The Unexplainable You.

Part Eight. Portland.

I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache. I barely remember last night, but you know, maybe I don't want to.

Andy smiles sadly at me, his eyes tired.

"What happened?" I groan, my stomach churning. 

He doesn't look at me when he answers. "From what they were saying, I think you had a panic attack."

I bite my lip. Andy is the only one who knows about my anxiety. Only because one time when we were at school I was being made fun of and I had an anxiety attack. Andy followed me and he found me hyperventilating on the bathroom floor. 

But that's an issue for another time.

"Have you heard from any of the nurses about my friend?"

He scoffs. "Your boyfriend? Yeah, he came by a few hours ago, but I told him to come back when you woke up."

 "Do you have my bag?"

He nods, holding out my light green backpack, stuffed to the brim with some of my favorite things. Books that would intimidate the faint of heart by the sheer length, my songwriting notebook and uke. Even my photo album that I carry around with me everywhere. Yeah, I'm sentimental, don't judge.

"Thanks A," I say, pulling one of the two billion books I'm reading out and propping it open on my lap. I fall into this world I've grown familiar to with a group of ragtag underdogs and a daring heist. With the shattered versions of the fairytales I've grown up on. With my favorite friend group fighting against the gods again and again. Reading has gotten me through a lot. Middle school, when my parents got divorced, when we moved half way across the country to live with my stepmom. Suddenly diving into the worlds, my problems seem to fall away, and even if just for a moment, I'm free of what holds me down.

***

A knock at the door startles me from my reading. I look up to see Asher sheepishly shifting from foot to foot in the doorway.

"Hey," I smile "How ya doin?"

He gave me a small smile, I can tell he feels awkward. Even though we've hung out a few times, never alone in my room. Never like this.

"Come in, come in." I tell him, sitting up and gesturing to the chairs by the wall. He gives me a tight smile, sitting down in one of the chairs.

"So uh," He stutters. "I came by earlier, but you were asleep. But I heard that you passed out last night and, um, I couldn't find you yesterday, and uh, yeah."

I grin at his child like nerves, like an elementary school child with their crush.

"So, do you want to watch a movie with me?" I ask, holding out the remote to him. He takes it from my hand, examining the plastic like he doesn't have the exact same one in his room.

"You like books?" He asks, gesturing with his head to the stack of books piling up by my bed. I nod, grinning. He smiles back.

"I think I have an idea then."

***

We end up watching a movie called 'Wonderstruck.' It's based on a book that I read in middle school. I never had gotten around to watching the movie though.

Halfway through Asher ended up falling asleep. I sit and watch him, peace coming over his features, worry lifted.

I go back to my book after the movie finishes, flipping through the story until I'm startled by pained groaning. Asher sits up, gripping his stomach. He stands up, his face pale as he rushes to my bathroom.

"Asher." I call. No reply.

I sit up, taking a deep breath before following him. 

The door to the bathroom is cracked open, giving me a clear view of him kneeling on the floor, heaving into my toilet.

"Oh my," I breathe, pushing my way through the door. I place my hand on his back in a weak attempt to comfort him.

Once he's emptied his entire stomach, he leans into my body, heavy sobs racking his shoulders.

"hey," I whisper, running my fingers through his hair. "Hey, deep breaths, okay? Hey, do it with me, okay?"

I suck in a deep breath, waiting for him to copy. He does.

"And let it all out." I blow all of the air out. My mom taught me this when I was little, focusing on breathing distracts you from what's bothering you. That's one of the only things I have from her.

"I'm sorry." He hiccups, the tears that were pouring from his eyes reduced to a light trickle.

"What's going on?" I ask him, cradling his head in my lap. He sits up, wiping his eyes.

"I'm sick Portland."

I resist the urge to smile. "Well, yeah, of course you are, so am I. That's why you're here."

"No," He presses. "I'm really sick."

I would deny it, but the fear in his eyes shuts me up.

"What's wrong with you?"

He shakes his head. "What's not wrong with me? I for one have epilepsy, CF, chronic migraines, EDS, MS, Lupus, you name it."

I nod, biting my lip. "I'm so sorry Asher."

He scoffs, standing up. "Yeah, whatever. I'll see you later."

His tone almost shocks me, but I've grown acustomed to some of his hostility. 

"Um, okay, Bye." I stutter as he runs his hand through his hair. He gives me a weak attempt at a smile, wiping his tears.

"Bye Portland. Thanks for everything."

And with that, he storms out, leaving me with his words and the memories.