If You Miss It

23. crumple

warning: panic attack.

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CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CRUMPLE

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The longer that Dmitri stayed in bed, the harder it was getting for him to breathe.

Juno could clearly hear his heavy inhales, her normally soft purrs sounding like nails being dragged across a chalkboard as he repeated like a mantra, Breathe. Breathe, fucking breathe, in his head, as if that would somehow, trick his lungs into co-operating with him.

"God," he muttered under his breath, hunching over as he rubbed his chest, nearly throwing up from that simply action as nausea began to spread from his stomach to his chest.

Everything was so loud. So, so loud. Juno, his fan, Eden's bustling downstairs, Trinh talking to her, his breaths, his thoughts, his heart, everything.

The logical side of him knew that he could just call Eden and she would be able to calm him down, or at least calm him down enough so that he could throw on some fresh clothes that weren't stained with sweat and just get to the fucking cemetery.

But the illogical side of him was replaying all the horrifying thoughts that were darting around in his brain, ranging from I'm going to die, to I want to die.

"Fuck," he sobbed dryly, stumbling out of bed and crashing onto the ground instead, bringing his knees up to his chest as he tried to inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, exhale, exhale.

A soft whimper escaped his mouth, shaky hands reaching up to cover his mouth with his hand as he tried to inhale, choking out semi-decent breaths that barely lasted for ten seconds, until he was hyperventilating again, his entire body just shaking, from adrenaline or from pure fear, he wasn't sure.

Gagging into his hand, he grabbed the trash can from the corner of the room, repeatedly heaving into it, a string of saliva dangling from his mouth as he tried to throw up and hopefully get whatever was hurting him out of his body.

But it wasn't that easy, it never was.

So, he was just left sitting there with the nausea, with the fear, with the panic. With only the rapid pounding of his heart to keep him company.

"Fuck," he hissed again as he drew in another heavy breath, which just turned into another dry sob as he exhaled. "Fuck. Oh my fuck, please—" Choking on his own words, Dmitri just reached for the trash can again, his body convulsing as he dry-heaved into it, his coughs probably echoing through the house, because they were definitely echoing through the room.

It was evident that Juno could hear him, but she didn't know where he was, just walking around the room, searching every corner for him except the corner where he was seated. Please, please, Eden, come upstairs.

Lungs begging for air, he inhaled deeply, oxygen getting caught halfway into his windpipe, and he just ended up choking on it, coughing harshly into the trash can, praying for some sort of miracle that would end in him either being able to breathe or dying.

Luckily for Dmitri, he was on God's favourites list, and just as his eyes were beginning to close, flutter shut from the lack of air reaching his chest to clear up the fog inside it, his phone began to ring.

Fuck. I can't get up. I can't stand up. I can't move.

After two seconds of convincing himself that he wasn't going to pass out the moment he stood up, he pushed himself off the ground, floor tilting under his feet as he stumbled to his bed, pressing his phone against his ear without bothering to check the caller ID.