You sat at the table next to your boyfriend, Rocky, and his family. The restaurant they had chosen for dinner was extremely crowded thanks to the rush that always came around this time of night. Crowds always made you nervous, but sometimes they could do more than that. You were hoping that this time would not be as bad as you expected.
Rocky reached his hand to your leg underneath the table and rubbed your knee lightly and he rested his head on your shoulder. He was listening intently to the story his older brother was telling. You could tell because he wasn't whispering in your ear like he usually did during dinner.
All around you, the bustle of people pushing and shoving was starting to get to you and you felt the panic attack coming on. Instead of focusing on that, you took deep breaths and paid attention to the sensation of Rocky's hand on your leg. It wasn't enough.
Riker and Ellington were yelling across the table now; they almost had to do it. The volume level of the restaurant was growing with each passing minute and no one could enjoy regular conversation anymore. Inside of you, the panic was growing. Suddenly, you push yourself away from the table and excused yourself.
Everything was starting to feel more crowded, as if the walls were crashing in. The door seemed to get further and further away, even though you were nearly running towards it. Your limbs felt weighed down and it took all of your effort to lift your feet with each step. You finally reached the door and pushed it in, feeling a rush of cool air around you.
"What was that about?" Ryland asked Rocky, and everyone at the table looked very concerned.
"I don't know," Rocky admitted, putting his napkin on the table and pushing himself away from it. "I'll be right back." He followed the same path you did out the door and found you sitting on the curb with your head in your hands. Your shoulders heaved up and down; you weren't aware that he was standing there. You were made aware of his presence when he sat down on the curb next to you and put his hand on your shoulder with some hesitation. "Hey honey," he said quietly, nuzzing his face into your neck. "Are you okay?"
"I'm sorry," was all you could say. You repeated it with every breath of air you took and it made Rocky's stomach churn. He had no idea what was happening because you hadn't gotten around to telling him about your anxiety disorder, or the fact that crowded places triggered it. All he could do was hold you close to him as you cried into his chest, leaving little wet spots where your tears hit his soft shirt.
"It's alright baby," he cooed, rubbing your back. Once the tears finally stopped coming and your breathing returned to normal, he pressed a little further. "What just happened? Did I miss something? Did my brothers upset you?" He ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. "Just tell me what happened and I'll fix it."
"It's nothing you can fix," you admitted. "There was just too much going on in there and I needed some space."
"Too much going on..." he repeated in confusion.
"Too loud. Too many people. I got sensory overload and it triggered a panic attack."
"Baby, why didn't you tell me that you got panic attacks?" he asked. He laid small kisses on your forehead during a moment of silence while you thought of how to respond to him.
"I guess I just didn't want you to worry about me," you said quietly. "And I didn't want you to think any less of me."
He kissed your lips. "Never," he said. "Do you want to go home? We don't have to stay."
You take a deep breath and straighten out your shirt. "No, I'm okay now. Let's go rejoin the party." You both got up off of the pavement and started to walk towards the door. "Thanks, Rocky. You're the sweetest."
"Anytime, sweetheart," he smiled as he opened the door and held it for your like a gentleman.
