ᴍʏ ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ✩ ᴛᴢ11

FIFTY TWO

penelope

my hands are shaking and my lungs feel like they could collapse at any moment. i attempt to wipe my slick, sweaty hands off on my silky pajama pants but somehow that just makes it worse.

i uncomfortably claim a spot on the edge of the chair that sits in the corner of the room as i attempt to take deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth. yet again, my attempts just somehow make it worse. my clammy hands wave in my face, my red hot face begging to be cooled down. then i start thinking of clammy and what she could possibly be doing right now, probably napping on her ever-claimed spot on the couch or basking in the morning rays by the balcony door.

i wish i was her right now. a fluffy, have no worries cat who's only wish in life is to be pet, told they're cute, and get the occasional dose of cat nip. if trevor were here right now, he would be laughing at me. not to intentionally make fun of me but just because right now i'm being so...me. he would squat down in front of my trembling frame, ask permission to hold my hands or if i want to be left untouched, stare at me and just chuckle because he thinks whatever i am worried about is ridiculous. he would then tell me i never worry about things that need to be worried about but rather i dwell on the irrational things.

but he would understand where i'm coming from. he would acknowledge that my thoughts are my own worst enemy most of the time. he'd say that my mind is lying to me and then he would kiss my head and tell me he's got me.

he's perfect in every way possible. he's the perfect fiancé, a perfect dad-even when he begs to differ after ella cries when trevor tells her "no" which is very rarely. he's everything.

which brings me to my next worry; i could never be half as good as he is and i don't deserve him.

that's the one that really gets me anxious. my chest starts to get heavy, my lungs feeling like they aren't filling with air, and i swear my brain goes numb when i feel pins and needles all over my head. the feathers on the cuffs of my silky pajamas are itching me tremendously and the one thing i did not want to happen today is suddenly happening.

an infamous penelope anxiety attack.

it's almost like celeste knows. she comes charging in the room when i'm mid-freak out, her face dropping when she looks at my troubled state.

"what's happening?" her eyes widen, the curlers in her hair moving with the raise of her eyebrows.

i point to the hotel room door with a shaky, manicured nail. "t-trevor."

her face is still confused. "yeah he's here babe, on the first floor what-"

"no," i shake my head. "i n-need trevor-r."

it takes everything in me not to cry and mess up the makeup the makeup artist spent hours on. i attempt to breathe, holding my hand to my chest and pointing to the door again, this time hoping celeste will understand.

"no." she demands.

"no?" i ask.

"no." she fights. "i will get you j, i'll get you turcs, but you're not getting trevor, p. he is not going to see you right now. not like this."

i should know not to argue with the sassy brunette that bosses her husband around like a drill sergeant. i know better than that, but right now, i need trevor more than anything. though i know it's not going to happen.

celeste looks at me when i finally start to calm down. "i'm going to go get the boys, you stay here and drink some champagne or something until i get back."

she watches me pour the glass full of champagne to please her but little does she know i'm not drinking one sip of that stuff even if it would help my anxiety, i saw what anxiety induced drinking did to jack on his wedding day and i refuse to have cole caufield stomping into my dressing room, gasping and forcing me to eat cheetos and chug water to sober up before the ceremony. i want to be the only one to go down in history with that title.