His heart races as she is pulled against him and his breathing picks up to match. He smothers the latter in his pillow, pressing his face against it to regulate himself, to keep from becoming lightheaded, but it is only partially effective. His heart hurts as it races, but there is nothing he can do to stop it, nothing he can plan or think through that will prevent it from escalating.

He suffers his panic, his irrational terrifying escalation, and eventually shifts his face to bury it in Alexandrie's hair. Her arm digs into his side, her head is not aligned to his chin, everything is out of place and uncomfortable.

"This is not right," he complains breathlessly against her head. "Nothing is right. I can't correct it and I can't tolerate it much longer."