Relative issues

Chapter 7.

I never studied psychology. My interests lay always in what could be studied and understood with mathematical formulas, trial and error, and scientific results. The human psyche was always beyond reach for me; something I knew I could understand if I put in the effort, but that I never wanted to study simply because it varies so vastly from person to person. Biology is different. In biomedical research and engineering, everything has an answer and solution if you look hard enough. Things make visible sense.

My grandparents left behind a small fortune when they died. Throughout my upbringing, they had encouraged me to reach for the stars and to never give up. They wanted me to climb as high as I could in life, to do what they, or my mom, never had the opportunity to do. In their honour, I sped through university and got a degree and job in one of the most competitive fields of medicine. It was something I was passionate about. Something I found both interesting and fulfilling.

In my hand, I clutched the piece of paper my mom had left. It was folded, yet to be opened, its contents yet to be revealed. But I knew what the note contained. She had insisted I have it. And, as I, note in hand, watched her white car drive away with my half-siblings, I could not help but wish that I had taken that class in psychology. My chest ached, my palms felt damp and sticky with sweat and my stomach cramped with anxiety. The reaction was delayed. As if it had been put on hold until she left and now, it was all spilling over like a bursting dam. I retreated into our house when I could no longer see her car, backing into the mudroom and pushing the door shut before I sunk to the floor in a staggering fall. The landing was far from gracious and it was more akin to a clumsy plunge than toppling over. My bum hit the floor with a sharp thud, a rather painful collapse followed by a loud grumble of discomfort.

In my chest, my heart was beating slowly, but fiercely. It was pumping viciously inside me; every punch moving my chest up and down. I put my hand over my face and let a shaky sigh pass my lips. Every thump of my heart shook my ribcage, made my head bob from side to side and left a buzzing sound in my head. My face felt hot, my palms sweaty and my neck sticky.

"I found your dad."

Nausea. My lungs contacted, refusing the air I was trying to breathe. My chest grew tight, aching painfully as I tried to relax my lungs. When I managed to take a breath, it came in the shape of a frenzied gasp. It was then that my previously slow heartbeat picked up speed. My hands and feet began numbing, falling asleep and sending a staticky prickle up my extremities. The sensation was followed by an icy head rush and a strong feeling of being in danger, unsafe and exposed. "Guys..?" I whimpered, my voice was weak and quiet. "Kennedy!"

I clutched my shirt in my fist, balling up the fabric above my heart. Every movement I made and every breath I took felt violent somehow. It was as if my thoughts came in capital letters, screaming monotonously and aggressively in my head.

Two cold hands gently cupped my face. Tucking his ring and pinkie fingers behind my ears and putting his thumbs on my cheeks, rubbing gently, Kennedy held my head steadily and whispered: "You're alright. I've got you."

"I think I'm having a heart attack," I squeezed out between quivering breaths. With eyes full of tears, my vision was blurry. Still, I could make out the worried look in Kennedy's brown eyes.

"You're not having a heart attack," he assured and placed a kiss on my forehead. "Breathe with me, okay?"

Kennedy took in a long breath and held it for a few seconds, then, he breathed out very slowly. Somewhere in the background, I heard Micah arriving by my side as well. I felt his presence as he crouched beside me, but the sounds were being blocked by the blood rushing in my ears. It took all of my attention to focus on and match Kennedy's breathing, ignoring the pain in my chest and the buzzing in my head. Nausea still crept in my throat and stomach, and my hands trembled, still prickly with static.