Peace of the Sun

Chapter V

I shot up from my bed, and it was still dark outside. I had burning pain in my chest, and it felt like there was a brick sitting on top of my lungs. I was struggling to breathe. I looked over to Kayla, who was still sleeping and started to panic. This hasn't happened in a while. I had some anxiety on the plane, but I knew this was going to be much worse. I haven't had one this bad in over a year.

I got up from the bed and started pacing around the room. I couldn't stay still. I can never stay still. I could feel the blood pounding in my ears. My mouth was dry. I tried to swallow but my throat was closed up. I kept pacing, my hands pulled at my hair, and my feet started to tingle. My vision was disfigured and I had an overwhelming sense of dread. I felt like I was drowning. I searched the room to find something to focus on when my warped vision landed on Kayla asleep in her bed. 

I need to leave. 

She can't know about this. 

She's going to think I'm crazy.

I stumbled to the door, struggling to unlock it, and let myself out with my shaky hands. 

What time is it? 

Are people going to be waking up soon? 

I can't let anybody see me like this. 

My cheeks were hot. I needed air. I eventually found the communal bathroom on my floor and pushed myself through the threshold. I turned on the sink and splashed my face with water. The cold water refreshed my warm cheeks, but my breath was still short and my throat was still tight.

I gripped onto the counter and tried to take deep breaths. 

This needs to end. 

I can't do it anymore. 

I tried to organize my haphazard thoughts, to try and think of a useful coping mechanism. I thought back to Oliver playing the nocturne yesterday morning on the piano. I tried to focus on the flashback, and remember the details of his painted fingernails gliding across the clean, white keys. 

No stop. 

I can't get attached to him. 

This thought made my breath pick up again and my head start to spin. 

No no no. 

Stop, stop. 

No stop. 

I can't do this. 

I then thought about the night my mother comforted me on the staircase after I had started crying.

She played the last chord of the piece she had been learning recently and looked over in my direction. My father was in his office, working on some big project.

"Oh Darling," she got up from the bench and made her way over to me. I felt her gentle hand on my shoulder. "Why are you crying, Lovey?" She called me Lovey a lot. It never really made sense to me. I knew she loved me, but she seemed to pick and choose when she wanted to. She picked me up and sat down on the stairs with me on her lap. She didn't say anything, just rocked me back and forth, softly combing her fingers through my hair. After about half an hour, she tucked a strand behind my ear and I turned to look at her. She gave me a warm, closed-mouth smile, and wiped the tears from my cheeks. "You'll be alright." She spoke just above a whisper and kissed me on the forehead.

That was the last time she was there for me when I got like this. After that, she frequently told me to suck it up or figure it out on my own.

I looked up into the mirror and saw my woebegone reflection. I looked away as soon as possible so I didn't have time to notice all of the tiny details of my face that initiate all of my insecurities. I took one last deep breath and wiped my face before heading back to my dorm.