“Yeah. Okay.”
It doesn’t hit me until I’m listening to announcements in homeroom that Ryne kissed me in public, in full view of every student around. You couldn’t wipe the smile off my face right now if you tried. I’m nervous and excited but try to stay hyper-focused in all my classes. It makes the time go faster but it still feels like each minute crawls by at a snail’s pace. By the end of the day, I’m all worked up, a nervous ball of energy. I want this to go well. I need this to go well. It has to go well. Please let it go well.
I find Ryne’s truck and he’s not here yet so I put the tailgate down and take a seat while I wait. Five minutes go by. The parking lot slowly empties. Five more minutes pass. I crane my head around, back toward the school, but there’s still no sight of him. Surely he’s not ghosting me. Not after all the effort, he’s put in the last two days. Another few minutes pass and my stomach is all in knots. Short, shallow breaths don’t get enough oxygen into my lungs and my vision starts getting spotty. Blood rushes past my eardrums, the sound nearly deafening, and I don’t hear Ryne’s footsteps as he approaches. I don’t hear him until he’s right in front of me. He grips my shoulder.
“Dacen? What’s wrong?”
I let out a jagged exhale. “Thought you changed your mind.”
He frowns and shakes his head. “Coach caught me right as I was about to walk out. He wanted to talk to me about a summer camp thing and I figured there’s no time like the present to tell him I’m not playing anymore. I sent you a text that I’d be a little bit. Didn’t you get it?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head.
47
Ryne
The way his anxiety contorts his features is harsh and bleak. His handsome face is still breathtaking as ever, but I want to rub the pain away. It’s a stark contrast and he looks even paler than usual. He’s a glass teetering on the edge, about to fall and shatter. I’ll always be there to pick up his pieces from now on, but if there’s something I can do to lessen the impact of the fall or prevent the crash in the first place, I’ll make damn sure I do it. I hop up on the tailgate and settle beside him.
Gripping his hand, I spread his fingers out and place his palm over my heart. “Close your eyes, Dacen.” I look at him to make sure he’s doing it. He is. “I’m right here, babe.” I tap his hand. My other hand settles on his tense chest and he covers it with his free hand. His heart thumps away against his rib cage. Even in this mess of anxiety swirling around us right now, it doesn’t escape my notice that I called him babe for the first time. I mouth the word again, silently to myself, and decide I like the way it feels. I squeeze his hand gently and his squeeze back means everything. We sit there breathing together until finally his heart rate begins to slow down and his breathing becomes deeper and less frantic. I pull my head back and look at him. His cheeks have regained somewhat normal coloring, and when he opens his eyes and stares back at me, they’re exhausted but more calm pools than turbulent seas.
“You’ll kick my butt if I apologize for all that, won’t you?”
I lean forward to kiss his forehead and run the fingers of one hand through his sweaty hair. “You know it.” I help him get in the truck and drive us to my house. We can deal with his ride tomorrow. He’s in no shape to drive right now and it’ll be fine overnight.
We’re sitting cross-legged near the edge of my bed. Our shirts are off because Dacen’s was all sweaty after his panic attack and he’d stripped it off almost immediately upon entering my room. I’m not one to sit around in a shirt if there’s semi-naked sexiness in front of me. But we’re just talking. I lean over and gently touch my lips to his. He smiles softly and his lips twitch and then stretch into a wide yawn. I can see just how physically exhausting his anxiety is, not to mention the emotional and mental toll it puts on him. I scoot back to the head of the bed and lie down.
“Come here.” Dacen crawls over and slides down next to me, resting his head on my chest. I turn my TV on and for the next several hours we binge-watch Game of Thrones. At one point I slip downstairs to grab us some dinner. We eat in bed, continuing to watch season one. A while later I pause the TV and look over at him. I slip my hand into his, squeezing once, and then relax my grip. I’m almost afraid to ask the question, but curiosity gets the best of me. “What’s it like?”
He turns his head to look at me. “The anxiety and panic attacks?” I nod. “Well,” he shifts and lies on his side. I turn and my eyes meet with his. They’re tired but still beautiful and captivating. “Well,” he repeats. “It’s probably a different experience for each person.”
“What’s it like for you?” I have a strong need to understand exactly what goes through his mind in those moments. As terrifying as it is to watch from the outside, I can only imagine what it’s like to live through it from within.
“For me,” he chews on his bottom lip a moment, thinking, and then a whole slew of thoughts tumble from his lips.
“For me, anxiety is like a constant stream of white noise in the background. You can ignore it for a while but then something triggers you; a comment, a misinterpreted look, a real or perceived failure. You hone in on the white noise and it becomes all you can hear, all you can focus on. Then all hell breaks loose. The white noise turns into a buzzing sound, then into a blaring alarm. As it gets stronger, it comes at you from all angles, pressing and threatening to crush your bones. Your eyes are laser-focused looking for the threat, yet nothing registers in your vision.
“The room starts to spin. Spots form behind your eyes. Your chest constricts as you try to suck in oxygen, gasping to breathe while your mind attacks itself. Suddenly you’re floating in the air, looking down at yourself. It’s a surreal feeling, to watch yourself like that. The panic consumes everything in the body and you have a front-row seat to watch from above, floating helplessly as you try to protect your mind and keep it separated from the physical pain the body is now enduring.”
Dacen stops talking, taking a shuddering breath. “It’s a lonely place to be. Eventually the anxiety subsides and it’s like I ran a marathon, I’m so exhausted. The extra frustrating part,” he continues, “is it can happen anywhere. At school, at home, at a store. Once while I was waiting in line to pay it crept up on me. I had to get out of line, set my pile of stuff down on a random display table, and haul ass out of there as fast as possible so I wouldn’t get into full-blown panic attack mode in front of a bunch of strangers.”
“Jesus, Dacen. That’s intense.” I have no other words right now. The pain in his eyes and voice as he explained… the lonely look on his face… It’s a kick in the gut. Nobody should have to go through what he described. I wouldn’t wish that agony on my worst enemy, let alone this beautiful guy I love. I don’t want him to hurt or be lonely. That thought punches me directly in the heart. I let go of his hand and tug him over to me, pulling him tightly into my arms. He settles against me with a tired sigh.
“Yeah, it’s pretty intense. Anxiety’s a bitch. I need to figure out a way to tell it to fuck off I guess.” There’s a smile in his voice. With all the shit his mind puts him through, it’s good to hear him speak those words. We’re both silent for a few minutes as I think again about everything he’s said.
“Until you figure out how to tell it to fuck off for good, I’ll be here. I can get out my baseball bat and whack it into submission if it’ll help,” I joke halfheartedly.
“Thanks, Ryne,” he responds with a yawn.
“What triggers it? I mean, have you always had it, or did something make it suddenly appear one day?”
Dacen yawns again. “I’ve always been more anxious than most, but it got worse when I started high school. There were a few homophobic assholes who were total dicks to me.” My thoughts darken at the thought of him dealing with that, of anyone giving him shit because of his sexuality. Fucking pricks. “And when Christopher and I started, um, friends with benefits-ing, he was very secretive about it, not wanting to do anything in public for fear of attracting more attention from them. I get it now, looking back on it, but in the moment I felt like some dirty little secret, like he was ashamed to let people know or something. I don’t know. It sounds stupid when I say it out loud.”
“It’s not stupid. Thanks for explaining.” I understand now how some of the things I’ve done triggered shit for Dacen.
“What time is it? Am I keeping you from something important?” He looks over at the digital clock on my nightstand, now glowing brightly as the sun has finished its descent.
My arms tighten around him again. I’m right where I need to be. “Nope, all good. Do you wanna stay over?” I really can’t fathom getting out of bed and driving him home right now but I will if he wants to.
