you can hear it in the silence

chapter fourteen

Adare ༉‧₊˚✧.*

I hate anxiety.
I hate it literally so much.

I don't know why my brain is constantly fighting against me.

Right now I have absolutely nothing to worry about, yet I'm simply laying in bed on my phone reading and my heart is going a hundred miles and hour and I'm having to remind myself to breathe.

And over what?

Some days my anxiety ceases to exist, while others it literally recavics on every aspect of my life.

It's been so bad today and I really don't know why.

Somedays I can pinpoint exactly where my anxiety is coming from, and others it's literally just like this fog over my head that doesn't allow me to think about anything rational and I have this deep pit in my stomach that's just sinking, sinking, sinking.

After a good ten minutes of me trying to concentrate on my book, while also taking deep breathes in between, nothing is helping.

My heart is still pounding.

I don't know what else to do, I'll try anything at this point because I'm so frustrated.

I decide to scooch over to the edge of my bed and lay my head over it.

My head and chest is now hanging off the bed face down and I'm just laying here.

I close my eyes but then hear the squeaking of the door before hearing, "what are you doing?" With an emphasis on the last word.

What the hell.

I lift my head up and see none other than Wes holding a bag of ChickFilA and two drinks in his hand with a deeply concerned, or judgmental, look on his face with his eyebrows scrunched.

I sigh deeply.
This is just my luck.

"Getting the blood to rush to your head isn't going to grow any new brain cells, unfortunately you're either born with em or not."

Of course he would make a snarky comment while I'm literally in the process of discovering that my sigh made me sink lower off the edge of the bed and I am now in a very compromising position.

Either I stay like this, or I fall off the bed trying to lift myself back up.

"Wes you're actually so funny, really. What's even funnier is the fact that you're in my dorm and still have the nerve to judge me," I say while rolling my eyes.

He can't see them but I know I rolled them.

"Most people would call that balls, Wellsy."
"You're actually disgusting," I reply back.

He's silent for a beat and I can tell he is still standing still by the door before he says, "So are you gonna get up or.."

I sigh, again, and try and figure out what's worse- asking him for help, or falling off my own bed.

I decide to swallow my pride, because he will never let me live down actually falling.

"I, uh, I need a little help," I finally muster out.

I hear a short breath come out as a laugh before I hear the crinkle of the ChickFilA bag getting set on the desk by my door.

"Wes, I'm serious I can't get up," I pause before saying, "I'm gonna fall."

I hear another laugh before he says, "I'd love to see that."

I roll my eyes again.
He is infuriating.