Pull Me Close: The Panic Series

by Sidney Halston

  “Katherine.” A voice is calling me. That voice feels familiar, but I’m not sure whose it is or where it’s coming from. “Katherine, baby. Wake up. Wake up.”

  My eyes flutter open and green eyes, full of concern, stare back at me. “You were having a nightmare. A bad one.” He runs his palm up and down my cheek.

  “Shit,” I say, sitting up. “What happened? Oh my God.” I put my hand to my mouth. “An explosion. I remember that.” I begin to shake.

  “No. Just a car backfiring. Nothing happened. Well, you had a panic attack, but there was no explosion, I mean.”

  I close my eyes and count to ten before opening them again. I hop off my bed and on shaky legs go to the bathroom to wash my face.

  When I emerge, he’s sitting on the couch. “Come sit with me,” he says, and pulls me into his lap. “You scared me to death.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He wraps his fist around my hair, something he likes to do. “I need to ask you something. Something I should’ve asked before. Is that okay?”

  I nod.

  “What happened to you, Katherine? I don’t mean this morning, I mean, what happened?”

  I know what he wants to know, and I’m not sure I can talk about it right now. Besides my therapists and some local reporters back then, I’ve never actually spoken about that day out loud. The entire story sits in my chest like cement and I relive it over and over again—in my dreams, in my fears.

  I push off him and sit up cross-legged next to him, a pillow on my lap. He hands me a glass of water, which I gulp down. Maybe it’s time to talk about it. Might as well; whenever I make it to the doctor, he’ll surely want to know.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone. Not like this. Not in sequential order. Most people have just known.”

  “Can you tell me?” he asks. “I’d really like to know.”

  “I told you I grew up in New York, right? Well, it was my first week of college and I was running late to class. I got on the train, and then September eleventh happened.”

  “September eleventh, as in the September eleventh?” His mouth is open in shock, and he doesn’t even know anything yet.

  “Yep, the September eleventh. The train had just started to move and we were in a tunnel when we heard a boom. It wasn’t very loud, but we all heard it. Then the train stopped and all the lights were cut off. We were stuck in there for sixteen hours.”

  “What?”

  “Absolute and total darkness. No AC, no phones, just a bunch of strangers crammed in together. Dr. Cole once said that the sensory deprivation was part of the trauma.” I take a deep breath because talking about this is difficult. I’m trying to not feel as if I’m reliving it, but since this is the first time I’ve told the story this way, it’s hard to separate myself. “I thought the worst part was the not knowing. Remember, the Internet wasn’t readily available on all phones like it is now, so it was a matter of trying to get reception, which turned out to be impossible. Most of what we knew was speculation. Some people thought it was a bomb, some were saying there was a fire, and some said it was just that the train had broken down. But the truth was, no one actually knew what was happening.”

  “Jesus Christ, Katherine. That explains a lot.”

  “That’s not all,” I say. “When we left that train, New York was changed. I mean, obviously, right? When I found out that the World Trade Center was the target—” I stop and think about that moment. The single worst moment of my entire life. Firefighters were checking us for dehydration and they were telling us what happened. “I remember looking over the shoulder of one of the firemen and seeing the skyline that I had seen every single day, full of smoke and soot. I was shaking, but so was everyone else around me. There was so much confusion and questions, but all I could do was look at the skyline, ignoring all the talking going on around me. Something was different and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It wasn’t until someone said something about the World Trade Center towers that I noticed.” I can’t help the way my voice breaks or the tears that are pouring out of my eyes. “Nico, you can’t imagine what it’s like to see something every day and then one day—bam!—just like that it’s gone. I remember sobbing loudly, so loudly, and that two men had to hold me back as I ran toward the gray smoke.”

  I push out of Nico’s grip and stand, pacing the room, which feels too small to contain me at the moment.

  “Katherine, come here.”

  But I don’t. I’m too caught up in the story. In that day. In the single worst day of my life.

  A strangled sob leaves my throat and I drop to the ground yelling and screaming, my nails digging into the arms of the faceless person who holds me back from running to ground zero.

  “My mother…” I clear my throat. “She worked on the fifty-second floor of tower one.”

  Suddenly I’m wrapped tightly in Nico’s arms again. I don’t really know how I got here.

  The fifty-second floor of a building that is no longer there—that’s where she worked. Pain like I’ve never felt courses through my body as gut-wrenching sobs escape me. When I look around, I’m not the only one processing the devastation that plagued our city; other people who were trapped with me have lost loved ones today too.

  “For hours we’d been orphaned or widowed, and we didn’t even know about it. Seeing the tear-filled eyes of the soot-stained firemen and police officers around me, Nico…that is ingrained in my mind.” I poke at my head, hard. “I can’t get those eyes out of my head. I dream about them sometimes.”

  “Fuck, Katherine. That’s…” He is at a loss for words and just holds me tighter. I’m not looking at him. My eyes are shut closed, my nose is runny, and I’m sobbing as I fist my hands and clutch Nico’s shirt.

  “Every single day, I miss my mother. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about the last thing she said to me.” My voice cracks and I can’t even finish my sentence. I don’t know when I whisper it. It could be minutes later, it could be an hour later. “She said, ‘Love you always, my heart.’ ”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I’m uncertain what is running through his mind.

  He grabs my blanket and puts it over my shoulders. “You’re shaking.” I am, and I can’t stop. My teeth clatter together. A coldness is pulsing underneath my skin, in my bones, and I can’t find warmth. When he notices the blanket isn’t enough, he lifts me up onto the bed and covers me with the blanket, then lies down next to me, rubbing his hands up and down my arm, using his body warmth to help me.

  “ ‘Sorry’ sounds so insignificant. But I am sorry, Katherine. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I can’t even imagine what that must’ve felt like. What you went through…it’s horrific. I have so many questions, but I don’t even know where to start.” His fingers run through my hair soothingly, and he kisses my cheek over and over, wiping tears away in the process.

  Eventually I calm down and even feel a little better. Purging fifteen years of devastation is cathartic in ways I’d never realized it would be.

  “I’m sorry I asked you to relive that, corazón.”

  “I’m glad I told you,” I admit as I gaze up into those beautiful green eyes. “You know, at first I wasn’t scared about…well, everything. I lived a pretty normal life for a while afterward. I was sad and went into a deep depression for a few months afterward, but my mom was a strong and feisty woman, and I knew she wouldn’t want me to let grief stop me from finishing school.”

  “You amaze me, Katherine.”

  “I don’t think I did anything amazing. All I’ve done is survive. And barely, at that,” I reply. “My dad wanted me to move down here right away, but I didn’t. I had friends there, and my home was there, and all the memories of my mother were there. I had boyfriends and dates and I was a functioning person. I was fun, Nico. Like, really fun. Sorority, homecoming court, and all that. This person here—this isn’t me.” This is a difficult thing to admit to a person you like, a person you can see h
aving a true and meaningful relationship with, but I say it anyway.

  “I feel like I’m stuck inside my body. Everyone’s moved forward, but I’ve been stuck in the same place. Since I’ve come into all this awareness lately, the hardest part has been remembering who I used to be, the dreams that died, the years I’ve lost.” I run my fingers through his beard as I speak. This man who’s somehow made me come alive. Made me want to try to get out and live. “I wish you could’ve met her.”

  “Your mom?”

  “No. Me.”

  “Baby…”

  “You would’ve liked me, I think. I would’ve had fun at your club. We would’ve danced.”

  He pulls me toward him and rolls me so that I’m on him, straddling him. “I like you now just fine. And we already danced. I can’t imagine I’d like you more. I think you’re pretty great just the way you are, in fact,” he says, his thumb rubbing against my cheek. Green eyes, so full of affection, stare back at me, making me feel as if I can do anything. I know that feeling it and doing it are not the same, but at least I’m feeling invincible. It’s a start.

  “I’m sorry I pushed you today,” he adds. “I went too far.”

  “No. I think I need that. I need you to push me. I need a kick in the ass. My therapist says I need to do things like that because eventually I’ll conquer the fear. Desensitize myself to those things.”

  “So every day we do something scary. Something small. But every day you try.”

  “Yes. Every day I’ll try. Every day I’ll do something that scares me.”

  “You’re pretty fucking amazing, corazón.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah. Really amazing. I can’t even go get bacon at the corner market.”

  “No. But you can do something that most can’t,” he says, looking at me with an intensity I haven’t seen before. “You can look horror in the eye and charge forward, and you can survive.” I chew on my lip. He has a lot more confidence in me than I have in myself, that’s for sure. “I’ll be right there holding your hand.”

  —

  The days pass one by one, and then it’s a week. Nico doesn’t come by every day, but we talk and text constantly. Even while busy with the club, he always asks what I did that day that scared me. Mostly this week has been about going outside. I can now walk all the way down to the front doors without much apprehension. I don’t run down the stairs anymore, I walk. I do this so many times a day, I feel like I’m leaving a trail of scuff marks on the floor. To add incentive, he tells me the most deliciously sexy things on the phone.

  “I can’t wait to have you spread out on my bed, sweetheart,” he moaned into the phone last night when he got home after a long day at Panic. My hand slid down my torso into my panties, and his deep voice fueled a self-induced orgasm. Suffice it to say, I’m eager to get into his bed. It’s like my libido is fueling me, silly as it may sound. I’ve lived without sex for so long, I don’t know why I’m so worked up now.

  I think about all the young drama-free women that Nico sees every day, and even though I want to say that I’m not jealous, I am. Why would he stick around when I have nothing to offer him? But stick around he does. Even though we haven’t defined our relationship, I’m fairly certain we are in some sort of monogamous relationship, especially since he often calls me his woman. Which, incidentally, I love.

  It’s early Tuesday morning and I’m on the treadmill when Nico calls.

  “Hey, corazón.”

  “Good morning.”

  “You’re breathless.”

  “I’m jogging,” I say, and he doesn’t say anything. “Nico?”

  “Sorry. Sorry. My mind wandered. You breathless. Naked.”

  I almost stumble and have to power down the treadmill.

  “I got further this morning. I went all the way to the corner.”

  “That’s great news,” he says. “Hey, I need to ask you for a favor. Remember David and Geo?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, they’re in town. I told them all about your cooking, and I was wondering if you’d mind…”

  “You want me to cook for them?” I ask, confused.

  “Just say yes. They’re harmless. She’s French and foul-mouthed and completely inappropriate, as you glimpsed, but she’s also sweet and fun. And David is important to me—he’s like a brother. I want them to get to know you.”

  I swipe my forehead with the end of my shirt. The thought of having people in my house makes me anxious, but it’s Nico and he doesn’t ask for anything. How can I say no? “Yes. Of course. When?”

  “Tonight. Text me what you need and I’ll run and get you all the ingredients.”

  “Today? Nico!”

  “I know, I know. Sorry for the short notice but…just text me. Okay? Thanks, baby,” he says, and before I can say anything else he hangs up. I’m left thinking that maybe Nico purposely didn’t tell me until the last minute so that I didn’t have time to work myself up.

  Clever boy.

  —

  It’s much later that evening when I’m standing by my door with Nico beside me.

  “Katherine, you remember Geo and David. Geo, David, this is Katherine—you met briefly at Panic.” His arm is around my waist and I’m tucked right next to him.

  “Of course. Hi.” Bravely I extend my hand to them.

  Geo smiles, and instead of tackle-hugging me like she did the last time, she shakes my hand. “It is very nice to meet you again, Katherine,” she says in her heavy French accent. A slim little thing, with a black and white dress that poofs slightly above her knees, black stilettos, and a big Cheshire Cat smile, Geo’s good humor is infectious. I don’t remember the last time I met someone so well put together or bubbly as Geo.

  I was too scared to notice much about David the last time, but this time I see that he is average height, lean, and not particularly attractive. At least not compared to Geo, who’s stunning. And in my eyes no one compares to Nico. David is lanky and has no hair on his head. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s for aesthetic reasons—he may be going bald. He has a strong Roman nose and a kind smile. He’s wearing a flawless dark blue suit, and even though he isn’t an ugly man by any means, he seems oddly paired with his beautiful fiancée.

  “Nick tells me you are quite the cook. He’s been gushing all about it,” David says.

  Smiling up at Nico, I say, “Well, compared to the fast food he loves, it’s not difficult to be considered a great cook.”

  “She’s being modest. Her cooking is fantastic.”

  Nico ushers our guests inside, and I take a moment to look at him. In another tailored black suit and a silver tie, he opted to leave his hair loose, and my fingers itch to touch it. He looks over his shoulder and catches me staring at him, and he winks and smiles. God, this man can undo me with a smile. I think it’s because of how infrequently he smiles. And with his beard it can be hard to tell whether he is, in fact, smiling. Luckily, his eyes tell the whole story.

  I shake my head to bring myself back to the present. “Please, feel free to have a seat while I check on dinner. Nico, there’s some wine in the kitchen—do you mind?” I ask. The scene feels quite domestic, but I can’t say it’s unwelcome or awkward. More like surreal. We move around the small apartment in sync. I wonder if I’m the only one who feels it.

  “Sure,” he says. With his hand on my lower back, he guides me into the kitchen while his friends take a seat. Once we’re inside the kitchen, he takes my hand and surprises me by whipping me around and pushing me back against the counter where his friends can’t see us. “Have I told you how amazing you look tonight?” he asks in a low voice.

  “You look pretty good yourself,” I answer. His arms are on the cabinets on either side of my head, essentially caging me in. He looks predatory.

  “Nico,” I whisper as he groans against my neck. Our foreplay has been going on for weeks now. He’s touched and tasted me, but the poor man hasn’t had any release from me yet. And even the release he’s given m
e isn’t enough. Every time he’s near me, I just want to touch him.

  “I love when you call me Nico.” He kisses my jaw. “Especially when it comes out breathy and hoarse like that.”

  “Nico,” I repeat, moving my head up to give him more room to work with. He can kiss that spot right under my ear as long as he wants. “I think tonight should be the night.”

  He pushes against me, his knee between my legs. “Are you going to come over to my apartment?”

  “Yes,” I sigh, rubbing myself unabashedly against his thigh.

  He stops and pushes away a little. “Really? Yes?”

  The truth is, I don’t know. “I want to. More than anything.” The electricity between us is off the charts.

  He lowers his lips to mine. His soft beard rubs against my face. His tongue finds mine and I push my fingers into his hair. “Maybe you can try. When they leave, you’ll try?”

  “I’ll try,” I agree, wanting more of his mouth. Of his tongue. Of him.

  He winks. “Okay, baby. I’ll hold you to that.” He grabs the wine bottle and gives me a final kiss on the lips before walking out. “I kind of want to kick them out now,” he whispers, and I laugh.

  After he’s left the kitchen I turn around and softly bang my head on the counter. God, I need to figure this shit out. I need to. He’s not asking me to go to his club full of people or on a damn plane—my worst nightmare, incidentally. Just a short drive to his apartment. The sex should be motivation enough. It kind of is.

  I take one last deep breath before I concentrate on finishing the shrimp and lobster enchiladas I’m making. Nico came by early this morning after I texted him and brought me a crazy amount of fresh shrimp and live lobster. I’ve never cooked with live lobster and it creeped me out at first, but now, as I taste the final product, I see that it makes all the difference. And I finally got to use the tequila he brought. This is the first time I’ve cooked for other people, except of course for Nico and my sister. I always just did it for myself since I had nothing else to do, and honestly found it enjoyable. But Nico is biased, so I’m nervous about today. I hope it’s good.