Requisites Of Life

Chapter 28

Amelia

"Cooper, please open the door," I pleaded to the red-faced boy in the car. Despite the biting cold outside of the car, and the heater not running inside the car, I could still see traces of sweat starting to run down the sides of his head. Beads of sweat built up onto the ends his curls, like morning dew from a nightmarish night. 

Slowly, he removed one of his trembling hands from the steering wheel and, after fumbling with the lock for a moment, unlocked the door. Right as my hand pulled it open, the sound of heavy footsteps started coming from the direction of the restaurant. I looked over and, as expected, it was his father. 

He jogged over to us, eyes widening in horror at the sight of Cooper's state. "What's going on? Is he okay?" 

"He's fine," I said bluntly. I leaned into the car and perched onto the seat as far as I could without pushing him. I cautiously rested a hand on his shoulder, hoping the action wouldn't further overwhelm him. Without much thought, my aching heart for him plucked the first soothing phrase I could think of. "It's okay." 

Maybe it was because there was no longer a thin piece of glass separating me from actually being there, but if I wasn't mistaken, he was more panicked with his dad nearby. "I can't-I can't breathe," he barely wheezed out. His words were so quiet, the winter winds blowing by almost masked them. 

"What's going on?" the man beside me asked, sounding thoroughly panicked himself at this point. "Does he need an inhaler? I think I have my son's spare one in--"

"He's fine," I snapped. I know he meant well, but he was doing the opposite, seeing as how Cooper felt even more tense. Add onto that the mention of the man's son, and Cooper was a rubber band stretched to its limits, and I was a caring bystander that hoped he wouldn't end up snapping. 

"He doesn't seem fine to me!" 

"He's fine, he's just having a panic attack," I informed him. I was getting more and more impatient with the man, but knew he at least deserved an explanation. 

"A panic attack?" he repeated, a tone of shock and relief in his voice. 

"Yes. He has a panic disorder," I retorted, my irritation seeping through my attitude. 

"I didn't know that." 

I glanced over my shoulder and narrowed my eyes at him. "Of course you didn't." 

Maybe that was harsh, but what does it matter. 

Suddenly, the boy sitting beside me jolted into movement, reaching into the back seat and grabbing a grocery bag. He spilled its contents to the floor, then opened it up and filled it again--this time, with vomit. 

My hand was gently rubbing his back, while my mouth was, not so gently, trying to get rid of the stressor. "I'm sorry, but I think you're making this worse." It sounded cold, but it was the truth. 

He seemed to take the hint, and left us alone, uttering something I didn't quite catch as he backed off. I was too focused on the more important thing in front of me: a person I care deeply about, hurting, suffering. 

I scooted as far onto the seat as I could and shut the door, squishing us in there with the last gasp of the cold breeze getting inside. I took the bag he was still holding, sobbing over like a child's dead goldfish, and carefully tied it up and placed it on the ground behind us. I've witnessed him having a panic attack before, but this one was different. This one wasn't in the security of his own home. This one was out in the open, a stiff, cold car in a parking lot being the only form of safety he could obtain. It's only appropriate to compare him in this moment to a baby in the winter cold, completely alone except for the wolves surrounding it.