𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯; 𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘪 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘰

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐍

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗𝚎彡

            𝐈'𝐌 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊, my body is getting faint. hands shaking, the fabric on my clothes is getting tighter and tighter. my tears are like the curtains to a window, not letting me see what's in front of me.

with what little thought i have, i try and count. one to three, four to seven, seven to ten. taking a breath in, and releasing it at the end of each three counts.

needles feel like they're poking at every inch of my skin. the feeling proving heat all over my body with a flush. i know i'm having a panic attack, the feeling never gets old, always finding a new way to poke at me.

when i reach eight, my head starts to pound. i can't even process any thoughts about where i am. what if i'm in the middle of the street acting hysterical? i want to try and do anything about it, but strength isn't on my side.

i lift my hands up to my eyes, trying to wipe any reminisces of the mess. embarrassment creeps on me, i can't have anyone see me. not here, not now.

i keep counting, but nothings helping how my body and mind feel. the sweat now dripping down my back makes it worse. the more i feel aware of what's around me, the more stress is inflected.

"rome? oh my—james help me," i look up, my tears slowing down. i wipe the rest, and see a figure of a woman. ingrid? her voice is familiar but muffled.

a tiny boy joins her as they peer down at me. their shadows proving me little shade from the peeping sun.

the woman attempts to pick me up carefully, i follow without must resistance. the young boy follows without complaint, holding my back as the gray hair woman takes my hand and leads me somewhere.

my shoes drag slightly across the grovel. i can feel the small rocks and dirt getting stuck underneath the crevices of my shoe.

if i hadn't been in the star i was, i would've been mortified with the idea of willing getting my shoes dirty.

with the fresh breeze hitting my face, i attempt with counting. when i reach five, we arrive at a small house.

a one story house, the outside colored white with many plants surrounding it. the closer i get, the more little details i can pick up. like the shoe rack near the door that only holds two pair of sandals.

i recognize it immediately, and feel relief sweep me. the woman, ingrid, rushes me inside and insists i sit on her couch. she pushes me down slightly, until my back reaches the cushion.

the embarrassment doesn't seem to hit me that hard; knowing who witnessed me was someone i'm close with.

"what if no one was there? christ, i'm about to have a heart attack," she exclaims, leaving my side and rushing down to the near kitchen.

looking down at my lap, my face starts to heat up as i remember the events. ingrid has with seen my attacks countless times. she's told me time and time again it's nothing to be ashamed about, but the thought always creeps on me.

ingrid returns not too long after, with a bowl of apples. a favorite of mine. she crouches down in front of me.

"match my breathing, okay?"