Birdie and I walk hand in hand down the streets to the bar we intended on meeting Ross and his wife Bianca at. But as we near, I can see the towering giant standing outside. He waves and as we near the girls embrace each other like they don't see one another constantly.
"The place is packed." Ross says, the acrid scent of smoke lingers in the air as patrons stand along the alley entrance puffing on cigarettes. "Want to go somewhere else?"
Staring at the windows of the bar, Ross is right. Our usual bar is packed tight, loud and chaotic as the noise engulfs us out on the street. Someone hollers loud, a cacophony of shouts following immediately after and I stiffen.
It's the smell, the over powering scent of cigar that infiltrates my nose. It's distinct, pungent, heavy and fills my body rapidly with fear. My name gets shouted, angry and malicious and I search the space around me for him.
My worst fears have been realized. They let him out. He's come to find me.
I suck in a breath that's limited by the panic that grips my lungs just as a hand lands on my arm. I wrench it away, blurting something that ends up lost in the shouts around us.
"Holt, you're safe." It's Birdie's voice that breaks through my thoughts first. "Talk to me, count your breaths, tell me four things."
A hand lands on my arm again and this time I shift my gaze to it. Rich skin with long slender fingers lay against the fabric of my gray crewneck. I know who's hand it is and where it'll lead but I follow her arm up until I meet wild curls and hazel eyes filled with concern.
"Talk to me Holt." She says again.
It takes a minute for my panicking mind to register what she wants from me, for my surroundings to morph back into reality rather than some twisted concoction of the basement and the horrors of my mind.
"You." I mumble, I can feel Birdie. I mostly hear yelling but just below that I can hear a car come to a stop behind me, the familiar sound of a door clicking as it's being opened. "Car door. I-I smell cigarettes".
"Good, what can you see?" She pushes me on but I'm afraid to shift my eyes from her.
I'm almost certain that it's real, that his cigar is mingling with the smoke of the cigarettes and the threatening howl that lives within the shouts is him coming to collect me.
"Holt."
My eyes snap shut, sealing me off from the world, from Birdie, and he flashes in my mind.
"He's here." I whisper it just incase he can hear me.
"He's not here Holt. I promise." Birdie pleads. "You're safe. He's still in prison. He's not here."
I'm certain. "He's here."
"You're safe, stay with me." Birdie says.
My hands fist in my hair, my body trembling as fear gnaws at me. It's crippling, so utterly debilitating like its eating away at me. Like I don't have any control, forced to let it disassemble me until I'm nothing more than pieces on the floor.
———————-
"I'm fine mom." I lie. Really I want to be back at home, the old house, in my room with its bookshelves housing musty old western novels and the familiarity of the gray walls and the wood floors. I want to be back in that room, the place that had been the first safe space I'd had. Where I could sit on my bed with Blue and Drew and Birdie and everything was calm and solid and for once, god for once, I wasn't always looking for him. "Really, I promise."
But I'm an adult, with a place of my own, a girlfriend and a job and I should be able to handle this. They're right, I know they are. Austin isn't out. And even if they do parole him, that's still months away. Until then, I'm safe from him and my focus needs to be on keeping him where he's at. Not losing my shit outside a public restaurant where people know me. Where they recognize not only me but Ross.
I'll probably be in some headline tomorrow on the sports page. My face gracing social media pages as people scroll their life away.
Basketball star Holt Lincoln has a panic attack on the streets of Chicago.
Chicago Bulls Holt Lincoln: is his mental health declining?
They love the bottom one. Anytime they can raise the question of my sanity they do. I suppose I get it, I'm a sort of an enigma, having never publicly spoken about my past. Everything everyone knows has been drudged up by nosey reporters and curious fans. So they speculate. And I try my best to ignore all the things they say.
But I'm still not looking forward to it.
She lets out a resigned sigh and I smile softly at her, trying to reassure her even though she probably sees that I'm lying.
"Vida's got a game tomorrow, I'll see you there." I continue on. "I'm just going to go to bed."
I'm still conjuring up more excuses for why she doesn't need to stay, skirting around the real reason. I don't want to burden her. I don't want to force her to protect me from my thoughts like she did for so many years. I have bestowed upon my mom countless hours of nightmares where she's spent long nights trying to console me. Days upon days where I've slipped from past to present without so much as a blink of an eye. When Drew died and I couldn't move, I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. I just existed. And again when Blue passed and I thought I was dying too.
"Holt." Her voice gentle, coaxing me to tell her the truth. That I do in fact want her to stay.
But Birdie's here and Austin is locked up and I'm a grown man. Surely I can handle this. I'll call Dr. Aldrich tomorrow, she'll call me back. I'll add another visit to my therapist here.
I take her hands in mine, raising our hands as I lean my head down to kiss her thumbs. "I promise."
She blows out a breath, her gaze switching to Birdie who's been lingering behind me all night.
I feel guilty that I ruined her night out. We would have found fun, we always do when we go out with Ross and Bianca. I've been managing the handful of times we've gone out since Blue, skirting around triggers like maybe I've finally found the key to being normal.
Clearly I haven't.
"Call me." My mom says the words with urgency, the annunciation sharp and decisive.
"I will." Even if I won't, Birdie will even if I ask her not to.
"Don't worry." I feel Birdie's hand on my arm and it shifts my focus to it fast. Too fast and I know they both notice. "I'll take good care of him."
