The Little Things [Book 1]

Chapter Fifty-One: Extra Time

When Thomas woke up, he first noticed Mark. He was sitting up against the leather headboard and was typing something on his phone. All three had decided to share the guest room bed, which was a little bigger than Mark's and fit all three of them. Sam was nowhere to be found though at the moment.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Mark muttered, without taking his eyes off of his phone.

"Good morning..." Thomas replied, still groggy from sleep. "Where's Sam?" he asked.

"She left about two hours ago. She had to go to work," Mark said, still looking at his phone.

"Who're you texting?" Thomas asked, sitting up a bit and leaning closer to Mark.

"Dean," he said and leaned down to brush his lips against Thomas's forehead.

"Since when do you and Dean text?"

"He needed some advice a couple of days ago," Mark said with a shrug. He shut his phone, set it aside, and turned to Thomas. "Thank you for last night. I'm sorry for ruining your fun..."

"Shut up, you didn't ruin anything. You don't need to apologize or thank me for what happened," Thomas said and yawned. He stretched his arms and legs and set his head on Mark's shoulder. "How are you feeling today?" he asked and hugged him.

Again Mark shrugged. "Better than last night". He kissed the crown of Thomas's head. "But still pretty detached".

"Detached?" Thomas echoed.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly sure how to describe it. It's like I'm in this dream state and everything seems real, but it doesn't feel real..."

"And how can you make it feel real?"

Mark frowned and took a deep breath. "Most of the time I just wait it out. Eventually, I'll be my old self again".

"I thought your medication was working..."

"It is," Mark said and looked Thomas deep in his amber eyes. "Before I started taking it... what happened last night happened almost every other day. With the meds, panic attacks like last night's happen at most once a month..."

"How did it start? What happened the first time you had... one?" Thomas quietly asked a few moments of silence later.

Mark hesitated for a second, and Thomas regretted asking, but then Mark cleared his throat and closed his eyes.

"It was a little after sophomore year started; about two months in. After school, my Mom had come to pick me up, because I didn't have a car back then, and we had stopped at a gas station and as we were in the shop, I remember my Mom pulling me down with a hand on my mouth". Mark stopped as he licked his own lips, shaking his head as the memory replayed in his mind. "I hadn't seen him, but she had noticed the masked guy just as he pulled a gun on the cashier". He stopped again to swallow hard and slouched forward. "We stayed hidden until the guy got the money and left. My Mom went to check the cashier and call the police, but I... I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't... I was paralyzed in that fucking chips aisle thinking I was dying".

At that point, Thomas was looking at Mark with tears glistening in his eyes. He didn't know what to say other than apologize for having made Mark remember that story. To himself, Mark gave out a low sound that mimicked a chuckle.

"I was pathetic. I got about three to four panic attacks a day back then. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't hear loud noises. I couldn't eat fucking chips for almost six months because I would think back to that fucking aisle. I was talking to the school counselor, but that woman didn't help at all. I wasn't comfortable with her. I didn't trust her. So, my parents and I started looking for other therapists and eventually –after meeting every condescending and homophobic therapist in the business- we found the one I have today".