warning: this chapter contains descriptions of a vivid panic attack.
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The world stopped spinning for the few seconds it took for Sam to register her position. When he snapped out of his daze, he let out another expletive and got to his knees. Clear blue eyes danced in front of her, but his profile was a mere blur that she could hardly register.
"Fuck, Nevada," Sam said, but his voice was muffled to her ears. All she could hear was an intense ringing that threatened to overtake her. "Nevada."
He outstretched a hand towards her, but as she flinched, he dropped his arm.
"Fuck, okay, I don't know how to do this," Sam said, more to himself. "Nevada, you have to breathe. You're safe here. Nothing is going to hurt you. I'm staying with you."
Her chest seized once again, and her face contorted as a fresh wave of pain washed over her. "Hurts," she forced out.
"It'll be over soon," he assured her. He made it sound so easy, and she wished he was right. But she could barely draw in a breath, and she could feel herself becoming more light-headed as her head continued to pound. "Do you think you can match my breathing?"
While Nevada couldn't focus on Sam, he made it a point to exaggerate each breath he took in, counting to four before releasing it for another four seconds. It took an enormous amount of effort before she came close to matching it, but listening to Sam count gave her something else to fixate on. Slowly, the patches in her vision faded, the figure in front of her growing clearer.
"Keep going," Sam said, mirroring her position, hugging his knees to his chest. "Take your time. Breathe in. One, two, three, four."
With every breath she took in, the overwhelming sense of panic seemed to disappear. She felt more in control of herself. The pain in her chest had faded, and the coil in her stomach had loosened its grip. While her hands still shook, she threw all of her energy into maintaining a steady breathing pattern. Sam continued to keep up with her, still murmuring as he counted.
It felt like an eternity had passed before her vision cleared, the headache dull. She no longer felt the urge to run, and the panic that had overtaken her seemed to have disappeared for the time being. She was aware of her surroundings – of the cool bathroom tiles beneath her jeans, of the bright light shining overhead, of the short distance that separated her from Sam.
The small act of breathing felt effortless now, and Nevada's shoulders slumped. Sam had walked in on her having a panic attack. While it wasn't the first time someone had caught her at her most vulnerable, it didn't lessen the blow. Each time it happened felt like a stab to her stomach.
He had even bothered to stay. While he wasn't the first to stumble upon her, he was the first one who had gone to the effort of calming her down and waiting till she had recovered.
