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“I’ll be careful. Bye!” I hang up before Julian has a chance to expand upon whatever he wanted to say.
It’s for the best.I sigh at the ceiling.
And blink.
Is that…
I rub my eyes to make sure they’re not deceiving me.
My heart thunders as I take off downstairs in search of the ladder Julian left behind for me. I teeter and nearly lose myfooting twice while hauling the heavy thing up the flight of stairs, but I power through and make it up to the attic without any slipups.
I set the ladder beneath the wood beam and climb the steps toward the rolls of paper tucked between two support beams.
Gotcha.I swoop in and grab them before making my way down the first few steps.
A faint tickling sensation on my right hand has me looking up to find a gray spider crawling toward my elbow.
“Ah!” I scream as my foot slips. The rolls of paper go flying, along with the spider, as I do everything in my power to catch myself.
Wrong move.
My arms flail in a wasted attempt to secure my balance. I fall with a gasp, only for all the air to be knocked from my lungs as I crash against the floor on top of my left arm.
I nearly pass out from the sharp pain that shoots up. The idea of rolling onto my back so I can check out the damage seems impossible, especially once shock kicks in and my body goes numb.
You need to call for help.
My vision blurs and my body trembles as I pat my pocket with my right arm, only to remember I placed my now-fixed phone on the window ledge before I went to retrieve the ladder.
“Fuck.” A tear slips out. Anxiety builds within me like a nuclear bomb waiting to detonate.
Please don’t have a panic attack right now.
My brain ignores my plea as questions pummel through my last bits of sanity.
How am I supposed to call for help when I don’t have my phone?
How many hours will it take for someone to notice I’m missing?
Will they know where to find me?
With every unanswered question, my anxiety grows. Black spots fill my vision, and my deep breaths do little to stop the panic clawing at my chest like a wild beast.
Think.
That’s the thing. Ican’tthink when I feel like this. I’m taken hostage by my thoughts, and there is nothing I can do but wish for this feeling to end soon.
Try grounding yourself.
I start the exercise my therapist taught me, but I’m interrupted by my obnoxious ringtone. How the hell can I reach the damn thing to call for help when I can barely move?
Think. Think. Think.
“Hey, Siri. Answer the call.” I copy the way my mother talks into her phone whenever her hands are occupied at the shop.
“Help! I’m hurt and can’t get to my phone to call anyone. Call Julian and tell him I’m stuck in the Founder’s attic. He knows where it is.” I repeat the number I know by heart twice in hopes that the other person gets it.
While I can’t receive any confirmation from the other person, I know they’ll figure it out or call someone who will.
