My Rules

rule 5

Next morning, in front of the mirror, the school jumper didn't seem so bad. It complimented my cropped hair in a way the hoodie never did. Still, I was against it being mandatory to wear only uniform.

I was in quite a good mood anyway. So, I sauntered into maths and took my seat, immediately beginning the starter questions because I knew I could do them. Pythagoras and Trigonometry? Easy. Probability? It was my bitch.

Elliott was sat at her desk, marking Year Nine books with a formidable facial expression. She looked up at me when I came in and nodded in approval, irritating me a little bit. Still, I completed the questions and greeted Nadeem and Kyle when they came in.

"Hey, Arren! There's this party at Will's house this weekend. Are you gonna come? He asked me to ask you," Nadeem blurted, grinning at me.

"He actually asked me to ask you," Kyle corrected him, preening a little.

I rolled my eyes and thought about it. Will.  A tall, skinny handsome guy who had moved up to our sixth form last year. He had smooth, brown skin and soft curly hair that was always styled to make girls, and boys, collapse.

More importantly, he always had good drinks in and his parties were a nice, bubbly atmosphere, with only a few people, lots of laughing and probably some crying. To many people, it seemed lame but this was exactly my kind of party.

I was glad he thought of me. We'd been really close until he left school, him being a vital part of our friendship group and a really nice bloke. Nothing had changed, I just got to see him less often now because I'd moved away from the neighbourhood when my parents split up and he was busy with A Level work. I smirked. "Yeah, I'll come."

Nadeem and Kyle smiled in unison and opened their books, frowning at the starter.

As Elliott rapped on the cupboard door to get our attention and put the answers to the starters on the board, I grinned. I'd gotten them right — well, most of them. Maths had been my weakest point since Year Seven but in Year Ten I somehow became quite good. I wasn't the best in the class — that was Rose, who never revised and floated through the course easily (bitch) — but I was still good.

The lesson passed slowly. Around the half way point I got a bit restless, as it was largely a learning lesson and we weren't doing any questions. I also had a good understanding of Venn diagrams, so it was quite dull, although I made a lot of notes. My handwriting was worse than usual. Odd.

Everything suddenly seemed too loud. Too bright. Everyone was too close to me.

Shit.

I started feeling too hot and my heart was beating faster than it should have been. It was all too familiar. I was very tense and glanced stiffly at the clock. Five... ten? Seven — seven minutes of the lesson left.

Those seven minutes passed in hot, panicky agony and I fought to remain composed. I wasn't going to do this. No. Not with Elliott.

I felt like even though I was breathing, I wasn't taking in any oxygen. I tried to regulate my breathing, but that made it worse.

It was in an isolated daze that I stumbled to my next lesson, still under the arrest of what was happening. It was biology, with Rowles. I hesitated at the door. If I went in, I'd break down in front of everyone. Or would I? I could keep it in, right?

Past experience told me no, that's a stupid idea, fucking idiot, fucking idiot! — but I went in regardless.

As soon as thoughts came into my head they were dashed out, and I couldn't recall them. Rowles began teaching but I wasn't hearing anything she was saying. It was just a buzz. I stared at my page blankly, feeling my breath become more and more erratic and feeling my heart getting faster and faster and hating how hot and sweaty I was. My stomach felt uncomfortably tense.

When I began to uncontrollably shake, that was the last straw. Before anyone could see my weakness I stood up and left the classroom quickly. Rule 5: if you need to leave, fucking leave.

In the corridor I still couldn't breathe, so I jerkily walked to the back staircase, which was more private. When I reached it, the cold, beige stairway, I sat on a step and stopped trying to control my breathing. It became erratic gasps and I was sobbing uncontrollably.

"Arren!" A voice was immediately by my side, soft arms encircling me, holding my hand and rubbing my back in the most gentle way. "Breathe, Arren."

I could tell from the perfume that it was Rowles who was comforting me. At the physical touch, I began to calm down. My breathing was shaky, but becoming more controllable. I dropped my head in my hands and it seemed more bearable.

The panic attack lessened off. Rowles stood me up and led me to the science workroom, where I sat on a chair and stared into space, still trembling a bit with each breath.

I bit my lip, hard, to stop myself from crying. It was stupid, because I was already crying, but it made sense at the time.

Rowles sat next to me.

"Who's looking after the class?" I asked.

"Mrs Allen." The technician. "Arren, are you alright?" Rowles asked gently.

I nodded. I still felt sick.

"Do you remember when you had a panic attack in maths, last year?" She reminded me.

I nodded again. I'd told Rowles about that when it happened. I'd always gotten on with her.

"How long has this been a problem?"

"A-a few y-y-years," I stammered. Nice job, mouth. A few, a couple. Since year eight, really, but it only got bad in Year Ten.

"Don't you think it would be wise to speak to Mr Mason about this?" Rowles asked.

I shrugged. "Probably." I looked down at my feet, wanting to be somewhere else. "He t-talked to me after the maths one, but I haven't spoken to him about that since."

"Do you want me to tell him what's happened?" Rowles offered without pressure.

I shook my head slowly.

"I want to tell Mr Mason what happened, but I won't if you don't want me to. I think it would be a good idea if you at least tried talking to him," Rowles pressed on softly.

There was a long pause, where I was silent and Rowles was patient in waiting for my answer, smoothing out her purple skirts. I picked at my thumb and blotted the blood on my dark school jumper's sleeve. The lights were giving me a small headache, but I looked up anyway, trying not to cry. My next word came out in a quiet, strangled sort of way.

"Okay."