Overwritten

35 : Bad Habits

The moment I closed the door behind me, it locked, a clicking sound. Immediately I was swarmed with panic, struggling to breathe.

Every second began to drag, my eyes reaching for Scott who seemed so far away now, separated by the laminated glass of the car window. It felt as though I wasn't getting enough air, that every breath was restricting my airflow more and more.

The car pulled away, and I caught one last glimpse of Scott. I stared forward, focusing on my breathing but it was no use. Every sense felt heightened. Like it was all being amplified by a thousand. The feeling of artificial fabric underneath me, the way my clothes touched my skin. The deep hunger pains in my stomach. How cold my hands were. The small sounds of the car tires against the road. Each bump of a stone on a road.

It seemed like everything was too much, everything was loud. Each feeling extreme. It was getting worse with each passing second as I gripped my own legs, now fully unable to breathe. What was happening to me? I was breathing, gasping for air but it wasn't doing anything.

"Hey, kid, calm down," Evan said, but his voice was so loud I wanted to block my ears. But my hands were too cold, numb but painful. He said it again, his words were so loud I didn't even recognize them. I was trembling, feeling too hot but cold at the same time.

I was scared that I wouldn't see Scott again. Or Lillian. Or Charlie. I was scared that I was finally losing my own mind.

Everything felt so real, but so distant at the same time. Like I was watching myself shaking, but feeling every sensation at once. Evan swerved to the side of the road, turning and facing me. I wondered if he was going to kill me here, kill me now whilst he had the chance. If I didn't die first from lack of oxygen.

"Listen," Evan said, but I couldn't look at him. I was trying to focus on staying grounded. It felt like I was dying. That any moment I would just stop breathing altogether. He grabbed my arm, jolting me to face him, "Rebecca, Rebecca look at me,"

I strained my eyes to look at him, my heart beating faster and faster. Was I having a heart attack? Maybe I was dying, maybe this was it. This would be the last thing I saw and then I would disappear just like everything else. Tears pricked behind my eyes. I was dying.

"Just focus on my eyes kid," he said, pointing to his eyes. His face was angular, bags under his eyes. He had a five o'clock shadow, his breath smelling of strong coffee. But I focused on his eyes, trying not to think of everything else around me. My breathing was strained.

Why wasn't I breathing?

Evan's eyes were brown. A deep coffee-like brown, like the strong coffee he must have drank earlier. I never liked coffee. There were specks of light chestnut, dappled through the sea of brown. As he spoke, I tried to focus on his eyes, looking at the way they darted across my face.

"You're having a panic attack," he said slowly, keeping his eyes as steady as he could, "Just- just breathe, okay? Slow breathes. Just look at me and nowhere else,"

I nodded, pushing back tears, trying to ignore my brain which was screaming at me. I took a deep breath, still feeling as though I was suffocating. Like I was breathing through a thick piece of fabric. When I exhaled, I felt a swarm of terror as I realized I couldn't breathe in again.

I couldn't breathe.

"Look at my eyes," he said again, each word was slow. I tried to focus more on his eyes, "You're fine kid. Nothing's going to happen."

I took a deep breath as if it were my last. I held it, before exhaling slowly. I focused on his eyes, counting each breathe as I breathed in again. Then again. Each one coming smoother than the last. Eventually, my breathing became easier, more natural. My heart slowed, and I no longer feared that I was having a heart attack.