“It’s going to be all right, Mia,” I say. “Let me just get a closer look at you.”

“I’m going to have another attack,” she says. Her voice is starting to sound frantic.

“Just take a deep breath, Mia,” I say, in my calming doctor’s voice. But it doesn’t have the desired effect.

My cock is still hard, and honestly, I was hoping to get another shot at her sweet, tight pussy. As soon as I got my cock in there, I knew I was going to have to have it again. I was going to have to take her again, shoving my steely pipe right into her. But looks like that’s going to have to wait for now. I don’t think she’s having an attack. But it’s always better to err on the side of caution, rather than let something happen that you weren’t expecting.

“Take a deep breath, Mia,” I say. I model the breathing for her, sitting cross legged on the bed, and very obviously breathing in and out slowly.

Mia copies me as best she can.

“Just keep breathing, Mia,” I say. “You’re in good hands. I’m a doctor, remember? Let me just get my flashlight. Keep breathing. That’s right. Slowly. Good.”

She sits cross legged just like I was. She’s completely naked, and the breathing makes her gorgeous breasts rise and fall. My cock yearns to enter her again. But I can’t do that now, damnit.

I rummage around in the bedside table drawer for a small medical flashlight, and I bring it close to her face, pointing it at her skin. It does look a little red and inflamed. The redness could just be from exertion, but the inflammation would be unusual after sex.

My normal question would be: are you allergic to latex, considering the condom I used. But the fact is we don’t know if Mia still has any remaining allergies. Her medical history showed that she had no known allergies before these attacks started, so it’s unlikely that once the general cellular energy problem was cured, that she would have any remaining problems with substances like latex.

“I’m going to have another attack,” says Mia, her voice still frantic. She’s losing control of her soothing breathing exercise.

“It’s OK, Mia,” I say. “Just keep breathing.”

“But it’s not just one attack… it means I’ll have to go back to my room. I’ll never come out again. It that blue stuff doesn’t work, then I’m screwed…”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” I say.

But what I see on her face worries me. The redness is clearly growing, and her face is starting to look puffy. I have some epinephrine in the house, but a shot of that requires real medical attention with a very short time span. I’m not fully equipped here at the house to deal with problems like that.

“Do you still have the blue drops with you?” I say. “The methylene blue?”

Mia shakes her head. “I took two drops this morning. I didn’t bring any with me. Don’t you have some?”

I shake my head. “I gave you the last of what I had.”

I think for just a moment, trying to think of the best course of action. I can’t let anything happen to Mia, I just can’t.

“I think I’d better take you to the hospital,” I say.

“What?” She’s completely freaking out now, looking like she’s about to start hyperventilating.

“It’s faster than calling an ambulance,” I say.

“But I can’t go back into my room!”

“Mia,” I say. “I don’t know what’s happening, but…”

“The blue drops aren’t working anymore! I knew it. They’re not working!”

“You may just need a bigger dose, Mia,” I say. “But we don’t have it here with us. We need to get you to the hospital in case you have a severe reaction.”

“Fuck, fuck… Fuck…”

I get up and get dressed quickly, throwing my clothes on as fast as I can.

I start handing Mia her clothes, but she’s just repeating “fuck, fuck, fuck,” over and over again.

So I put her clothes on for her, doing the best job I can.

Her hair is tousled, and I don’t bother putting her bra back on her. Her breasts show clearly, their outlines and her nipples printing in the tight t-shirt.

“I’m not going back there!” cries Mia. “I’m not going back to my room for another year or for the rest of my life.”

“I’m not taking you to your room, Mia,” I say. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Her body goes completely limp. There’s no way she’s going to walk to the car herself. I pick her up and carry her in front of me, the way I carried her up here to the bedroom.

I rush down to the garage, and with some difficulty opening the door while holding her, I get her into the passenger’s seat of my Porsche.

Running around the front of the car, I hop into the driver’s bucket seat, and gun the engine, turning the key as I jam down the accelerator. I’ve already hit the garage door opener. But the door is opening too slowly.

I glance over at Mia. She looks completely despondent, which is understandable, considering that she thinks she’s going to have to spend the rest of her life back in her childhood room, after only a brief moment of freedom.

Her face is growing redder and puffier by the second.

I need to get her to the hospital fast.

On the way out, I grabbed a shot of epinephrine that’s in my pocket now. But I don’t want to use it unless I have to, unless she can’t breathe.

“Hang in there, Mia,” I say. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

The garage door isn’t yet completely open.

I have a pocket knife with me. I can perform a tracheotomy if I need to, but I don’t want it to come to that.

“Hang in there, Mia,” I say again.

I jam the car into reverse, releasing the clutch, sending us in reverse barreling towards the garage door.

Mia lets out a scream. The door is still opening. It doesn’t look like there’s going to be enough time. It doesn’t look like we’re going to make it.

But we make it, with less than an inch to spare.

The Porsche whizzes out into the street. Someone honks. I jam the car into first, the second. I’m shifting rapidly, accelerating as fast I can, pushing the car to its limits.

“I’m getting you to that hospital, Mia,” I say. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

I weave through cars, blowing through stop lights and stop signs. I know the route to the hospital like the back of my hand. We’re there in under ten minutes flat.

By the time we get there, Mia’s face is very swollen, but she can still breathe.

“You still with me?”

She nods.

“I need verbal conformation,” I say, falling back into my doctor way of talking.

“I’m fine,” says Mia.

She’s obviously not fine, though.

I pull the Porsche right up to the emergency room door, and get out without turning off the car.

Grabbing Mia from the passenger’s seat, I carry her into the hospital.

I rush through the waiting room, past the desk where the nurses on duty sit.

“Sir! Excuse me, sir! You can’t go back there.”

But I ignore her, and push my way right through the double doors.

I grab a cot, and lay Mia down on it.

The nurse has followed me. She’s angry, almost as red in the face as Mia.

Then she sees who I am.

I completely ignore her.

“Epinephrine!” I shout.

The nurses here know me.

Someone hands me a shot, and I jam it into Mia’s leg.

“You’re going to be just fine, Mia,” I say.

“You,” I say, pointing to a nurse. “I need methylene blue, pure. Get it from the pharmacy. As fast as you can!”

“What’s going on?” says Mia, looking around. She’s probably feeling more awake from the shot of what is essentially adrenaline. “What’s going on?” She looks wide eyed and scared.