A heavy sigh sounds. “I don’t know. I don’t like this either. I know it probably seems like an overreaction, but…Beck, come on, why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Dad, not again. I can’t do round two of this conversation. It’s not like I’m completely alone. I have friends. I have my team. I’ll play this game until they force me off the field. I’m good with that, why can’t you be too?”
“Could you just try?” he pleads. “Try to find that happiness that I know you deserve. I’m begging you,please,just try. If you don’t change your mind after, then I’ll stop. But I feel like you’re giving up on something amazing and it’s killing me.”
From high highs to low lows.
“Dad—”
“You never give up on things, Beckham, never. Please don’t give up on yourself. I can’t lose you too.”
His pleas send fighting waves of anger and pure agony through me. Is that why he’s clinging to this so much? He thinks he’s losing me? I don’t know what to say, but suddenly my chest feels like it’s on fire. That panic attack I pushed off is coming back in full force.
Taking off my glasses, I toss them on the counter then lean on the edge to stay up right. Finding a little bit of composure, I push through. “You’re not losing me, Dad.”
“Tell me, son, were those your glasses that hit the table?” When I don’t answer, he huffs. “Even through the phone, I know your tell.”
Dammit, dammit, dammit. The pain in my chest intensifies, and I swear my house is getting smaller. “I can’t do this. If you want to check up on me, next time text.”
I hang up before he can respond, and immediately go weak in the knees.
I try to steady my breathing, but fuck, I’m practically frozen. There’s no stopping the panic, I’m being consumed by it now.
“Beck?”
I’m fairly positive I hear my name, but it also could be a hallucination because I’m sure the ground is going to fall out from under me any second.
And then it does with a blur of black and white, there’s something wet assaulting my face then sending me back on my ass.
“Beck,” the voice says sharper this time. With the blur moved away, I feel soft hands resting on mine. “Beckham, hey, it’s okay. Take a deep breath.”
I try but can’t. The hands come to my cheeks and gently lift my head up. Jensen’s face suddenly becomes a little bit clearer.
“Jensen?” I croak out between breaths.
“Yeah, it’s me. I think you’re having a panic attack, so I need you to listen and breathe with me, okay?”
I nod the best I can.
“Okay, I’m going to count through it. Breathe in for one…two…three…four.”
I try to follow her directions by holding it for another four then out for four, but fuck, it’s hard. Jensen counts through a couple more times before I get a better hang of it and she gets less blurry.
Her hands let go of my face. “Feeling better?”
“Uh, yeah,” I whisper. I look around my place, everything as spacious as it could be, even though moments ago I swore it was caving in.
Dottie licks my face again, bringing a very forced laugh out of me.
Jensen pulls her back. “Dot, space, please.”
“It’s alright.” I pet Dottie’s head then behind her ear as she tilts her head into my hand. I don’t make a single move to get up and neither does Jensen. “Thank you,” I say looking up at her. “It came on so fast.”
“It’s okay.” Jensen sits up off her knees then settles right back down crisscross like she’s settling in to sit here with me for however long it takes. “Do you usually get panic attacks?”
“I… uh…used to.” I clear my throat. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about this with anyone before besides my dad. “They started after my mom’s diagnosis, but I haven’t had one like that in the past two years.”
Jensen hums softly. “Wanna talk about it?”
