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My breath quickens. My chest tightens, and my gaze darts to the exit, the first hints of panic creeping in.
I know what’s coming. I’ve seen this before, in Kody, in myself.
Closing my eyes, I focus on breathing. Inhale for four, hold for seven, exhale for eight. Repeat.
“Frankie?” Doyle’s voice fades into the background.
My hands grip the edge of the chair. I know this is my body’s fight-or-flight response, my sympathetic nervous system in overdrive.
Breathe, Frankie. Fucking breathe.
Sweat beads on my forehead. A trickle runs down my back. But I keep counting, keep breathing, and slowly, my heart rate starts to slow.
I’m safe. I’m here. I’m now.
The rational part of my brain fights to regain control. I let it.
I keep my eyes closed for a few more minutes, giving my body time to settle. The wave of panic recedes, leaving me exhausted but functional.
I know I’ll have to face this again, but for now, I’ve won.
Opening my eyes, I straighten in the chair and take a deep breath.
“You had a panic attack.” He’s closer than he was before, his hand gripping the armrest of my chair.
I glare at it until he removes it and sits back.
“I started to panic, and I pushed it back.”
“Which part of what I said triggered it?”
“Something I heard from my captor’s mouth.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I’m good.”
“Frankie, I think—”
“I’m a nurse. I know what my body’s doing, and I can handle it.” I cross my legs. “Now where were we?”
His lips press into a line, and he pulls in a breath. “Monty set up sessions for all four of you.”
“Monty. Right. What if it’s a conflict of interest? How can you help him when you think so little of him?”
“My sessions with Monty will focus on his personal issues, mental health concerns, and goals rather than addressing your concerns as a couple. If I find that I’m inadvertently siding with you, and it compromises my ability to treat him, I’ll have an open discussion with him about it and likely refer him to another psychiatrist.”
“Okay.” I nod slowly and continue counting in my head, measuring every breath. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Remember, the devil may have many forms, but so do your strengths. We’ll find them together.”
His eyes burn with a genuine desire to help me. It doesn’t erase my fears, but it makes the fight feel a little less intimidating.
With a warm, encouraging smile, he wraps up the session and assigns journaling as homework. If he only knew how comfortable I am with that task.
How will the guys take to it as part of their treatment?
The notion of us healing feels so far away. It’s a daunting, ambitious goal but also a hopeful one.
