In Your Corner | ✓

Eighteen

Late on Sunday, at around one in the morning, Joshua Zaki finally snaps.

The phone call wakes me up and groggily, I reach for my phone on my bedside table, my heart rate picking up when I see the caller ID.

Not because of any feelings that I keep trying to tell myself I'm not developing, but because it panics me a little.

"Josh?" I answer, sitting up in bed, suddenly not sleepy at all anymore. I rub my eyes as I wait for his response, my heart in my mouth. It's not entirely unusual for him to phone at this hour, especially if he's been working, but something just feels wrong this time.

"Nat," he chokes out, his breathing ragged. "I- I can't- breathe."

If I thought my heart was racing before, it's nothing compared to now.

"Where are you?" I ask, pushing the cover off me and blindly reaching for the light switch so I can actually locate some clothes.

Heartbreakingly, Josh says those three words to me quite a lot, so I wouldn't usually panic.

But this time feels different.

"Nat."

"Josh," I repeat, brain on overdrive. "Where are you?"

"Work."

Finally locating a pair of sweatpants, I tuck my phone between my shoulder and my ear, tugging them on. "Okay. I'm coming right now to get you. Just breathe for me, okay? Breathe with me."

We do this exercise quite a lot and it often helps to calm him down, so I repeat it with him now over the phone.

Somehow, in my haze, I manage to remember to grab my stress ball from my soccer bag and a water bottle.

While still doing the breathing exercise with him, I toss a hoodie on, only taking the phone away from my ear for a fraction of a second.

"Keep breathing with me, Josh. I'm on my way," I instruct, before opening the door of my room and making my way as quietly as I can through the flat, stopping only to grab my keys.

I floor it to Smith's, going way over the limit, but there's hardly anyone about. The whole way, I talk to Josh in a quiet, calm voice, despite the growing bile in my throat.

What's he doing at work this late on a Sunday night? What has him panicking this badly?

It's not happened again, has it?

When I pull up outside the bar and put the car in park, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing head. "I'm here, Josh," I murmur softly. "Tell me where you are."

"My car."

I spot his dark blue Corolla just a little further down the street straight away when I step out of my car and I sprint over, only just remembering to lock my own car over my shoulder.

Not hesitating for even a second, I tug open the driver's door, putting the bag I stuffed with the water, stress ball and whatever else I thought might be good on the ground.

He's got the seat pushed back, his head tucked in between his legs, his shoulders rapidly rising and falling.

His phone is lying on the console next to him, the phone call on speaker.

"Josh," I say quietly, not wanting to touch him in case it triggers him. "Josh, it's me, Nat."

Slowly, he raises his head and looks at me with broken, bloodshot eyes.

My stomach drops.

At the sight of me, Josh starts to cry all over again. His body racks from the sobs and he reaches a hand out to hold onto my wrist.