How to Steal a Heart

~ Chapter 29 ~

Three thirty-five a.m.

My back is still pressed against my door. My limbs are still shaking and I haven't been able to stop crying since I hit the ground. The ruckus downstairs gave me the slightest bit in comfort. Hearing the multiple things crash downstairs my father felt something. 

I had gotten to him, maybe not the way I wanted to, but he feels something. 

I don't know what an anxiety attack feels like, but I feel like this is pretty close. I would search up my symptoms but my phone is in my bag across the room and I don't feel like I can move. 

What's an anxiety attack?

What's a panic attack?

Are they different? Shut up, of course, they are. 

Why am I having chest pains?

Am I going to die? No, I'm not going to die.

Jesus Christ, I really am my worst enemy. My heart rate is what's scaring me. I could feel it in my throat when I first came upstairs, but now that it's been several hours I know it's not from the lack of exercise. The heaving of my chest just gets harder.

Whatever this is it will end. Panic attacks or anxiety attacks- whatever the fuck. It always ends. I haven't been here before, but I will get out just fine.

I will live

I'm fine

I will live

I'm fine

This will end

I'm fine-

I continue to chant to myself, slowly rocking side to side. If only I could lull myself to sleep. I'll figure everything out later, but right now, I need to sleep. The floor is going to have to do because moving to the bed seems like an impossible task at this moment. 

Everything will be alright in the morning-

<3

The slam of the door woke me up.

I was on the floor, where I'd last remembered. My body no longer trembling, my heart at a normal pace. I could already feel the swelling of my eyes as I tried to adjust to the light in the room. 

I moved slowly to the windows of my balcony, seeing the driveway empty except for my car. I'd overheard one of my father's conversations last week. He and his mistress would be going to the final meeting with the wedding planner today. I check the time-

Eleven forty-six a.m.

A thought caressed my mind, but as soon as I could fully grasp it, it was gone. The itch to do what it said grew. 

My mother

What rehab is she at? My father must know. He probably looked it up. He probably looked it up and didn't delete his history...

I snuck downstairs to my dad's home office. He only occupies two rooms when he's home: The kitchen and his office. 

It used to be three: His bedroom. However, since his mistress has moved in with us. She's normally in there and he's in the office drinking. 

Creaking the door open, I slip in. It was dark in wood and green velvet-covered every sitting surface in there. It smelled like the library - wonderful. I shake my head, that's not why I'm in here.