But this one hits somewhere deeper. Somewhere old. Somewhere that remembers being eighteen and sitting at my parents’ kitchen table while my father told me I was making a mistake that would follow me forever by pursuing basketball.
I open my eyes.
You’re not there anymore.
I straighten and push away from the wall when the elevator doors open before my brain can spiral.
Once I’m in my loft, I drop my bag by the door and move automatically.
Shoes off, lined up neatly by the console.
Jacket hung.
Keys in the bowl.
Laundry gathered from the bedroom floor and dumped into the hamper.
It’s all mundane and grounding.
Cotton in my hands. The weight of denim. The creak of the floorboards I know by heart.
I flick on the kitchen lights even though it’s still technically afternoon. The brightness helps. I open a window a crack, letting in cold February air that bites at my skin and keeps me present.
In.
Two. Three. Four.
Out.
Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.
I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water. The sound of it hitting the glass is sharp and normal. I drink the whole thing in one go, because dehydration makes everything worse. That’s what the team psychologist told me years ago when I finally admitted the panic attacks weren’t “just adrenaline.”
My hands are steady now. Mostly. I check my pulse again out of habit.
Still fast.
Still fine.
“You’re good,” I mutter to the empty room.
And I am. This isn’t a panic attack. It’s shock, and there’s a difference.
My phone buzzes on the counter and my shoulders jump before I can stop them.
Okay, I’m still a little wired.
I ignore my phone and focus on something else. I need groceries. If I put in an order, that’s a solid task to focus on.
I open the grocery app.
Milk. Eggs. Chicken. Rice. Vegetables. Protein bars.
My thumb hesitates over the frozen section, and I add pizza because fuck it, I deserve pizza. The normalcy of it steadies me further. There’s something powerful about small decisions when everything else feels ripped out of your hands.
I inhale deeper. My phone buzzes again. This time, I take a look. It’s a message from Rafe. I smile before I even look.
Rafe: Made it home?
