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I gasp, my eyes flying open to bulge at the ground. Blunt nails bite into my back—the heel of his hand a hot brand pulsing through my thin shirt—and Jeremy’s murmuring, “Good, good, just let it out.”
My hand finds my chest, fingers curling against my racing heart.
Slow, you can slow now…
It’s been a while since my last panic attack, if you even want to call them that. Compared to this one, those were nothing. As night and day as hiccups and a heart attack.
What would have happened if Jeremy wasn’t here?
How did he know?
I’m shaking my head, all these thoughts and worries tumbling around my head. But I’m no longer panicking. I’m just…wiped.
I fall back on my ass, and take advantage of the wall that’s there, leaning heavily against it, head rolled back so I’m staring at the ceiling. I try to remember how to breathe normally, and not like I just ran a mile.
I sense more than see Jeremy slump over from his knees to his ass.
“What…”
“You had a panic attack.”
“I know. But…how did you…”
“I just knew.”
Shaking my head, I clutch my neck. “Fuck.” My chest hurts. My throat. My eyes. “I don’t know why. He’s okay, I knew he’d be okay… I just…” The words are there, but every time I try to speak, it gets all tangled and broken up.
“It’s the relief. Like an adrenaline crash,” he says thoughtfully.
I lower my hooded gaze, still panting slightly.
Jeremy picks at a loose thread on his jeans, face downcast, blond hair flopping over his brow in a mess of tangles. “The threat was gone, but your body hadn’t caught up yet. It was still in survival mode. Made it so your head and heart were on two different pages. Triggered a panic response.”
I force a hard swallow, and clear my throat before speaking. “Makes sense.”
His gaze flits up to mine, searching. “Better now?”
I nod.
“When I spiral out,” he says slowly, measuring his words out carefully, “if I don’t immediately start rationalizing it, I’ll fall back into a panic. It helps to understand why my brain and body go all haywire on me. Makes me feel more in control.”
“I can see that.” I wet my lips. “Thought you had pills for that though.” I wave a hand at his chest. “Like a fast-release thingy. For the panic attacks.”
He nods. “I do, but I don’t want to have to rely on them, you know? Chronic anxiety is enough of a prison. I’ll never fully break out if I just surrender to it.”
I huff a short laugh. “Jer, meds aren’t another prison. They’re there to help.”
“And they do. The ones I take every day…absolutely. But the emergency ones?” He shakes his head. “They’re supposed to be for an emergency.” He gestures to me. “Case in point. You didn’t need to be sedated. Why should I take the easy way out? You saying I’m weaker than you?” Humor teases his brown eyes, and I feel my mouth kick up in a smile.
“Touché. Weak is the last thing I think of when I think of you.”
A startled sound escapes him. “Okay, I wouldn’t go that far. I’m weak as fuck.” And as if to prove it, he lifts his arm, showing off his barely-there bicep. Made even more non-existent by the looseness of his shirt.
I snort.
He lowers his arm. “But I’ve got my brain. Enemy that it is sometimes. One day we’ll reach a compromise. I have to believe that.”
Inhaling and exhaling deeply from my nose, I nod. “I dig the sound of that. Maybe me and my brain will get along one day too.”
