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“We’re really going to have to work on that apologizing thing of yours.” She chuckles, pushing past me and helping herself to the fresh coffee. “Shouldn’t you be ready by now?”
“Yeah.” I sigh, tucking the pill bottle behind my back as she turns to face me. “I’ll be right back.”
Closing my bedroom door behind me, I drop the pills into a lockbox before shoving them under my bed. The one thing I am grateful for after the mess of the weekend is that whoever helped themselves to my room on Friday didn’t think to look under the wooden bedframe, missing the opportunity to find and exploit all my secrets.
I shove my hair into two French braids that drop down my back before slapping some foundation over my face and slathering my under eyes in concealer, hoping to hide the purple bags lingering there from the lack of sleep since I pulled up to BU.
After dressing in high-waisted black denim shorts and an old Nirvana sweatshirt I stole from Dad’s closet, I slip my feet into a pair of checkered Vans before glancing at myself in the mirror.
My makeup does a poor job of hiding the tiredness lingering beneath the surface. Even after I run mascara over my lashes, I just look a little less tired. And strands of hair are already falling free from the braids, dropping into light waves around my face.
Whatever, I’m not here to impress anyone, I guess.
I slide the strap of my packed backpack over one shoulder, the weight of my laptop and textbooks a steady presence when I walk out my room and find Maisie perfectly at home on the couch, scrolling through my Kindle.
“Unfuck your brain?” She chuckles when I snatch it from her, closing it down and shoving it in the TV cabinet as my cheeks blister with embarrassment.
“Psychology major, remember? Self-help books are sort of my thing, research and whatnot,” I explain, not bothering to tell her not a single one of the books on my Kindle has anything to do with my major. “Now, didn’t you promise to feed me?”
“That I did, and I have a craving for bagels. So, we’ll hit up the coffee shop on campus. I’ve been doing my research, and apparently, it’s pretty good for breakfast, and we can avoid the crowds in the cafeteria.”
She links our arms together, tugging me down to the parking lot. We’re only around the corner from campus, but not having my car with me isn’t something I’m comfortable with.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, I let her fiddle with the aux cable and connect her phone to the speakers as I pull out of the space, weaving through the cars dipping out of the parking lot and slipping easily into the early morning traffic on the main road.
It takes less than fifteen minutes to get parked up on the other side of campus, and as we step out of the car, Maisie guiding me toward the coffee shop, my stomach sinks and sweat pools against my skin. My heels dig into the gravel, stopping me in my tracks.
“Hey, you good?” Maisie asks, spinning around until we’re face-to-face. Blinking a few times, I try to get my mouth to open, to answer her question, but nothing comes out. My muscles are locked in place, my vision growing hazy as the bright sunlight assaults me.Shit. Shit. Shit.My throat constricts, and my lungs burn with the need for oxygen, but I can’t pull it in. I can’t breathe.
“Five things”—I hear Mom’s voice, a whisper, at first, pushing through the fog that tries to cloud my brain—“Tell me five things you can see.”
The grounding technique my therapist taught me at one of our first sessions comes rushing to the forefront of my mind. Five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.
While it’s not a miracle cure and doesn’t fix the root of the attacks, it’s a good tool in these moments when it feels like you’re drowning. A reminder that you’re okay, you’re here, that you’re not underwater and losing yourself.
I force my eyes to move, to travel over the car park, collecting five items in my mind. A yellow VW bug parked at my side, a football being tossed over the asphalt, the campus gates, a girl wearing bright sneakers, and finally, Maisie.
Maisie, who stares at me, her eyes swimming with worry as she holds her cell in one hand, her fingers curled tightly around the metal casing.
Shit.
I rush through the final four numbers, my breath settling when I reach one. My heart slows to a normal beat, and the sounds of the parking lot flooding back to my ears as I bring myself back to the here and now.
“Fuck.” I sigh, dropping my head forward as tears spring to my eyes. “I’m sorry, Maisie. I think I just zoned out for a minute.”
She doesn’t speak for a long moment, letting me regain my composure. It’s only when we start walking again that she throws her arm over my shoulder.
“I’m not going to ask you to spill all your secrets to me, Bea. I know we’ve only known each other a couple days, and we don’t reallyknoweach other well yet. But I want you to know that you can talk to me . . . about anything.”
“I-uh—”
“I know a panic attack when I see one,” she says quietly, squeezing me tight against her. “And the pills you were hiding behind your back this morning? Yeah, you didn’t do the best job, I caught a glimpse when you slipped into your bedroom.”
“Oh,” I say, blowing out a slow breath.
“You know it’s nothing to be ashamed of, right?” She lowers her voice as she tugs me inside the coffee shop on campus.
Bright bean bags litter the floor, the lights a mismatch of bright whites and gold, giving a chaotic ambience to the space. Without waiting for my answer—I’m not even sure she expects one—Maisie steps up to the counter, quickly placing our orders. “Two vanilla lattes, please, two shots of caramel in each, and can I grab two cream cheese and ham bagels also. All to go, thanks.”
