Two Birds, One Stone

16. Fast Fix

I acted as fine as I could manage during the car ride home. I made idle conversation with Jamie, and I laughed a little, and I smiled when I was supposed to.

     But my hands were hiding in my pockets, and I was still shaking. I stared ahead trough the windshield, but I didn't see the passing trees and squirrels and birds. I saw the next hours, or days, or weeks -- they appeared as a dark tunnel, a path with several stops. I couldn't see how far away each stop was or how long each would last -- just that every one of them bore a neon sign that read PANIC, and that there was nowhere for me to go but forward.

    Then came the fear. I hadn't felt it in a long while, but I remembered it clearly enough. It wouldn't go away any time soon.

     It was fear of the unknown -- of the what and when and where and why. The what was the only thing I knew -- it was another panic attack, and it was inevitable. The when and where and why were questions. That wouldn't change.

     My fingers itched toward my phone, but I told myself to wait. We weren't far from my house.

    Stevie would know what to do. She always did.

   "Alright," Jamie said when he pulled into my driveway. He looked at me, and I could feel his concern and his questions, but he didn't ask. "I hope -- I hope you feel better," his voice was strained.

     I smiled to ease him. "Thank you," I said, taking one of his hands and squeezing it. "I will."

     I leaned over and kissed him quickly, then grabbed my bag and got out of the car. Guilt gnawed at my chest; I had spent so much energy practically forcing Jamie to open up to me, and now I was hiding the same way he did. I guess we had the same reasons for hiding. I guess we were more similar than I'd thought.

     I paused when my key was pushed into the lock and chanced a glance back at Jamie's car. He was watching through the windshield, waiting for me to get inside, and I could see his frown from where I stood. Swallowing back my unease, I turned the key and stepped inside.

     My hand was in my pocket as soon as the door closed behind me, and my phone was halfway to my ear when my mother crossed the living room, a plate of cookies in her hands. Mom was a tall woman, long-faced and slender, found more often than not in a blazer and a tight ponytail. She was intimidating to anybody who didn't know her well, but I knew her best as she was now: in long pajama pants and fuzzy slippers, with her favorite blue headband keeping her hair out of her eyes. She stopped when she saw me, and a smile spread across her face. "Oh good, you're home," she said cheerfully, setting the plate down on the living room table. Its sweet smell was nauseating. "Isn't it a little early?"

     "I didn't feel good," I said, edging my way to the other side of the room. "My friend dropped me off."

    "Who, Bryan?" she asked; I shook my head. "Well whoever it was, that was very nice of them."

     I was almost out of the living room now, close to escape.

     "What's the rush, champ?" My dad entered from the kitchen, still in his suit from work, and I froze in my retreat, choosing a spot against the wall to lean against as if that had been my intention the whole time. He was the opposite of mom -- just barely scraping average height, stout, and unkept despite his best efforts to look tidy. All of his kids had taken his curly, unruly hair and his warm brown eyes.

      Jacob, who had stayed out of school today (and most days, it seemed) for some bullshit reason, trailed behind him. His nearly-black hair (he was the only one of us to take mom's color) hung over his face in winding, messy curls as he typed madly on his phone, paying absolutely no attention to where he stepped. When dad stopped at mom's side, putting an arm around her shoulders ("Those look incredible, honey"), Jacob ran right into his back. Dad didn't budge, but Jacob stumbled and dropped his phone with a muttered curse. I would've laughed if I could.