SWNOVELS Chapter 33
Chapter 33
“I’ll go for help,” I say, rising to my knee, but he grabs my wrist.
“Fay,” he says, opening his eyes a little to squint at me. “Don’t go
anywhere. Tell no one.”
“What!?” I hiss at him, appalled. “Kent, you could die-”
“I’m not going to die,” he grumbles, forcing the words from between his clenched teeth. “This happens sometimes. It will –”
He groans before forcing out the last word in the sentence.
“Pass.” He rests his head back against the floor, squeezing his
eyes shut and grimacing in pain.
I gape at him. Is he serious? Is this honestly a common thing for
him?
“Well, what can I do to help?” I ask, still frantic.
He opens one eye and looks at me, clearly annoyed. “Go away,
that’s what you can do.”
“What!?” I stare at him. Was he crazy? “Kent, you’re probably having a heart attack –”
Chapter 33
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Suddenly, footsteps sound in the hall below. He freezes, tries to sit up, and then groans in pain as he cannot. “Fine,” he says, looking at me. “You want to help? Get me into your room.”
“What!?”
“Stop saying what,” he growls, trying again to sit up. “Just help me!”
I hesitate and then get to my feet. I move behind Kent as he sits up and hook my hands in his armpits. Then, I heave with all my might, pulling him towards the open door to my room. Kent helps as much as he can, pushing with his feet to speed us along.
When he’s fully in my room, I drop him and he collapses again on the floor with a heavy groan. “The door,” he murmurs, and I quickly close it. Then, I lean back against the door, staring at Kent
on the floor as he breathes hard.
A few horrible minutes pass when I consider what the hell will happen to me if people discover the Mafia Boss’s dead body in my
room.
But, during those minutes, Kent’s breath softens. The horrible,
crinkled look of pain disappears and his face takes on its normal lines. He’s still sweaty and exhausted but he was right. It passes.
“Are you…are you okay?” I venture after a few minutes of calm
breathing.
Chapter 33
He doesn’t open his eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Um,” I hesitate. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call
someone? A doctor?”
He sits up on my floor, hooking his arms around his knees for support, and then straight at me. “I don’t need a doctor.”
I stare at him, and I’m sure he can tell by my face that I think he’s definitely wrong. He shakes his head and looks down –
embarrassed, I think – and pauses before he speaks.
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“It’s just…” he says, “something that happens to me. From time to time. It’s been happening for the past couple of years. At times
of…stress.”
I sink to the floor, my back still against the door, putting the pieces
together.
I can’t believe it. “Oh my god,” I say, not even thinking about
whether or not I should say it. “You have panic attacks.”
He glances up at me.
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