Day 1: panic attack + hurt comfort
By now, he's learned to recognize the signs, notice the triggers. Sometimes it's a small comment or being in a certain place. Today, it's a construction accident. It should be commonplace. He drives all the time. But this one has one thing that none of the others have had, rebar.
He can feel the churning in his stomach right when he sees it. His mind begins to race with the memories from before. The sound of breaking glass. The smell of leaking gas from his car. The concerned looks on Buck, Bobby, and Hen's faces. He feels the familiar pounding as his heart rate speeds up, senses the rapid rise, and fall of his chest as his lungs struggle to take in air. He knows what he needs to do and forces himself to pull over.
He's always been anxious. It had started ever since he was young, watching his father criticize his mother. It then turned to him, he could never be good enough, smart enough, worthy. Then, when his mom got sick, all the stress and anxiety was amplified. He would watch her battle treatment day in and day out. He knew that her time was running out, but it still didn't make her death any easier. Then he would go from job to job. He finally became a paramedic, but that brought on a whole new set of challenges. If he did the wrong procedure, hit a vain, killed someone. Normally, the thoughts are at bay, but it only takes something small, like this, to bring them all back into full focus.
He wants to lose it, wants to crumple, but he knows he can't. He could call Hen, tell her to come rescue him, make it all better, but he knows he won't. He's been through therapy, worked on coping mechanisms, he doesn't need to be rescued. He can handle this. The first step is simple, obvious, just breathe. It's such an easy act, taking air in and out. He knows how, can talk a patient through it all the time. He slowly inhales and begins to count, 2, 3, 4. Then he holds, 2, 3, 4. And he slowly exhales, 2, 3, 4.
He feels it beginning to work. Feels his shoulders start to unclench. Feels his heart rate begin to slow, feels his chest slowly expand as more air enters his lungs. Then, he tries to take stock of the situation, to be aware of everything that's around him. It grounds him, helps him stay present, allows the thoughts to subside.
He hears his engine running. Looks around, sees the clean interior of his car. Tastes the mint of the gum he constantly chews to help his anxiety. Feels the leather of the staring wheel still clenched between his fingers. Smells the takeout from the night before. He feels okay, not fully at 100%, but stable enough to drive the rest of the way home.
He turns the key in the lock, steps inside his apartment, sits on the couch. He knows he's okay, the panic attack is over, but he still wants company. He is so used to feeling alone. He's always felt that way, ever since his mom died. Then he lost Kevin, then, Tatiana. But he's not alone, not anymore anyway, he has her.
His fingers hover over her name, wondering whether to tap her number. They've been back together for only a few weeks; he shouldn't bother her. But he doesn't want to order a meal and eat alone, he wants company, he wants her. So, he taps her name holds the phone up to his ear and waits.
Her voice is cheerful, happy, just what he needed. "Hey Chimney, I was just about to call. How was your day? Any crazy calls?" He doesn't know how to respond, if he says no, he'll just worry her. He must have been silent for to long because when she speaks again, her tone sounds worried. "Chimney, is everything okay?"
He struggles for words. He hates feeling needy, hates feeling like a burden, like there's something wrong with him. But he knows she'll get it out of him either way, so he decides to just go for it. "No, I don't think I am. I was driving, there was an accident, I'm fine, but his voice trails off. "There was rebar, and. I know your probably busy, but, if not, do you think, could you maybe?"
"I'll be right there in 10. Don't worry Chim, I got you."
He smiles. "Thanks Maddie."
"No need."
Then, less than 10 minutes later, there's a knock. He opens the door and there she is. She holds out the keys and he gives a small nod. They head into the car. It was a thing him and his mom used to do when he was younger. When his father said something particularly hurtful. When he wasn't feeling well. When the anxiety and panic just built up so much that he could hardly speak. She would take him in the car, and just drive, sometimes for hours. The feeling of just moving would calm him, help him feel better, allow him to sit in silence with someone who loved him. Even though the panic is mostly gone, he loves that she does this. Loves how she'll drop everything to be with him. Loves how, even though she is usually so talkative, she doesn't say a word, just looks over at him from time to time.
After about 30 minutes she pulls over and lightly takes his face in her hands. "Hey, how are you feeling?"
"Better, the driving helped. Thank you."
"Again, no need. You are amazing. You are not defined by your anxiety. I hope you know that. You are so strong. Thank you for reaching out. I know how hard that can be for you sometimes."
He nods. "Thanks for being there, it really means a lot."
She pulls him in for a long kiss. As he runs his fingers through her hair, he can honestly say that he really does feel okay. He feels safe, loved, and he knows that no matter what happens, that feeling of complete loneliness will probably never hit him as hard as it did in childhood. He has his Maddie, and right now, in this moment, as she holds him, that's all he needs.