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She nods and looks between us. “You treat her good, or I'll be callin’ your mama,” she says sternly.
I grin and nod. “I plan too.”
Carol smiles at me and throws a wink at Presley before walking away.
I sigh and look back at Presley. Her eyes are downcast, and her breathing is uneven. “Angel?”
Her frantic eyes meet mine. She tries to seem calm but fails. Giving me a fake smile, she says, “We should probably finish up and get back. I still have a lot I want to do today, and we’ve been gone for a while.”
I open my mouth to comment on it, but she immediately starts eating again, casting her eyes at anything but me. This bothers me more than it should. I thought we were just open with each other. I even tried to be open with her, and she just automatically shuts down. What changed?
This is why I shouldn’t let myself go down this path. But at the same time, I already know Presley is mine, and I will figure out what’s wrong.
We soon finish eating and head back to the shop. The tension seems to grow the longer we are together. She is clearly nervous and upset but trying to hold it in. I find myself growing more and more agitated.
So as soon as we are back at the shop, I watch her run up the stairs with a quick, “I’d better get back to work.” As much as I want to follow her up, I don’t. I need to take some time first.
We don’t see each other again today. She leaves on time, and I close up the shop late that night, having stayed well past our open hours finishing a custom bike job, needing a distraction from everything.
Chapter Five
Presley
Therewasamomentwhen I was younger that I questioned marrying Ben. Of course, the thought didn’t last. I immediately felt selfish for even having the thought. I had the perfect life, after all. Why would I question anything in it?
But now there are seconds, minutes, hours, even days that I find myself wondering how blind I was to things. How could I have thought that my life was perfect?
I thought it was because that’s what I was told. But yet it wasn’t. The perfect life doesn’t include fancy things, a large home, picture-perfect parents, a husband. It’s what’s inside of you that makes it perfect. How you feel. Things don’t matter. I have questioned and warred with myself for months on how I can go from this life of utter perfection to a small apartment in a new town going to a tiny diner where you can get a full meal for under $15 when in my old life you would never spend less than $150 if not more on a restaurant meal. Only the best places.
How can I go from being happy and letting my husband take care of me and everything in our lives to feeling like my walls are caving in when someone simply pays for a meal for me? A cheap meal, at that.
My first day working at the shop is finally over. The entire drive home feels like I’m in a tunnel that is ready to collapse on me.Just get home, Presley.Once I park the car, I jump out, not even grabbing my bag. I run up the stairs and fumble with the keys. The second the door is unlocked, I am inside with my back against it, now shut. I slowly sink to the ground and try to catch my breath, but it’s coming too fast. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest I swear you could see it if you were standing in front of me.
Go through the steps, Presley.
Five things you can see.Oak wood floors. A white kitchen island with a marble countertop. A tree swaying in the wind outside the tall living room windows. The backside of a dark gray couch. My red pointed flats on my pale white feet.
Deep breath. My trembling hand rubs at my chest, feeling the pressure intensify. This isn’t working.
Keep going. Four things you can feel.
I feel the floor, the smooth wood planks that run throughout the entire apartment. I move my shaky hand to my leg, feeling the soft cotton of my jeggings. I feel the door at my back, hard and firm, holding me up. I feel my neck where it feels like I am suffocating as I try to drag in breath after breath while fighting my mind to come out of the anxiety attack. My fingers touch the column of my neck, feeling the soft skin, reminding myself nothing is there. Nothing is physically stopping me from breathing.
I suck in a breath, holding it for as long as I can, barely even two seconds before releasing it in a gasp.Again.I try to hold it longer but can’t. My cheeks are soaked with tears as my lips tremble. This is the worst attack I’ve had since being alone. A reminder of how alone I am. No one is here to help me.
Focus. Three things you can hear.I can hear my ragged breathing. The sound of the heater kicking on and off. I can’t hear anything else.
I close my eyes and try to focus on sounds. Nothing else matters. Just listen. The faintest sound comes to me, a light thudding. From the downstairs neighbors. It’s so soft and light, I can barely hear it. But it’s consistent. It reminds me of a baby’s heartbeat.
My hand immediately flies to my stomach. Rubbing soothing circles over it, I realize I am taking deep breaths. My shaking has dulled, and my heartrate is slowly coming down. I exhale a nervous breath.
Silent tears continue to fall as I rest my head against the door and keep my eyes closed, giving myself a few minutes to fully come down from the anxiety attack.
When I first started having severe attacks, my parents found me a therapist to go see. It was a secret. Not even Ben knew, since that is something that just wasn’t seen as acceptable. She taught me how to do the five, four, three, two, one thing. Luckily, this time, I didn’t have to keep going. Being able to stop at three is a good thing. I only got to see her four times total, but in those four times she showed me different ways to try to manage it. I wish I would’ve kept going so she could have helped me understand why this happens to me.
I slowly stand up and head towards the bathroom, needing to shower to wash off everything from today. I strip down and get in. Not letting myself crank the water up as hot as it can go like I would normally do. I don’t want to risk harming the baby.
As I stand under the shower head, letting the water run down me, I remember what my therapist said,Always recount what happened prior. Finding the source is an important part to help ease your anxiety. It won’t make it disappear, but it can ease your mind, and you can learn what triggers you may have.
