His arms were warm and heavy and oh so secure around her petite frame. They held her in place, against his chest, tucked close, allowing her to hear the familiar beat of his heart.
She smiles, a broad, calm smile. One she has been missing for a while. The way their bodies, entwined, are centred in the middle of the bed, so safe.
The tick of the clock, slowly gets louder. Each second the world around her grows a little darker and a little more scary. She no longer hears that comforting heart beat, but an erratic, uncoordinated racing beat. Fight or flight.
Flight. She panics as the air around her seems in short supply, her eyes are closed but her mouth is open as she desperately gulps, trying to stop herself from suffocating. Her throat is tight, her lungs are burning and she can feel each alveoli rasping for breath, fighting at her throat to open.
The room goes cold, hairs standing up on end. Those arms, those tanned, tattooed arms are now rigid and firm. His hands grip her, pressing into the tender veins in her wrist, fingernails digging in.
His breath is hot and unkind, his skin no longer feels smooth but rough and cool. She is no longer cocooned in his arms, but held, constrained, prisoned in his vice like grip.
Her eyes shoot open, pupils wide and dilated, her green orbs almost totally engulfed by her terror.
Slowly she moves her eyes to the figure beside her, not daring to move an inch.
The darkness fades and a pale, collected face, eyes fixed, boring into her.
'Hello Carla' Frank smiles.