One More Summer

Chapter 10

-Leah-

        It was terrifying, the panic attack. And it was random. The feeling of tightness gripping my throat, and not being able to breathe. The burning heat rushing through my body. Suddenly everything was too bright, too loud, and my heart started pounding. Before I could really do anything, I found myself curled up in a ball, choking tears out. Michael looked concerned, and through the tears I could see him debating over what to do. He must have called out for Katie, because she came running in, pushed him out.

        "Shh, shh," she said softly, coming over to sit next to me on the hospital bed. I leaned into her, and she just let me lay there until everything was back to normal. 

        "Thank you," I said, still shaky from the feeling of being trapped.

        "No problem," she smiled warmly, before getting up to go back outside.

-Michael-

        It was three in the morning when I got back from the drive. I'd spent almost eight hours aimlessly wandering around, stopping only for gas. I carefully opened the door and slipped inside. I'd barely made it into the kitchen before I heard footsteps behind me, and someone flicked a light on. I took a deep breath before someone grabbed my shoulder and pulled me around.

        "You." The drunken voice of my father rang out. "You-are a disgrace to our family." 

        "Sorry, Dad," I whispered, looking down.

        "I didn't raise you to be a good-for-nothing!" He raised his voice. "Your mother, she-she would not be proud of you." I stiffened at the mention of my mother, but raised my eyes up to look at his.

        "No, Dad, she wouldn't." 

        "You are a worthless piece of shit. I hope you know that!" he screamed before picking up a half-empty bottle. "You don't try your hardest. You don't try at all. You bring nothing but shame upon this little family! If-if you come home one more time like this, you're out. Buh-bye," he said, exaggeratedly waving his hands.

        "Y-yes, Dad," I said, my voice shaky, knowing what was coming next. My father reached back and punched me, hard, right on my cheek.

        "Get upstairs before I have to tell you again!" he screamed, before almost collapsing. I turned and slowly walked up the stairs to my room, pulling the door shut and locking it. I sat down on my bed, took a deep breath, and began to cry. Quietly, of course, because Dad would just come back up if he heard me. I put one hand to my cheek as the other searched around the drawer by my bed, fingers clasping something sharp. 

        I stared down at my wrists, holding the razor blade. It had been so long since I'd done this, but it was the only escape I knew. I took a wobbly breath, tears still leaking out of my eyes, before dragging the blade across my skin. It hurt, yes, but I was finally able to focus on something, focus on one of the billions of emotions running around in my head. I latched onto the pain, and the temporary comfort it brought, knowing exactly how I felt. Blood flowed out, and I closed my eyes, leaning back on the bed and letting myself bleed.