invasato [h.s]

35

[anyone been paying attention to specific letters on the chapter banners 🤨🤨]

warning!! — violent themes, descriptions of death and violence

Elaina Basset

Sitting at a booth in a diner down the street from the paint shop, I stare blankly ahead.

My head hasn't stopped spinning, it's just that I'm more able to keep it contained now.

I had a full blown panic attack. I'm coming down from it now. Marjorie suggested to Harry that he take me somewhere to get a drink of water and regroup—somewhere away from the commotion.

I cant help but feel bad, because Marjorie was so concerned about me while her place of work was up in flames.

Right now, Marjorie and Derek are talking to the cops outside while Harry and I sit here at a booth in this empty diner.

I haven't said a word. I haven't looked at anyone. I've been silent while Harry paces, messaging people and making calls.

Eventually, my numbed stare beholds Harry's frame coming to sit in front of me.

"I talked to Zayn." he says. "We're gonna deal with Jayden as soon as possible."

I stay quiet, not looking at him but instead looking through him like he wasn't even there.

I wish he didn't watch that happen to me. The panic attack. I'm humiliated by it, knowing he saw the whole thing unravel.

"Elaina, c'mon. Talk to me." he urges.

My eyes look fully at him now, seeing how his face mostly holds a chill expression, but the quickness of his irises and the scrunch between his brows tells me that he's not so nonchalant. He's stressed too.

I look from him to out of the diner window that was next to us. From here, I can see Marjorie next to Derek, talking to three police officers.

"You know we can't go to the cops right?" I hear Harry speak.

I just shake my head slowly. "I know we can't. They won't do anything anyway."

I can feel Harry continuing to look at me as I gaze out the window numbly. It was the first thing I had said in maybe thirty minutes.

But it was true. The police will be next to useless in this situation. I should know.

"Are you feeling okay or do I need to take you to a doctor or some shit?" Harry remarks with his usual snarky tone, but his words contrast how he sounds. I honestly think he's concerned, he just doesn't know how to show it.

"I don't need a doctor." I shake my head, my voice quiet.

Harry looks down at his hands folded on the table top. He messes with the rings on his fingers while his face is clearly focused on the thoughts in his mind rather than what's physically in front of him.

"Does that happen to you often?" he finally speaks, flicking his eyes to me beneath his eyebrows. I tilt my head, needing some clarity.

"The panic attacks." he adds.

I take a sharp inhale through my nose and look down at my lap. "There's always a trigger for them." I tell him before looking up again to see him listening to me. "They only happen if I have a trigger. And when they happen, they're pure hell."

He's listening intently, not passively. I can tell by the way his eyes are locked on my face.

He leans forward a bit. "What's the trigger..."