Page 12 of Driven By Impulse

I can see blue and white tiles. I can see the chair by the bed. I can see my brown boots. I can see…

Hanna reached for her senses then, as she had been taught to do when she’d shown signs of panic attacks back in school. Five things she could see. Four things she could touch. Three things she could hear. Two things she could smell. One thing she could taste.

But she couldn’t name five things. Her vision was starting to blur at the edges, and the darkness mirrored the tightening tunnel she seemed to be breathing through. There just wasn’t enough air, and her lungs were starting to contract, begging for oxygen, the pounding of her heart beating louder and louder with each passing second. She wouldn’t reach the other side of the tunnel, not this time. Not this time. Not this time.

“Breathe, Han. Come on, babe. Let’s go. Hold my hand. That’s right. Breathe in and out.”

She recognized the voice, even if it sounded like it was coming from somewhere very far away. But it was a good voice, firm and familiar, and Hanna let it guide her through that goddamned tunnel of shadows and buzzing, until she could feel the hand guiding her head between her thighs, the fingers stroking her hair, soft, gentle touches that chipped away at the darkness one tiny piece at a time, bringing her back to the edge then pulling her away from it.

She tried to open her eyes, but the voice above urged her to go slowly, and Hanna followed its advice, blinking her lids a few times, so the light didn’t burn when she finally looked around.

I can see blue and white tiles. I can see the chair by the bed. I can see my brown boots. I can see the silver door. I can see the white bin.

I can touch the sleeve of my jacket. I can touch the cool floor. I can touch my loose hair. I can touch my ring.

I can hear my breathing. I can hear the announcements over the loudspeaker. I can hear the beeping of machines.

I can smell soap. I can smell clean sheets.

I can taste coffee on my tongue.

Finally, she lifted her head from between her legs, catching sight of her closest friend kneeling over her.

“Hey, babe, how we doing?”

Hanna’s voice was scratchy and rough when she finally responded. “I’ve had better days, Tor.”

“And worse ones, Han.”

Hanna gave a short nod, and to her immense relief, the room didn’t shift on its axis. “And worse ones. How’d you know I was here?” Hanna glanced around. “And why are you here?”

“Brought a few kids in from the elementary school field trip to the farm today. Apparently, no one signed the permission slip for getting up close and personal with a wasps’ nest.”

Tori dropped to a sitting position and reached for the paramedic’s bag, pulling out her water bottle and a banana. She unscrewed the cap on the bottle and placed it on the floor. “Lizzie saw you slip out of your deputy’s room and break for it, figured I could help.”

She unpeeled the banana and handed it over to Hanna, who accepted it without arguing. No doubt some real food would go a long way to getting her back on her feet without hearing the ringing in her ears. “You did. Thank you.”

Tori let the silence stretch for long moments, during which Hanna took small sips of water and small bites of fruit, and slowly allowed her senses to come back online. It wasn’t the first time Tori had sat on a plastic floor and coaxed her through the darkness, but it hadn’t happened for so long that Hanna had fallen into the trap of thinking it might never happen again.

“This, too.” Tori pulled an oat bar from her bag. “Made it fresh last night. Which is when I’m assuming is the last time you ate.”

“I had coffee this morning,” Hanna managed.

Tori made a face. “Helping you to lose your shit even faster.”

Hanna coughed out a laugh. “You have a terrible bedside manner.”

Tori moved to Hanna’s side, so they were both sitting with their backs against the wall, and leaned her head on Hanna’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about Grace, babe. And Frankie. You’re under too much pressure.”

Which was Tori’s way of saying she could understand exactly why Hanna had lost her shit.

“It’s not just that,” Hanna admitted. There were so many things she wanted to share with her best friend—how she suspected someone inside her department, how the security system had gone offline before Grace had been abducted from a safehouse very few people knew about, how she was certain Iverson and Ralston were behind the kidnapping…

But Ash had advised her against reading anyone in. It would only complicate the flow of information and put more people at risk—more people she cared about at risk. No, for the time being, it was best Tor didn’t know any more than was strictly necessary.

“What’s going on?” Tori asked. “Secrets told in the treehouse stay in the treehouse.”

There had been a real treehouse when they were girls, high up in Hanna’s backyard, made of wooden beams they’d worked all summer to buy and decorated with pages ripped from magazines. In the treehouse, they had spilled over beauty secrets, celebrity crushes, and their terror over tampons. Later on, they’d talked about their real crushes, sipped pilfered vodka and smoked their first joints. In the treehouse, Tori had told Hanna she also liked girls, and Hanna had told Tori she was falling for her dangerous foster brother.