"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.
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Manic Attack
Humor*Featured Story* Monica 'Manic' Knightley is someone every girl turns to when confused. Her column 'Manic Makeovers' in a leading fashion magazine is a bible for any female who wears clothes. From getting the perfect eyebrows to wearing the right sh...