Breathless Behaviour

6

Alexandra

I felt like shit. I smelt like shit. I think I was covered in shit.

Making my way to the main house, I walk slowly and stiffly, almost limping. I walk carefully, threading the uneven ground and away from rocks, watching the ground I step on instead of my surroundings because I did not want to fall again, I'd much rather hit a tree face first than fall again.

I had finished cleaning the stables, the last one, when I fell, accidentally and stupidly so. I fell and it wasn't just the pain of hitting the ground that hurt- I thought hay was supposed to soften the fall and it did, somewhat- but also of slicing my skin with a rock, a small one, one that laid between the hay, that made blood trickle down my leg.

I fell and hit a rock and I swear, I almost died. I didn't but I felt like I did, the sharpness of it digging ever so painfully into my flesh, my bones. It hurt so much that I laid there, on the hay, swearing off the rock and the man that had me cleaning those stalls, who I hadn't seen since he left me there to my luck.

Heath Alrick left me there, not once checking up on me but what did I expect of him? Nothing, absolutely nothing because he didn't care.

When I was finally able to stand up or rather sit up, I almost passed out at the sight of all the blood on my skin. My vision blurry and heart ricocheting as I saw red smearing my knee, running down leg, sweat forming across my forehead and back as I saw the trickle, bright and bitter, sticky.

I wasn't a fan of blood, not one bit. I tried to avoid it as best as I could but there were days I couldn't avoid it, my heart tightening each time I saw it, my head going light, close to passing out- I wondered how doctors did it, seeing blood all day without feeling nauseated, without feeling anxious- sometimes passing out but only for brief seconds.

My parents didn't understand where the phobia came from, neither did I. I couldn't even remember the day it started but my father did, telling me how one second I was standing, the next I was sprawled across the floor with my hand held out, blood running down my arm. Ever since then, I had gone to therapy, exposure, and tried to overcome it but I couldn't.

Blood and I just didn't go well. One drop and I passed out, seeing more than a drop, I'd probably die.

I get dizzy by just thinking about it, knowing there's still blood on my knee, knowing that I'd have to clean it by myself and not have someone do it for me. I feel light headed, darkness surrounding my eyes, my steps unbalanced, my body- an arm grabs me, holding me, pulling me back to my feet as a voice breaks through the fog. "Hey. Hey-" hands hold me tightly, keeping me from falling face first- "Breath. In. Out. Slowly."

I do as I'm told, pushing away the thought of blood. Breathing in as my therapist once told me, thinking of good things, not of blood or death or anything related to it. I think of the sun and the wind, of the feeling of rain on my skin, how the hand on my arm feels like, strong but soft. I think of the sound of Elliots voice, how it's soothing and calm.

I think of everything but myself.

Shaking my head, I swallow, nodding, keeping my eyes shut. "I'm good." A lie. I wasn't good, my stomach was tight, I was sweating and not from heat, I was tired and on top of it all, I wanted to cry.

I wanted to cry so badly because how stupid could I be? Why didn't I pack at least one pair of jeans? Why did I fall? Why was I still here? Why did I even clean those stalls? What would Heath do to me if I hadn't? I could have just sat there, doing nothing, being spoiled like he believed I was. I could have laid around but instead I got my hands dirty, clothes dirty and cleaned all those stalls and in the end, I fucking fell and passed out.