, checking my temperature. Nope, no fever.
I turned my attention to the man opposite me.
Luca’s legs were sprawled in front of him, his arms in his lap.
To most people, he probably looked totally relaxed.
But the aftereffects of an anxiety attack were easy to spot if you knew what to look for.
It was the way he repeatedly clenched his hands, attempting to clear the last of the pins and needles.
How his eyes darted around the space. The slight hitch in his breathing, like he had to remind himself to inhale deeply.
“Does it bother you?”
“What?” Luca’s gaze turned to me, puzzled.
“That people genuinely would pay to get their hands on some part of you. I’ve heard of those bullshit auctions on eBay where someone sells a celebrity’s T-shirt or something, and everyone goes wild. I’m sure that’s happened with something you’ve owned or touched.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure it has.”
“Don’t you hate it?”
His head tilted to the side. “That’s a deep question for one stranger to ask another.”
Shame flooded my cheeks. “Sorry. My mum was always telling me off for being nosey.”
“It’s fine.”
He studied me suspiciously. “Fuck. Are you a journalist?”
I shifted slightly. “What makes you think that?”
Luca’s face went completely blank, his limbs tight. “It’s a pretty good guess, given the building we’re in. And I think I deserve to know the truth due to what you’ve just witnessed.”
He was right. He did deserve that. “Yes, I’m a journalist. But I won’t tell anyone about anything that’s happened here. I promise.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “Why would you promise that? A story about a rock star having a meltdown simply because he got stuck in a lift would make you enough to buy five new cars.”
“It wasn’t a meltdown. It was an anxiety attack.” My tone was harsher than intended, but I’d be damned if I let him downplay it. “And we both know it wasn’t the lift that caused it. That was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
No, his anxiety had been through the roof the instant he’d entered. Unsurprising, given the intense display his fans had been putting on. It’d stressed me out, and I wasn’t even the one it was aimed at.
“You didn’t answer my question. Why won’t you run the story when it’d benefit you so much?”
“Are you saying you want me to write a story about this?”
He huffed, rolling his eyes. “Obviously not. I’m trying to figure out your angle. I’ve never met a journalist who didn’t have an angle.”
I bit my lip. Talking about my mum wasn’t something I did. Ever. Callum only knew about my childhood because he’d been there while I was going through it. Even Suzie didn’t know.
An image of them that morning flashed through my mind. I focused on Luca instead. Tracing over his scowl. The light stubble on his jaw. His long fingers that were still twitching. I catalogued his features repeatedly until the image was erased and all that remained was Luca.
“It’s because of my mum.” I blurted it out fast. I’d seen him at his most vulnerable against his will, so offering him a tiny sliver of my soul seemed like a fair price. “She used to suffer from anxiety attacks and depression.”
“Used to?” The question was soft, but the implication was heavy in the air.
I closed my eyes as I answered, hiding myself away. “Used to. She died by suicide when I was eighteen.”
I’d never forget that phone call. Never stop blaming myself for leaving her alone while I went to university. Maybe if I’d been there…maybe if I’d seen the signs…
Maybe things would’ve been different.
Maybe.
A gentle touch on my knee had me opening my eyes. Luca knelt before me, his face solemn. “I’m so sorry. I know that doesn’t make it better, but I truly am.”
I swiped at my eyes. Damn, I needed to get a hold of myself. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
Nine years, four months, and three days.
It sure sounded like a long time, and that was what people expected you to say.
They expected you to have moved on. To not still be picking up your phone and opening a text thread before remembering.
To not be carrying on your life as normal, and then see something as simple as their favourite brand of tea and have the crushing weight of grief pushing you into the floor once more.
And just like that, telling Luca had ripped open that wound again. I needed to close it before it consumed me. See, this was why I kept my emotions locked tight.
Letting them out led to pain. I’d experienced enough of that to last me a lifetime.
It was like Luca could read my thoughts. “It doesn’t matter how long ago it was. You’re allowed to feel and acknowledge your pain. I haven’t lost anyone close to me, but if I had, I don’t imagine any amount of time would make it easier.”
“No,” I whispered, closing my eyes against the stinging tears. “It doesn’t.”
Luca stayed silent while I pulled myself back under control.
His hand on my knee was the sole reminder that I wasn’t alone.
With anyone else, I’d be shrugging off the touch.
But for some reason, his strong grip kept me grounded.
It was an anchor in the churning sea of my grief, letting me feel it but not letting it pull me under completely.