Kingsman: The Devil's Gamble

Chapter Nine

"Where the hell are we supposed to go now?" I asked in a panic, as Whiskey and I drove north along Interstate Thirty-Five.

I was already deep into yet another panic attack, and it was all because Balor was closing in on us, and my fear of death was already engulfed into a huge bonfire already. I didn't want to die the way my twin brother did—so young and so unexpected. At his funeral, I made a promise that I was going to live a life that he never got the chance to live. I was going to make sure I live my life to the absolute fullest, which was something my twin could never do.

I had to survive for the sake of my twin.

By this point, I was already shaking so bad that I couldn't control it. My breath quickened, and my heart was racing. Beads of sweat were forming all over my face, which only added to the evidence of me having a panic attack.

"Sugar, I don't know where to go, but I'm sure we'll find somewhere," he said, trying—to no avail—to reassure me.

"Well, Whiskey, it sure doesn't seem like that," I answered. "Balor's onto us, and I'm afraid that he's gonna close in on us, and—and—Oh God. I can't breathe."

That's when Whiskey pulled off to the shoulder, parking the truck and quickly turned toward me.

"Listen to me, Veronica," he said seriously, grabbing me firmly by the shoulders. "Just breathe for me. Breathe in—breathe out."

I tried to breathe in and out slowly, just like Whiskey told me to do. But it wasn't working worth a shit. "I still can't breathe, Whiskey. I'm trying everything I can, I swear!" I said.

"Keep breathin' for me. In...and out," Whiskey said. "In...and out."

Slowly but surely, my breathing became more regulated, and my heart was now beating regularly now. I was starting to calm down and forget about what happened moments prior. Thank God for Whiskey for dropping everything to calm me down. I don't know what I'd do without him.

"You okay, sugar?" he asked, his eyes softening.

I nodded, taking in one more deep breath and letting it escape my lungs. "Yeah. I think so."

"You sure? Because I can pull off somewhere and get ya somethin'," he said.

"Yeah, Whiskey. I think I'm okay," I said.

We continued to drive north along the interstate as if nothing happened. And even though we were in silence, Whiskey and I enjoyed each other's company. But once we arrived at an exit, Whiskey suddenly took it as a small detour. I didn't know what was going on because this wasn't like him.

"What—what the hell, Whiskey? Where are you taking us?" I asked.

He smirked. "You hungry, sugar?"

Immediately, I breathed a sigh of relief. "Yeah. I guess I'm a bit famished."

"Good. Because I'm hungry too, and we're getting somethin' to eat," he answered. "And you're comin' with me."

I shouted with delight. "Yay! I love food."

"I know you do," he said. "That's why I'm pullin' off. Food tends to make everyone feel better. It might make you feel better after that panic attack."

"Yeah. Sorry about that," I apologized.

He gave me a quick glance as we pulled into a parking spot at a nearby McDonald's. "Sugar, you don't ever have to apologize for having a panic attack. It's somethin' you can't control. And I'll be here to help you through that. Always."

"Really? You don't mind that I might have a panic disorder?" I asked.

Whiskey shook his head side-to-side. "Of course, I don't mind. What did you think? That I was gonna break it off because you're dealing with a possible panic disorder? Hell no! That's not how I roll. No matter what you may be dealing with, no matter what may be going on...I'll be here. I'll be here to support you through it all. Forever and always."