158- Panic and passing out


    I should have known better than to hope I would actually get some rest. I don’t think I even remember


    anymore what it’s like to just have a regr dream. Instead I’m stuck in these nightmarish visions of


    Kiara. The only thing that makes them even remotely bearable is my hope that they will provide some


    kind of useful information which I can use to find and rescue her. The moment I see the look of dread


    on Kiara’s face, I know that tonight is going to be another bad night. There is nothing I can do to help


    her right now other than sit through it with her. Maybe if I focus hard enough she will feel it somehow,


    the same way I can feel her. I just wish I could tell her that she isn’t alone, that there are people looking


    for her. Tonight is one of the worst nights, because rather than screaming, crying or fighting,


    Kiara looks like she is begs. The way she drops to her knees and grabs out, it looks like


    she is tugging on someone’s hand or clothes. Even worse is when she falls backwards as if she’s been


    pushed out of the way. She looks pale and sickly as she literally crawls. She reaches out like she did


    the night of thest murder and I feel as sick as she looks. Once again, she looks away, then drops her


    hand. Unlikest time, she immediately turns to the side and throws up, although it appears to be


    mostly bile. She definitely hasn’t been eating. enough. Not that I imagine she wants to eat. Someone


    just died. I know it. I need to know what Kiara’s magic is more than ever, because they’re making her


    do something before the people die and I need to know what it is. Suddenly without warning, Kiara


    slumps to the side and passes out. There must be something different about being unconscious to


    being asleep, because unlike when she’s asleep, my visiones to an immediate stop.


    I wake with a jolt and sit up in bed so fast that I elbow Bemy in the face.


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    “Ow, what the hell?” He grumbles, rubbing at his chin where I hit it. I am gasping for air, I feel like my


    ch*st is being crushed in a vice and my heart is beating so fast that I’m afraid it’s going to burst.


    Bemy immediately sits up and pulls me into hisp.


    “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay. I need you to breathe for me sweetheart. Can you do that for me? Just


    take one deep breath in. Slowly, just breathe in.” Honestly I don’t think it really matters what Bemy is


    saying, It’s the soothing tone of his voice that is helping me calm down. Lying against his ch*st like this,


    I can hear his heartbeat and despite his calm voice, it’s racing nearly as fast as mine. I must be scaring


    him. I need to pull myself together. I force myself to listen to his directions and I take a strangled breath


    in.


    “Good girl, now breathe out.” He praises me and if I weren’t feeling so awful I would have to


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    roll my eyes. But he’s being sweet so I guess I’ll let him get away with talking to me like at child this


    once. I release my breath and let Bemy coach me through a few more before I start to breathe


    normally again, if a little fast. My heart starts to slow and as my heart rate drops to a more normal


    pattern, so does Bemy’s. I find myself sitting in Bemy’sp, clutching the front of his shirt so tight


    that my knuckles have turned white.


    “Sorry I hit you.” I whisper, my voice weak. Bemy just runs a hand up my back soothingly.


    “Never mind that. What happened? Was it another dream?” He asks. Following my lead, his voice is


    also barely more than a whisper. I nod and hide my face in his chest, taking whatfort I can.


    “Yes. It was bad. I’m pretty sure… I think there was another murder.” I confess. I can feel Bemy tense


    up for a second, then he forces himself to rx as he continues trying to calm


    me down.


    “Tell me what you saw.” He says it as an order, but I know it isn’t really. Either way I tell him everything.


    Bemy stretches and manages to grab his phone from the bedside table. He makes a quick call, I’m


    not sure who to, and basically tells them to be on the lookout for


    another murder and to put out an alert for everyone to ch*ck on their loved ones. At very least he can


    do his best to ount for all the Shifters. Call made, he drops the phone back on


    the bed and turns his attention back to me.


    “Sweetheart, what can I do?” He asks, he sounds almost desperate. I shrug hopelessly.


    “What do you usually do when you’re upset?” he demands.


    “I don’t know. Work, keep busy. When there’s no work I sometimes watch old cartoons.” I tell him,


    thinking of my nket fort movie night with Harry. Bemy nods determinedly.


    “I can make that happen.” He briefly moves me off hisp so that he can grab myptop and bring it to


    the bed. He immediately drags me back into hisp and flips it open. It only takes him a couple minutes


    to have old cartoons ying. I have no idea what time it is, but I don’t want to think about it right now


    anyway. I just curl up in Bemy’sp while we watch


    cartoons in the dark.


    I wake up much slower than my panicked awakeningst night. There is an rm going off,


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    it’s obnoxious but I can’t bring myself to care enough to turn it off. Bemy eventually moves. to silence


    the awful sound. My whole b*dy feels worn out, like I did a huge work out or spent way too much time


    in the sun. Bemy looks groggy and there are shadows underneath his eyes that I’m sure are a


    matching set with the ones I must have.


    “Are you okay? I can take care of the Shiftersing for mediation myself.” he offers. It is tempting,


    REALLY tempting. But I suspect that if I stay in bed now, I’m just going to get myself all worked up


    again. I shake


    my head to refuse his offer.


    “I would rather stay with you.” Bemy gives me a half smile and offers to let me shower first. I agree,


    partially because my hair takes forever to dry and partially because I feel really gross. When I was


    having my panic attackst night, I must have been sweating. Gross, poor Bemy had to deal with it.


    Not that heined, he never reallyins which somehow makes me feel better and worse at


    the same time. Bemy showers while I get. dressed and we both head downstairs. Bemy insists on


    me eating breakfast although I don’t have much of an appetite. Still, I manage to force down a couple


    pieces of toast to make him happy. We are just tidying up thest of the dishes when a knock on the


    door lets us know that the Shifters have arrived.


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