Breathe Again

Chapter 1

Letting his body fall into sync with the beat, the boy's eyes wandered around the packed club, watching the groups of people on the dance floor sway to the music. He closed his eyes, tilted his head backwards, and lost himself in the song. A warmth was beginning to come over him both because of the music and because of the shot he had taken just moments before.

If anybody had told him when he graduated high school that two years later, his life would become what it is today, he would have laughed in their face and assured them that he would never allow it to be so hectic. After graduating, he had made his way to New York with his best friend, just as they had always planned. Both had been accepted into NYADA and both were eager to start their paths toward their Broadway careers. However, everything had not gone as planned. His best friend's dreams became a reality quicker than predicted, and she was now in her final week of the second run of Funny Girl on Broadway.

At first, he had been a little jealous that his dreams weren't becoming reality as quickly as hers were, and he had definitely spent nights wishing that he was the one starring on Broadway. He decided that instead of spending his time sulking, he would try to find something to occupy his spare time. Fashion was something he had always loved, and something that he had wanted to spend time doing, so he began his hunt for an internship within the fashion industry. The jealousy he had felt towards his best friend had faded out when he applied, and was offered an internship at Vogue. He was completely content with the fact that his internship with Isabelle Wright was unpaid, however, one day he had forgotten to pack his sketchbook filled with different cover spread ideas, and Isabelle had stumbled upon it, loving everything about it. She had taken it up to the chief editor of Vogue (who loved it even more), which led to Kurt Hummel becoming the assistant chief editor of Vogue, and dropping out of NYADA to focus on his passion for the fashion industry.

It had been all fun and games when he started; he was doing one of the things that he was most passionate about, and he had come in full force with many fresh ideas that everybody loved. After a while, though, everything seemed to die down, and he slowly started losing interest in being at the top. It came with so much stress that he could hardly handle it. Deadlines that hardly gave him any time to think, meetings where he was yelled at for bringing up certain ideas, and handling the press had all become unbelievably suffocating. He had continued to try his best to keep up as he didn't want to lose his job, but could say with 100% certainty that he no longer loved it. He instead longed for the days when he had spent hours upon hours with only a piano and his voice, loving the way he could lose himself while singing his heart out.

After becoming assistant editor, his anxiety had grown, and the panic attacks had become more and more frequent. In high school, he had been able to manage his anxiety by making sure that his schedule was not too overwhelming, and that he had time to breathe in between spurts of craziness, but it was proving to be an impossible task now. There was no breathing room at the top. There were no breaks, or time for himself. Everything was dependent upon him, and he had to work like hell to make sure it all went right.

Panic attacks seemed to be a daily thing for him now, and when they hit, he would have to excuse himself from meetings, or close the blinds in his office so that he could be alone until they passed. Usually it started with a tightening in his chest, and soon enough he would be gasping for air, trying to relieve his suffocating lungs. He would end up sitting on the ground, pulling his legs into his chest as he gently rocked back and forth to try and soothe himself. Sometimes the attacks made him lightheaded, and occasionally he would completely lose consciousness for a few moments. Other times it was like he was no longer able to see anything, his vision going black. If he were to try and explain an attack to someone, he would say that it was like somebody was holding him under water and he was unable to come to the surface to breathe.