Sweetheart

29

tw: panic attack

Aaron
November 2020

"Who's Jenny?"

The name echoes in my brain. It's like someone is shouting it in my ears, making them bleed. My heart skips a beat, and then picks up its pace. Faster and faster and faster.

"And why did Nate say that I was like her?"

My voice booms between us. "You're nothing like her." I realize I'm breathing too heavily. "No one is like her." I look around with my eyes, Five things you can see, four that you can feel, three that you can hear, two that you can smell, and one that you can taste.

"Okay... Is she your ex? Are you in love with her? Is that why you don't wanna give me a chance?"

Too much. Too many questions. It's all too much. "You need to go."

"No, you need to give me an explanation—"

"Get out!" I shout, making her flinch. "Get out," I repeat.

"Aaron, I—"

"Please," I stress the word, not caring if I sound helpless.

Lizzie blinks, but nods. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

She leaves the room, and I have to brace myself on the nearest wall.

It's your fault.

No. Not again. Not again, please. I realize that my breaths are already starting to come out jagged. Clumsily, I sit at the desk, inhaling and exhaling slowly, forcing my breathing to even. I focus my eyes on the wall in front of me. And yet, it doesn't stop. My breathing doesn't get better.

I rub my face with my hands, feeling them starting to get numb. My body is covered in chills and my chest tightens. I pull my hair, trying to free my mind. Five things you can see, four that you can feel, three that you can— I can't think of anything, I can't think of anything, I can't—

"Aaron! Can you take out the trash, please!" Grace's voice reaches my ears. I immediately hold on to it like a mussel on its rock. "Aaron? Come on, honey!" Slowly — very slowly — I feel my heartbeat getting even again.

When I try to breathe again, I manage a lungful of air, and it feels so good. I sigh, leaning back in my chair with a hand on my forehead. I'm okay. It's not one of the bad attacks. I hear footsteps on the stairs and then approaching my door. Grace knocks on my door. I quickly put on some pants. "Come in," I say, my voice exhausted.

The door opens. "Hey. Could you take out the trash?" she asks me kindly.

I briefly nod, still unsettled. "Yeah," I breathe.

Grace sighs, closing the door. To my surprise, she's inside my room and she hasn't left as I thought she would. "Aaron, I think we should talk."

"I'm fine, Grace," I ground, getting up on my feet. "Everything is fine."

She tilts her head and gives me a pitiful look. Great. "Everything is not fine, Aaron. You think I can't see that you just had another panic attack?"

I look away. "I didn't—"

"Cut the shit, kid. I wasn't born yesterday," she cuts me off, crossing her arms. "Why won't you see a specialist? Someone who knows how to help you and can get you through this whole mess you've been stuck into since—"

"I don't need a shrink, Grace. I'm okay," I interrupt her before she can say more.

Grace shakes her head, a worried look framing her face. "No, you're not. If you were you wouldn't have a panic attack every time someone mentioned—"