Page 107 of The Royal Art of Revenge

“No, you did the right thing. Thank you for staying with her. You may leave now. I’ll be fine with her.”

She nods quickly and slides off the bed, giving Harriet one last worried look as she does.

A sob breaks free from Hattie, and I slide onto the bed in front of her. She’s facing right ahead, looking right at me, but she’s not seeing me. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused, as if she’s in a completely different place right now, locked in a world nobody else can break through into.

And I…

Shit.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how I can help her. I’ve never seen anyone having a panic attack before. I don’t know how to calm her down or what she needs. I didn’t even know this is something she deals with.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Is it like a nightmare where you don’t wake them? Should I disturb her or let her ride it out? Will it stop by itself? Can it stop by itself? Should I be calling a doctor for her right now?

She drags her hands from her hair, practically tugging it out of her scalp. Her hands form fists almost instantly in what I now know is her grounding action, and the way my heart clenches so tightly should be studied.

I hate this.

I don’t even know what she’s going through, what’s happening to her, what she’s thinking right now, but I hate that it’s bad enough that she has to hurt herself.

It wasn’t that long ago that she told me she’d been through hell.

That I wouldn’t be able to cope with what she’s dealt with.

I brushed it off. Underestimated her words. Thought she was exaggerating.

More fool me.

Tears are streaming out of her eyes, and I reach for her. I cup her face and brush away her tears with my thumbs. Her cheeks are searingly hot beneath my palms, and my stomach twists and tightens uncomfortably.

“Harriet,” I say softly, bringing my face level with hers. “Hattie.”

She blinks, her eyes momentarily clearing before glazing over again.

“Hattie.” I’m a little louder this time. “Come back to me, baby.”

She heaves in a breath, blinking at me.

“That’s it. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

“F—F…” Her gaze clears. “F—”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here. You’re okay.”

Her eyes fill with tears once again, and I catch one with my thumb before it can join the others that have stained her cheeks.

“What do you need?” I push some hair from her face, making sure to keep it from her eyes. “What do you need me to do to help you?”

“Meds.” The word escapes her lips on a gasp. “Ba—bag.”

Meds?

She has medicine for this?

How often must she deal with this?

Fuck. I know nothing about her. I thought I knew her well enough, but I don’t. I don’t know a fucking thing about her that truly matters.