Be Like You [COMPLETED]

| CHAPTER FOUR | Breaking |

WARNING: Explicit mentions/descriptions of self harm, losing loved ones, and panic attacks along with minor mentions of PTSD, depression, and anxiety are within the following chapter. If you have struggled with or find these topics triggering PLEASE proceed with caution and stay safe. (Another WARNING will be available just before anything involving self harm or loss takes place.)

This chapter has been revised. However, if you spot mistakes of any kind, please comment and let me know. Thank you!

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I stare blankly out the window, moments of the passing incident flickering through my troubled mind all the while. I don't bother buckling my seatbelt—I'm just trying to focus on not having a panic attack in front of Tony Stark himself.

It feels like millions of thoughts are racing through my head even though I know it can't possibly be that many at once. It seems as though time has suddenly ceased to exist. I ponder how, in the movies, characters describe how time seems to slow during pinpoint moments. During panic attacks, for me at least, it doesn't feel like either. It just feels like... I simply exist. Time isn't a factor or even considered.

Tears are falling down my cheeks and I'm suddenly conscious of how soaked the neckline of my shirt is. I freeze, stock-still, praying that Mr. Stark has his eyes on the road and hasn't noticed my distressed state. I don't wipe them away, either, in fear that it will prompt him to notice them if he hasn't already.

Has Mr. Stark noticed how weak I am? That I'm crying just because of seeing May? I silently ache.

I rock back and forth ever so slightly in an attempt to calm myself down from my dizzy, panicked high. Although the action is subconscious, I become aware of myself doing it and stop abruptly, mentally scolding myself for slipping up and letting my feelings be physically presented.

Finally, my breathing begins to pick up and I realize that the moment is unavoidable. Reluctantly, I begin to rock back and forth again, not caring if the icon beside me notices but instead desperate to prevent the oncoming tidal wave.

     With my hyperventilation, my vision blurs and becomes static-like. Tiny black dots speckle in and out of my view, blocking the site of the window that I had previously been so focused on.

Another tick comes into play as I begin to quietly mutter under my breath. Saying things aloud has always helped me—thinking a thought is very different from saying one. Saying a thought aloud can—rarely, but sometimes—help me to realize how improbable it is.

"Mr. S—S—S—Stark has his eyes on the—on the road," I whisper, unintentionally dragging out the "S" in "Stark." "No, no that's not likely. Drivers look away from the road all the time," I realize while doing my best to stay as quiet as possible so as to prevent him from hearing.

"I—Is Mr. S—Stark going t—to go to jail?" I continue, rocking back and forth more now and definitely being noticed by the man beside me. "No, no. He c—could avoid the police if he—e really wanted t—to. Besides, M—M—Miss Potts will t—testify—and Happy and m—me and Ned and mayb—maybe MJ," I ponder aloud, unintentionally growing more audible around my stutters.

Mr. Stark places a comforting hand on my shoulder that's causes me to flinch. He pulls away quickly. "Hey, Pete. Just me," he says, putting the hand on my shoulder again in a slower, more cautious manner.

"Let's take some deep breaths, hm?" he continues in a casual but clearly worried tone. Mr. Stark breathes in deeply before exhaling. I don't follow suit, instead keeping my gaze out the window in my rocking-back-and-forth stance.