A/N: Hi! This story will be a series of oneshots (they may fall into chronological order) depicting Gert's silent struggle with her anxiety and how it affects her relationship with Chase. I think the show did a good job attempting to cover it but with so many storylines a lot of the true heart of the matter was missed.
This first chapter kind of sets the scene. The subsequent ones will be much more specific and a bit heavier too. I'd love to hear what you think so if you could leave a review letting me know, I'd appreciate it.
The title of the story is inspired by the poem "Anxiety: A Ghost Story" by Brenna Twohy. It's a bit long but I'd urge everyone to give it a read. It is too. effing. perfect for Gert and Chase.
We have got to talk about the kids
in all those Goosebumps books.
For example,
if your family vacation
is to an amusement park
called HORRORLAND,
and your station wagon explodes
in the parking lot upon arrival,
maybe
shrugging it off,
buying an extra large popcorn,
and heading straight for
The Deadly Doom Slide
is not your best possible
course of action.
Or,
if you steal a weird camera
from your creepy neighbor's basement
and every picture you take
shows bad things happening,
like decapitation
and Tofurkey,
and then all the bad things
from the pictures
start happening,
Stop Taking Pictures.
Or,
if you move into your new house
and there are a bunch of small children already living in your bedroom
that your parents cannot see,
maybe,
don't just grab a juice box
and go play in the cemetery
that
is
in
your
backyard.
Or,
when I tell you of the ghosts
that live inside my body;
When I tell you
I have a cemetery in my backyard
and in my front yard
and in my bedroom;
When I tell you
trauma is a steep slide
you cannot see the bottom of,
that my anxiety is a camera
that shows everyone I love as bones,
when I tell you
panic is a stubborn phantom,
she will grab hold of me
and not let go for months–
this is the part of the story
when everyone is telling you to run.
To love me
is to love a haunted house–
it's fun to visit once a year,
but no one wants to live there,
and when you say,
"Tell me about the bad days,"
it sounds like all the neighborhood kids daring each other to ring the doorbell,
you love me
like the family walking through Horrorland holding hands–
You are not stupid,
or careless,
or even brave,
you've just never seen
the close-up of a haunting.
Darling,
this love will not cure me.
And this love will not scrape
the blood from the baseboards,
but it will turn all the lights on,
it will bring basil
back from the farmer's market
and it will plant it in every windowsill,
it is the kind of love
that gives me goosebumps,
when you say to the ghosts,
"If you're staying,
then you better make room,"
and we kiss against the walls
that tonight are not shaking,
so we turn the music up
and we dance to Miles Davis,
and you say,
"My god,
this house.
The way that it stands
even on the months
that no one goes into
or comes out of it."
How reckless, the way that I love
like the first chapter of a ghost story.
Like the gentlest hand
reaching out of a grave.
- Anxiety: A Ghost Story, Brenna Twohy
They didn't have toothpaste; they couldn't afford toothpaste, so Gert was left to pretend, tapping out the letters of the product she was currently missing on her thigh.
Thumb. Forefinger. Middle finger. Ring finger. Pinky. Thumb. Forefinger. Middle finger. Ring finger. Pinky...
T with her thumb. O with her forefinger. O with her middle finger. T with her ring finger. H with her pinky. Then again: P with her thumb. A with her forefinger. S with her middle finger. T with her ring finger. E with her pinky.
She sighed, relieved, as if the task were self-imposed. Toothpaste was an easy one. The goal was to always count the letters out until the last letter of the word ended on the pinky. Multiples of five, a number that had no true meaning other than providing her mind temporary relief from her other intrusive thoughts: What grade did she get on that history paper she handed in before they left? Did Chase really used to seek her out in between classes like she did for him? Was Molly happy? Was she doing enough to pull her weight in the group? A million questions swirling around in her mind, all searching for and insisting upon responses at the very same moment. She didn't have the answers, which only encouraged the tapping. These inquiries were also obsolete now. She hadn't been to school in several weeks and the boy she use to admire from afar now spent his nights curled up beside her in bed.
There were good things about running away, or at least that is what she told herself. Aside from escaping her parents she now saw Chase everyday and though their living situation was not ideal, there was something somewhat sweet about sharing a home with friends she now considered family. She had to look at it that way before the reality of their situation began to weigh down on her in another cacophony of questions: What if they ran out of money? What if anyone from PRIDE discovered the hostel's location? What if Molly failed to come back from one of her poorly planned late night missions? What if all the time they spent together had Chase realizing she was crazy?
Amidst the racing of her mind, Gert had placed her toothbrush back on the ledge of the sink. Even the small comforts, like a toothbrush cup, were missed. At least they had electricity, Gert reminded herself as she shut off the light and headed back toward her bedroom. Chase had made all of this more comfortable, the lights and the running water — they even had internet now. She didn't need him, she wasn't supposed to need any man, but she couldn't help but to feel safer when he was by her side, fistigons or not. She'd never tell him this, of course. She had only just now admitted this to herself and she did so begrudgingly. Oddly enough her hesitance had nothing to do with fighting patriarchal norms and everything to do with the consequences of giving something meaning. Anything that could be coveted, could be lost just as easily.
"Gert?"
"Shit!" she sputtered, coming to a halt.
Chase was sitting on the bed — their bed, Gert supposed — with Old Lace at his feet. The dinosaur's head was nearly in his lap while he ran a hand along the yielding scales of her neck. Old Lace did not move to greet Gert, meaning not only was Chase making her comfortable but it was clear the pair had been sitting together for some time. Even now her eyes were threatening to stay closed with each passing blink.
Catching even one glance of his flustered girlfriend had Chase smirking. Gert couldn't help but to soften, all of her made weak by the simple existence of dimples and a few well placed freckles.
"You okay?"
Gert made shook her head in agreement. "Yeah, just...you scared me."
"Me? Or the dinosaur?"
She rolled her eyes and moved to sit beside him. Only then did Old Lace shift her position, nuzzling Gert's shirt with her nose to show her appreciation for the proximity. "Lace could never scare me, could you girl?" she cooed, petting the deinonychus' chin.
Chase just waited, taking the time to admire the softness of Gert's cheeks and how her lips were always so incredibly plump, and such a dark pink too.
"I just didn't know you were back from the garage," Gert finally explained, interrupting his thoughts.
"Not a long walk," he chuckled. "But I think I have the car almost working."
"And the fistigons?"
"Fixed."
"Good."
Chase paused again, shifting this time to place his hand to her knee. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I just...I don't know. I get scared, sometimes. This place is dark and cold and it makes noises at the worst times. I keep waiting for someone to find us and I'm just not ready for that because—"
"Hey, hey…" He hushed with a hand placed to her cheek. The soft caress of his thumb had her eyelid fluttering shut. "It's okay. No one's going to find us. We're safe."
"I know," Gert assured.
Chase smirked. "You can't worry about that stuff. We've come this far. The only way someone will find us is if they follow us and we've all been careful."
"Yeah, you're right."
"You don't have to agree with me, you know." Gert's state turned icy, causing Chase to snort out a laugh. "Of course you know that. Just breathe, okay? This isn't forever. We'll figure out something better but for now—"
"I know. It could be worse. I get that."
"Just try not to think about any of it, okay?"
Gert didn't know what to say but she did know her instinct to scream and stomp off was not the best of her options, if she even had any. She'd learned by now that despite how terrified she always was, honesty between Chase and her always seemed to be the most effective. But her hands shook and suddenly Gert felt as if all the oxygen in the air vanished. It heightened her sense of smell: the scent of Chase tickling her nose, almost forcing a smile. It also turned her touch electric as her lungs continued to constrict.
Air was very present and readily available and it wasn't just Chase by her side but Old Lace as well. The others were due to interrupt them. The fact that they hadn't yet was almost a miracle…
Her mind trailed off as it remembered its original intention: to explain to Chase exactly what it was she was feeling. But saying it aloud made it sound silly - simultaneously frivolous and dramatic. To not explain it, however, was to leave him in the dark and leaving Chase in the dark was no better than pushing him away. In fact, it might as well have been the very same thing. If he ever did say — if he managed not to run after she'd exposed her crazy — Gert wasn't sure she'd ask him to stay, even if the thought of anything else terrified her. She wanted him aware and accepting; she wanted him in the light - he deserved that.
"Gert?"
Chase was still smiling when she finally looked up. Even when he once turned her into a fumbling awkward mess, he always seemed to ground her. Gert only wished she could provide the same comfort but she was spending all the energy she had to keep her own head above water.
"Calm down. Just breathe, okay? We're going to figure this out."
There was the oxygen, not filling her lungs but blowing on the fire burning in her mind. Calm down. Just breathe. If such things were mere directions she could follow she wouldn't be in this position, her chest feeling heavy and her palms sweating in the presence of a dinosaur and a boy she loved deeply.
But he was trying. He didn't understand because she didn't explain it, so if anyone was to blame for his insensitivity it was her. He was so perfect and she was nothing but quiet chaos. Every embarrassing moment she'd ever had, even those Chase didn't witness, flashed in her mind with the same jerked jolts of old film frames fresh out of the tin. She was a nightmare. To even think Chase, regardless of their previous friendship, would be interested in her was just as insane as her need to tap out words into multiples of five. This was why she had been so hesitant to start things. This was why all of this was crumbling before her, her brain in violent riot while she sat perfectly still before him. That was anxiety: the fight between your inner turmoil and the facade you presented to the world. If she had just been stronger they'd still be friends. She wouldn't have to watch him walk away; she wouldn't have to be the one to make him go.