“I’m not your fucking dog.”
“I said go?—”
Mom holds his hand and leans against his chest.
“What’s wrong with her?” My feelings betray me as my voice comes out weak and low, thick with worry.
Dad sighs and keeps rubbing her back. “Just go inside and wait for us. Please.” He presses in a pleading tone.
Casting a last glance at them, I leave them.
Instead of waiting inside, as he told me to, I go up to my room and lock the door.
Plopping on the bed, I grab my phone and stare at her text before typing the words.
Heath:Are you okay?
I wait for her reply.It’s early in the morning, so I don’t expect her to answer me.
Ten minutes pass and no response comes from her which drives me crazy.
I’m seconds away from marching down to her house, dragging her father out and beating the shit out of him, but it’ll cause problems for her. I’ll be put away into jail—again—and then nobody will protect her. At least, when I’m out I can do something.
Well, not fucking something apparently.
With a groan, I slump on the mattress and stare up at the ceiling.
My head is exploding. There’s so many things, all happening at the same time. Hope is back home with that monster; she doesn’t know I planned to ask her out on a date; I can’t visit her or contact her; and my parents are here.
My life is a fucking mess and for the first time I feel the weight of it laying down on me.
My breathing gets slower and deeper as the thoughts in my head swirl around in chaos.
I’m having a panic attack. It’s happening.
Just as that realization comes, my hands start trembling. I wiggle my fingers but they won’t stop shaking.
Air packs tightly into my chest. I can hardly breathe.
It’s been weeks since I last had one. I was certain I wouldn’t have them again.
I was wrong. So fucking wrong.
A knock sounds on the door loud enough to distract me.
Pulling every bit of energy out of me, I sit up and clutch my chest.
For fuck’s sake.
I hate this.
I just want to be normal.
“Heath, are you inside?” Mom says from the other side in a panicked tone.
“He’s inside. Derek said he spends all his time here.” Dad explains. A few seconds later, a much louder knock greets my door. “Open your fucking door.”
Sitting back on my hands, I close my eyes and take control of myself by doing the five-things technique I read online.
