Deals With The Devil's Spawn

Growl and tell them to fuck off

I'm sure we all have those moments. Those moments where panic sets in, blocking everything that surrounds you. Noises, smells, touches, become nonexistent, the need to run and get away from danger all that's left. With a father who believed in showing his family how big and strong he was, I became very familiar with those moments at a young age.

The ringing in your ears, the loud thump of your heart trying to jump out of your chest, and the white flashes flying around in front of your eyes. The braver part of you screams for you to fight, to kick and scratch, but the coward part screams to run. On most occasions, we choose to run, and as ashamed as we are later, we also know we'd choose run every time. I'd chosen to fight once, and almost gotten myself killed. After that, I chose to run. It was a lot easier.

"Porter?" I knew that voice. I knew it well enough to recognize it even through a haze that made it feel miles away. But even though my heart already trusted that voice, my mind didn't, and it screamed for me to get away. "Porter."

Run.

Get out. Go. Just go.

I felt my eyes sting with tears, the mere task of breathing burning a hole in my chest. Dragging another breath in, the need to relieve the stinging sensation in my chest almost desperate, I gripped the closest thing I could find.

Five, four, three, two, one. Five, four, three, two, one. Five...

"Breathe, Porter, just breathe," whispered words floated towards me, my grip tightening, my eyes squeezing shut.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

You're okay. You’re safe. You're okay. It won't last forever. Just breathe. Inhale, exhale. Just breathe. Five, four, three...Breathe. He can't hurt you. No one can. No one can hurt you. No one can hurt you. Just breathe.

Slowly the air entering my lungs no longer made me want to scream, the ringing in my ears subsiding until the sounds of my surroundings replaced it. Giving myself a few seconds to adjust to the noise and smells invading my senses all at once, I let out a shaky breath, slowly opening my eyes. Staring out of the tinted car window, I fought a groan. The stares of the people standing in the parking lot remained fixed on the car, oblivious to the fact that I'd just had a mini meltdown.

"Porter," Brayden spoke up a few seconds later, drawing my attention to him. Turning around to face him, I braced myself for the usual reaction I knew was coming. "Are you okay?"

My eyes snapped up towards his, the fear and concern I saw in them, making my heart still for a millisecond. His eyes searched my face, his eyebrows drawing together. "Um...I'm sorry...I..."

"You have nothing to be sorry about, Porter," he replied, softly. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, my eyes lowered, falling on the tight grip I still had on his arm.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," I apologized again, pulling my hand away and wincing at the red nail marks on his arm. The skin around them was starting to turn an angry red, and I couldn't stop the guilt from rearing its ugly head.

"It's fine," he told me.

"No it's not," I shook my head, "I am a lot to handle, Brayden. These people will eat you alive for talking to me. Trust me."

"Porter, do you really think I care what a bunch of assholes think? I don't," he replied. "I know how they are, my mom went through hell with them. So their opinions mean shit to me. I make my own opinions and I think, that as much as you spill shit on me...and scald my skin, you're nicer than all of them put together."

Shaking my head with an amazed smile, I stared at him in wonder. "Careful, Cavanaugh, you're starting to lose the dick part of 'nice dick'."

"Fuck." I laughed.