Every Girl Wants A Moon

Chapter 7: The Weight of Whispers

The morning had started like any other—quiet, with the usual hum of the office and the soft clatter of keyboards filling the air. But as I sat at my desk, flipping through the manuscript I was proofreading, a change in the atmosphere made me pause. The voices around me seemed louder, sharper, though no one was speaking directly to me. I had learned to ignore the office chatter, but today, the whispers cut through the noise.

"She's just not his type," I heard someone say, followed by a giggle. "Plain. Quiet. Doesn't even dress like she belongs here."

The words stung, sharper than I was prepared for, and I tried to pretend I didn't hear them. I forced my eyes back to the pages, but my thoughts were scattered. It was the same thing I'd heard before—the judgment about how I looked, how I dressed, how I wasn't good enough.

I swallowed hard, but the tightness in my chest didn't go away. I couldn't focus, couldn't breathe. The words echoed in my mind, replaying again and again. Plain. Awkward. Not enough.

I felt the panic rising in my chest, that familiar pressure tightening around my lungs. My fingers trembled slightly, and I had to stop myself from fidgeting with the pages, knowing it would only make things worse.

"Hey," a voice whispered, and I turned to find Sandy, one of the girls from the marketing team, standing at the edge of my cubicle. Her face was tight with worry, and I could see the hesitation in her eyes before she spoke. "I don't know if you've heard... but there's been some talk around the office. About you and Chase."

I blinked, my throat going dry. Sandy was more of an acquaintance than a friend, so her warning felt more like a quiet sympathy than anything else. "What do you mean?" I asked, trying to sound normal, but the panic that had started bubbling inside me was making my voice waver.

She hesitated, glancing around quickly before lowering her voice. "People are saying... things. Things about you and Chase."

My heart sank. I knew the whispers were there; I just didn't realize they were about me, so obvious. The weight of their judgment crushed me. My hands went clammy, and I could feel the panic starting to creep in. I tried to breathe, but it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.

Sandy's voice cut through the haze of my thoughts, gentle but firm. "You just have to ignore them. Don't let it get to you. People like to talk, even if what they're saying is untrue."

But I could feel the sting of their words, the ridicule, the way they saw me as small, insignificant. I wasn't like them—confident, polished, successful. I didn't belong in the world they lived in, not with the way I looked or the way I dressed. I could never be as good as Chase deserved.

Before I could respond, before I could try to force a smile to hide my discomfort, Sandy gave me a quick, sympathetic look. "Just... try to ignore it, okay? They can talk, but it doesn't mean others believe them."

I nodded, though the tightness in my chest hadn't eased. Sandy's words didn't help; they only made everything feel heavier. I turned my focus back to the manuscript, pretending to read, but my mind was spinning. The office felt suffocating. I didn't belong here. I wasn't good enough for any of them.

The whispers, the judgment—it was all too much. The weight of it all pressed down on me until the panic attack began to rise in my chest once more.

Suddenly, the world started to blur. My breath caught in my throat, and I pushed away from my desk, desperate to get some air. I stood too quickly, and my legs wobbled beneath me. I made it a few steps toward the break room, but my vision swam, and I stumbled, clutching the edge of a desk to steady myself.

The panic attack hit like a wave, all-consuming and relentless. My chest tightened, my hands shook, and I couldn't breathe. The office, with all its bright lights and open spaces, felt like a cage, trapping me, suffocating me.

"Sweet girl?"

The soft, familiar voice pulled me from the chaos, and I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my mind. I turned, and there, standing in the doorway, was Chase. His face was full of concern, and before I could even react, he was at my side, his strong hands steadying me.

"Hey," he said gently, guiding me back to a chair, his eyes scanning my face with a quiet urgency. "It's okay. You're safe. Breathe with me, alright?"

I couldn't speak. My breaths were shallow, erratic, and my heart was hammering in my chest. But Chase was there, his presence steadying, grounding me. He took both of my hands in his, his touch warm and comforting.

"Look at me, sweet girl," he said softly, his voice like a calm anchor in the storm. "Just breathe. In through your nose... and out through your mouth."

I tried to focus on his words, tried to force my breathing to slow, to calm. His hands didn't leave mine, his grip strong and reassuring. Slowly, I felt my breathing start to return to normal, my heart rate slowing.

"Better?" he asked quietly, his voice full of concern.

I nodded weakly, not trusting myself to speak just yet. But the panic was beginning to fade, leaving behind a lingering unease, a sense of vulnerability I wasn't used to. Chase didn't pull away, though. Instead, he stayed close, watching me with a protective intensity that made something warm stir in my chest.

Without another word, he stood up and gently helped me to my feet. "You're not going back to work today," he said firmly, his eyes scanning my face as though checking for any signs of distress. "I'm taking you home. You need to rest. And I... I need to make sure you're okay."

I opened my mouth to protest, to tell him I was fine, but the words caught in my throat. There was no arguing with him—not when he looked at me like that, so protective, so determined. And honestly, part of me didn't want to argue. I needed him, needed someone to take care of me for once.

As we walked out of the office, I could feel the eyes of my coworkers on us. I wanted to shrink away from their stares, but Chase didn't let me. His presence was a shield, and as he guided me to his car, I felt a small sense of relief. He had taken charge, had made the decision for me when I couldn't, and for some reason, that made me feel... safe.

"Don't worry," he said quietly as we got into the car. "I'm taking care of you, sweet girl."

I didn't argue. I couldn't. And somehow, in that moment, with him by my side, I felt like maybe everything would be okay after all.