This fact alone should relieve the aching pressure in my chest, but it doesn’t. It’s not enough. So I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and close myself in my bedroom. I click my bedside lamp on and close the blackout curtains. The subtle, warm light feels better than the harsh sunlight, but I’m not safe yet. I kick off my shoes and pull the covers back so I can climb into bed, but then I hear a scratch at the door and a concernedmeowfrom the other side.
“Sorry, Cleetus.” I crack the door to let him in, leaving it slightly ajar in case he needs to get out again.
I get in bed fully clothed and pull the blankets to my chest, leaving the weighted blanket over my legs. Cleetus immediately jumps onto the bed and starts pawing at the fluffy material of my duvet. When he’s done making biscuits, he curls atop my feet and settles.
I close my eyes and breathe. This time it works.
I am safe. I am secure,I tell myself.All of my worries are outside, and I’m in here where they can’t get me.
I remember the first time something like this happened. It was my senior year and time was running out to apply to colleges. There aren’t many higher education options close to Shadow Hills, and the idea of having to move far from home was too stressful to think about. My mother tried to convince me that it only seemed scary because I’d never been anywhere outside of my hometown before, but once I did, it would be exciting. As much as I wanted to believe her, I couldn’t. She never really understood my anxiety and the havoc it sometimes wrought on my mental health. She’s never really understoodme.
I ended up locking myself in my room and putting off filling out applications until it was too late. I didn’t end up going to college. Instead, I stayed in Shadow Hills and started working. I don’t regret it, but sometimes I do wonder how different my life would have been if I’d decided to leave.
I hear apingfrom my cell phone and see an unread text. It’s most likely Jamie, asking if I made it home alright, so I reach to send a quick reply. But the name on the screen surprises me. It’s not my mother, or Patrick, but my friend Joanna.
MONDAY 11:13 A.M. Hey girl, I heard about what happened today. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?
We haven’t spoken in a couple months—not since she stopped working at Bound and Buried. That’s where we first met. At the time, she was an assistant manager, and I was just a part time clerk. My first day working at the store was our first shift together, and she could see I was uncomfortable dealing with customers. She went out of her way to make me feel more at ease.
As great as she was at leading others and dealing with the occasional customer frustration, eventually she decided to take a leap and quit to run a dog rescue full time, so I was given her position. I admire her heart and commitment to her passion. Not to mention she’s one of the nicest people on the planet, yet can still call you on your bullshit.
Her upbeat attitude and constant sarcasm always used to brighten my mood. We grew pretty close while working together, but we haven’t hung out since she left the bookstore. The fact that she took the time to check in on me means so much, it actually makes me feel bad about not reaching out sooner.
I shoot her a quick reply, thanking her for her concern and letting her know I’m alright. Before putting my phone away, I send another text, asking if she would want to hang out soon.
Switching the ringer off, I settle back into bed. With the feel of my weighted blanket holding me down, and Cleetus’s warm body against mine, I am finally able to relax. I stay like this until I fall asleep.
Because my phone is on silent, I don’t hear when Jamie calls at noon, or the ten times after that.
I wakeup to a warm hand against my cheek, but it doesn’t startle me. I know it’s Jamie just from his touch—the calluses on his palm from lifting weights and the path his thumb takes as it draws circles against my skin.
“What time is it?” I ask hoarsely.
I don’t open my eyes, but I imagine he’s frowning. “It’s five thirty. Have you been asleep this whole time?”
The last time I looked at the clock it said eleven fifteen.
I roll over and see he’s right. I slept almost seven hours.
As I rub my eyes and stretch, extending my legs now that Cleetus is no longer at the foot of the bed, I remember flashes of another dream I had about Jamie. This time he wasn’t a giant but a dog. Or maybe a wolf. It was just the two of us, me sitting on a bench in front of the water at the park and wolf-Jamie curled at my feet like Cleetus. I took him for a walk around the walking trail, but he kept pulling at his leash and almost getting away from me.
I brush it off as just another odd way my brain is trying to sort out my stress, but then Jamie’s face comes into view.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, my bedside lamp illuminating the left side of his face while the other is shadowed. He leans in closer and moves his unbandaged hand to my forehead as if to check for a temperature.
“I’m okay,” I tell him. I’ve been saying that a lot lately, still pretending to make everyone worry less. I shift to a sitting position and lean back against the headboard, keeping the covers pulled over my torso.
I’ve never had such a severe panic attack in front of Jamie before. He’s seen me approach that line, but I’ve never crossed it with him around. When my anxiety is at an all-time high, I have to go somewhere small. My room has always been my safe place. It was at my parents house, and it is now, here in mytiny apartment. It’s why I’ve never complained about the size. I prefer it this way. The closed-in space is like an embrace.
One of the reasons I’ve never accepted Jamie’s offer to move in with him is because I worry about his condo being too big. It seems silly, but it’s a genuine fear. In the midst of an anxiety attack, I would never be able to go downstairs to get water, or even walk down the hall to go to the bathroom. Here, I have everything just a few steps away. The guest room is fine when I’m staying for the weekend, but if I moved in, it would take a while for that space to feel completely safe. To feel likemine.
Jamie is watching me carefully as I sort through my current thoughts. He knows I’m spiraling, but I have to explain why I’m in bed or else he’s going to think something is seriously wrong.
“Are you sure?” he asks, still needing confirmation that I’m not sick with the flu or something.
I nod. “I just get like this sometimes,” I try to explain. “It’s not a big deal.”
Jamie narrows his eyes and removes his hand. “Uh huh,” he says, disbelieving. “Try again.”
