better days

Chapter 1

One of my worst days happens during my sixteenth year on earth.

That day, he's cleaning. I'm sitting and watching. I get up to kiss him, to point out a spot on the tile he missed. He beckons me closer, grins, throws soapy water on me. He laughs when I yell. I stare down at myself. It's on my shirt, my shoes, my hands, and the crawly panic starts.

It's not his fault. He couldn't have known about this. I don't tell people just how weird I am. I hate being wet, I hate it. My hands are the trigger point. If my hands are wet, I am going to die. Oh god, I'm going to die.

So now I'm shaking and he knows he did something and he says "Finn, what's up, are you okay? I'm so sorry," and I shake my head, teeth nearly chattering. I don't know. I don't know. I'm going to die. My voice doesn't work. My hands feel wet, I keep wiping them on my jeans over and over and over and over. I'm going to die. I feel unclean. It doesn't matter that the water was soapy. The soap dries on my hands and makes them sticky. I'm going to die, my hands will never be clean again.

I realize dimly that I'm hyperventilating. My chest hurts, fuck, I'm going to fucking die. The binder doesn't help and I feel Scott take my arm and lead me over to the bed. He sits me down and touches my chin, turning my face to him. It takes me a minute to realize what he's saying. "What can I do?" he's asking, over and over. I shake my head numbly. I don't know, I don't know. I'm going to die. I curl into myself, slouching down and wrapping my arms around my body. Closing my eyes, I try to control my breathing. But my heart is hammering in my head and my wrists and my neck, and the skin of those vulnerable places feels too thin. I'm convinced that if my heart beats too hard, I'll die. Keep it together, keep it together, Finn. I feel Scott sit down behind me and I want to lean into him but I'm afraid of breaking.

I'm pulling my collar up, pulling my flannel closer around my neck in a vain attempt to protect my fragile throat. But it doesn't help, it doesn't help. I imagine the veins of my neck bulging with panicked heartbeats, filling to bursting and I'm going to die. I finally just drape my hands over the back of my neck like I did in elementary school for tornado drills. And I shake. I shake so hard I think all my bones and joints will come apart.