The Expansion of the Universe

Eleven | "How I was before."

Liza's episode lasted for what felt like hours.

By the end of it, her skin was so pale that her every vein seemed visible, and the resulting dehydration left her with a headache and unfocused eyesight.

With the taste of bile on her tongue and a sting of remorse in her heart, she leaned her head back against the wall, unaware that she was still crying until Milo nudged her knee with a box of tissues in his mouth.

She took it with a sad smile.

"Thanks," her voice was a raspy whisper, and she grimaced when she tasted the remnant of vomit on her lips. "I need to brush my teeth and call Whitney," she told the dog, taking comfort in his empathetic gaze.

When she finally reached the computer, she felt less like she was about to fall over, but she was still nowhere near stable, both mentally and physically.

She would have felt guilty about calling the woman outside their normal, agreed upon hours so often, but Whitney had clearly outlined when they started working together that Liza was to call her "whenever, wherever, alright, Liza?"

Liza hadn't listened at first, but she quickly realized after a week of constant panic attacks that, as painful as talking was, it was the only thing that would help her get better.

Tapping on the call button, she tugged at her hair while the video call rang, the slight pain distracting her from the embarrassment that came with remembering just how badly her most recent talk with Elijah had gone.

The call rang.

And rang.

And then it rang some more.

Liza's breaths began to grow harsh again. Why wasn't Whitney answering? Whitney always answered!

Always, always, always!

Oh, God, it was getting hard to breathe again.

She stepped back from the laptop, horrified.

What the hell was she supposed to do? Who could she talk to?!

She didn't even know what was wrong anymore; she just knew that the walls were closing in around her, and it was so, so hard to breathe, and she wasn't sure if she was even standing on solid ground anymore, because she didn't feel as though she was, and she was starting to sweat again, and she felt as though she needed to vomit again but she didn't want to and oh, God, oh, God, oh, God!

What was she supposed to do?

Right when it seemed as though her heart was going to give out entirely, a screen popped up on her computer with Dr. Whitney's number and a button for Accept or Decline.

It took her three times to hit the damn button, and she nearly sobbed with relief when Dr. Whitney's face was portrayed on the computer.

"H-he-help me," she wheezed, grasping at her throat, her eyes trailing down to her chest because she was sure it wasn't moving anymore and she didn't know how to make it move again but she had to figure it out before she fell unconscious.

"Liza, look at me," Whitney commanded, and Liza could do nothing but obey, her wide eyes staring blankly at the grainy image of her therapist. "You're having a panic attack."

Of course she was!

She knew that! She didn't need to be told that!

Her heart was beating so quick she couldn't keep up with the rhythm, her breaths were becoming shorter and choppier by the second, her neck was drenched in cold sweat, and Liza wondered if perhaps she was going to die.