Rebel: A Monstercat Fanfic

046 - Perspective (021)

Song of the Chapter: Rattlesnake - Rogue (Trap) Honestly one of my favorites by him

(Evee's POV)

I tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear and take a deep breath. I don't like this 'hiding in plain sight' thing. I feel like everyone can see through our act.

"Hey," Rogue says softly by my side. "Just relax. They'll never know it's us."

I sure hope they won't. They shouldn't, at least. Rogue - who I found is very good at voice imitations - changed his accent, though he sometimes slips back to his regular English accent when he gets nervous or excited. He 'borrowed' a coat he found draped over a bench and is wearing that over the t-shirt with his logo, and I'm wearing his red jacket. It's too big and the sleeves flop around when I wave my arms. He stashed his helmet and sword, too, in an alley somewhere.

"Alright," I say, smiling at him. I stick my hands in the pockets of his jacket and take a deep breath. My stomach growls softly, reminding me that I haven't eaten since yesterday morning. We were skeptical about buying anything, afraid they'd catch us there. I don't like the feeling of being a prisoner in my own city.

"Are you okay?" Rogue asks, tilting his head toward me.

"I don't think so." I glance around again.

He gently takes my hand and squeezes it in reassurance. "Neither am I," he says non-reassuringly. "I'm sorry."

I realize I'm shaking and my heart is beating hard and fast against my chest. Of course, I know what I'm afraid of, but the sudden anxiety doesn't help either. I thought it'd gotten better, but I guess it hasn't. I feel tight and trapped, like I can't breathe, and my head is swimming, making me almost fall over.

Rogue catches me as I tip. "Maybe we should sit down," he suggests, his arm now wrapped protectively around my waist.

"Oh-okay," I stammer, holding onto him for support. My stomach lurches, making me feel like I'm going to throw up, even though I know I probably won't. I've never actually been sick with my anxiety, but I guess anything is possible at this point. Together, we take a step, and then another, until we get a steady rhythm and can move a little faster. I focus all of my attention on putting one foot in front of the other, and before I know it, he's gently sitting me down on a bus stop bench. I lean against him, closing my eyes and breathing deeply, and then try to do a few exercises I learned a couple years ago.

List everything you can feel: the ground under my feet, my fuzzy boots, my leggings and grey skirt, the sun-warmed metal bench, my shirt, Rogue's red jacket, my long hair, fuzzy hat, cool breeze. I can feel Rogue's comforting arm around my shoulders, and rest my head on his shoulder. He seems to radiate this warmth and reassurance I didn't know I needed until just now. My list grows bigger with things specifically about Rogue; his hair brushing against my forehead when he turns to look at something, his chest rising and falling as he tries to calm his own breathing, his fingers gently tapping against my shoulder.

List everything you can hear. At first, my list starts with simple things, like the roar of traffic, the voices of people around us, the wind in my face, but again, it narrows down to the person sitting next to me. His breath is quiet, tickling my ear, and he starts humming softly, an unfamiliar tune I instantly fall in love with.

At this point, I feel myself start to calm down a little bit, and open my eyes, shifting a little.

He looks down at me, his eyes full of concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm a little better, yeah." I give him a small smile. "Thanks for asking. You're probably the only person I know who's ever taking my light anxiety seriously."