So, this was only meant for a one shot, but then several of you told me you wanted more! In my surprise I remembered I had this; A background on her panic attacks and how they first...got together. Enjoy!
"I had no idea you could sing."
"ACK!" I squeal in shock, nearly falling off the rusting bench. He wasn't supposed to hear that. No one was supposed to hear that. Why else would I have snuck out at 2 am?
He walks up, his features barely visible under the campus's lights. The bench I picked is under the tallest oak tree there. I noticed it when the bus first rolled into the college for our church's weekend. In the sunlight, you could see names and crossed hearts scratched all over the surface. Now, in the fluorescent lamp-light, I could only feel the rough grooves underneath my fingers. It gave me something to focus on, something to distract me.
Jacin sits down, his eyes never leaving mine, and I feel unnerved for the first time in years. His eyes, even in the dark, seem to flash. I can never tell what they flash about, though. Is he angry? Excited? Or is he hiding something?
Ever since he moved into our neighborhood there was something different about him. At first I loved it. Now I'm cautious. Incident after incident at school led me to believe that I can't trust anyone, and someone who chooses to remain a mystery is clearly off limits.
But now, all of a sudden, he seems to be taking an interest in me. Jacin sat across from me on the bus, he smiled at me from the opposite table at dinner, and he even complimented me on my hair cut (Which is a first, and probably the strangest thing anyone has ever said to me.) the problem was, I was intrigued by him, and that was not a good sign. It usually led to a road of heart breaking, something I was all too familiar with.
The bench creaks as he shifts so he doesn't have to crane his neck to look at me. I would've preferred it that he just stayed turned around.
"I knew you were in choir, but I didn't think you were that good." He amends, his eyes mesmerizing me again. Darn it. I blink and look straight ahead, at the trashcan in front of us. It really was quite a lovely trash can, with fresh paint and no dents. Our high school should have trash cans like this one, it would improve the scen—
"Oh, come on, get off your high horse and talk to me for once!" He hissed, and I jerked back to face him. This time there was no mystery about what was in his eyes. It was plain and raw anger. And somewhere in there, hurt. A lot of it. And I caused it.
"What do you mean, for once? I've talked to you plenty of—"
"Yeah, like a yes or no counts every once in awhile! I've been trying to get you to listen to me for months now, and you act blind to all of it."
"I just don't trust you, that's all."
"WHAT ISN'T THERE TO TRUST?" He shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. My reflexes kick in, and I whip into action. Without thinking, I grab his arms and yank them above his head, then cover his mouth with my free hand.
"Shut up, you moron, you're gonna get us killed!" I hiss, leaning in close so no one trying to hear for more noises would suspect anything. I take the moment to glance around, missing the expression on his face.
"Mmmf, humurargh mumuhhufh." I frown in confusion, then realize that my face is mere inches from his. Dropping his arms, I scoot to the far side of the bench, crossing my arms to keep myself together.
"I said, this is a church camp. The last thing they would do is kill us. At worst, they'd make us memorize a whole chapter of Isaiah and then explain the meaning." He grins sardonically at his own nerdy joke, and I glare until his smile slips off.
"Why are you out here anyways?" I grumble, wanting him to realize he's invading my time. Hopefully he'll take the hint.
"I could ask you the same thing." Apparently, the clever hint was lost on him. I huff and turn in my seat, crossing my legs and getting comfortable. If he wanted to talk, fine. I could give him a talk.
"I get panic attacks. A lot. I didn't want to wake the others." I pause, meeting his eyes. Oh, shoot. They're soft and sympathetic, full of pity. I feel myself hardening again. "I don't need your pity, Jacin. It doesn't fix any of this mess."
"What mess? You can tell me. It always helps to—"
"To tell someone? Yeah, I've tried that. I could name over ten different people I've tried that with and guess what; it never worked."
He hunches over, avoiding my gaze. "Maybe you just haven't met the right person yet."
I snort. "So you think you're this magic person who's gonna make all my problems fly away?"
Then he does something I know I will never forget. Years from now, I will still be looking back and remembering this moment. He takes a huge breath, squares his shoulders, and then says the words I will forever be repeating in the back of my head; "No, but I sure as heck am willing to try."
Seconds ticked into minutes. We do nothing but stare, me in awe and disbelief, him in searching my face for answers.
Why not tell him? What do I have to lose?
"Okay. Oh-okay. You win." I wiggle, ignoring the creaks of the bench. "When I was thirteen I went to 8th grade, just like everyone else. I was one of them. Then, slowly, I started changing. And not in a good way. I felt trapped constantly, like someone was pushing the air out of my chest. I sometimes felt disconnected from my body. I went through sharp pains of anger so crazy that I wanted to hurt people, and I mean, really hurt people. People I barely knew, but somehow had become dangerous to me. I became paranoid, I only trusted family and one friend. I came up with theories about how people were conspiring against me. I was cruel and vicious. The worst part? This was all in my head. I never let any of it out, and the few times a little leaked through my walls, people stared and pointed and were terrified." I cut myself off with a choke, then furiously start twisting my ring around.
I hear him breathing, taking at all in. Other than his heart and mine at work, there are no sounds. Not a single cricket or wind. We're so still the bench barely makes a noise.
"See? This is why I came outside. The silence is the only thing that calms me down and wakes me up from this nightmare. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you satisfied?"
"No."
I blink. "Why the heck not, Jacin? I just bared my soul, and no, it doesn't satisfy you? What more are you asking for right now? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!" I finally blurt out the last bit, only slightly holding back a red-hot scream.
He, apparently, has the same kind of insane reflexes I do. He crashes onto my side of the bench, cupping his hand over my mouth. I only have about three seconds to marvel at how rough it is before the rickety old bench collapses with a loud, metallic clang. We sprawl out onto the ground, but because of the momentum, we roll until I hit the base of the tree.
He freezes, his stomach stretched over mine as we lie still in some sort of twisted X shape. I wait for the doors to swing open, for tired youth leaders to yell, for us to be judged. I feel my breath hitch, my heart struggling to pump hard enough. I clench the ground, praying for this to not be another panic attack. Not in front of him. Not in front of them. Please. Please.
Jacin slowly eases himself off of my stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head to block the world out. I'm getting pretty dizzy until Jacin's rough hands grab my shoulders.
"Breathe…" He whispers, leaning in close like I did. I try too, but all that comes out is a shudder. Then the shivering starts. I begin to shake all over, head to toe. This is the worst it's ever been outside of my head. Usually it never leaves my mind. Jacin undid me. He broke through my wall, and now I'm a mess. Nothing but scattered atoms, vibrating up and down, all over, as they lose control of themselves.
I vaguely hear him mutter a curse, and the next thing I feel (other than raw horror at what I'm doing) is his arms around me. They lift me from the base of the oak and into his cold lap. I squirm, teeth chattering so hard I can't protest. He starts murmuring under his breath, running his hands down my arms as fast as he can. I'm not cold, but the second the friction begins, the shivers grow weak. I begin to relax involuntarily, my head falling onto the warm spot between his neck and shoulder.
He smells like cheap soap and spearmint toothpaste. I hang on to those familiar scents, grasping them like a lifeline, holding onto reality. I have to get control.
My arms wrap around his middle, pressing myself as close as possible. I know how to get control. The feeling calms me down every time. Usually I just do it to myself, but…
I place one shaking hand on his chest, right over his heart. And wait.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
And as fast as it came, the fight leaves my body. The fear, the anger, the pain, gone. I'm an empty cage. I'm drifting endlessly at sea, never to drown, never to fly. I'm done.
I collapse in his arms, the shaking and shuddering flying away. I curl into him, my other hand reaching to grasp his hair. He eases his arm over my waist and body, letting his fingers pull through my braid. I sigh as my waves flow down my side. I'm as close to peace as I've been in years.
An hour passes. We haven't moved, haven't spoken. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my night shirt, my fingers over his heart. No one came to find us. No one woke up. It's just me, Jacin, and my nightmare of a disorder.
Finally he clears his throat. "I said no," His voice is scratchy. Why is that attractive? "I said no because I'm not satisfied with knowing you have a disorder and moving on. With pretending like it's not okay, or that it's not frightening. I'm not satisfied pretending you're a saint for it either, or telling you it's going to be okay. I want to know how to fix it. I want to help you."
"Why? What will you gain by fixing me?"
"When I see your fear, I see me." He says this in such a soft voice that for a moment I think I'm making it up.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm pretty messed up too. Most of the time, I'm not in control of how I see things, and I see it all differently. I don't know how to express myself, and that makes me feel like… like…"
"Like you can't breathe. " I finish, pulling away to really look at him. His eyes do shine, with sadness, with brokenness. He's broken, just like me.
The air tightens in my chest. He's just like me.
I can tell by looking at him he's thinking the same thing. I can also tell by the way his mouth moves to fit over mine. My fingers clench his shirt as rough lips move over mine faster and more fiercely than ever imagined. This is unbelievable. This is what flying must feel like. No, this is what free falling must feel like. A never ending fall, with everything in you bubbling to the surface as raw adrenaline is pumped through your veins. Giddiness explodes in my mouth as I taste his toothpaste, as I feel him tighten around me.
This is like someone opening the door to your prison. I'm being set free. I'm sure I'm feeling this more deeply than anyone else would, but hey, sue me. I really don't care if this is over-the-top, because he doesn't care. And that's all that matters.
Review and let me know what you all think!