I was almost at the front entrance when a strong hand curled around my biceps.
“Maia.”
Staring up at Baird’s face, the nausea pitched in my stomach. “Air.”
He cursed under his breath and wound his arm around my waist, leading me out and down the side of the front steps away from the waiting queue. As soon as we were a few feet from the building, I turned, bent over, and threw up against the wall.
Baird caught my hair with catlike reflexes, holding it as his other hand made soothing circles on my back.
Finally, I stopped retching, but I was trembling so hard, I couldn’t even feel embarrassed as I straightened. I was too busy trying to breathe normally. What the hell?What the actual hell?!
“Shit, My.” Baird lowered his face to mine. “What is going on? Are you having a panic attack?”
Was I? I stared up at him wide-eyed and terrified as I found myself hyperventilating. Was I going to die? I felt like I might die.
“Look at me, My. Breathe with me. It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe in.” He took a deliberate slow inhale. “Breathe out.” He exhaled. And then he repeated it. I focused on his mouth and attempted to follow suit. It seemed to take forever, but slowly, my breathing normalized.
Shocked by what had just occurred, I burst into tears.
Baird wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. I heard his murmured words of comfort, felt his softkisses across my head and temple. And I felt safe. I felt safe to just cry.
“I texted Ainsley,” Baird said, holding tight to my hand as we walked back to my place. “Explained we’d left.”
I nodded, still shaken from what I’d experienced and, honestly, feeling stupid. Like I’d totally overreacted.
It wasn’t the first time.
Back at uni, when I lived in London, in second year, my roommates and I were friends with a group of lads in our dorm. We were hanging out at theirs, having a few beers, having a few laughs. Music was playing in the background. A playlist one of the lads made up.
“Kids” by MGMT came on.
I’d been mid-conversation with my roommate Shelly when I’d been lambasted with memories of Mum and that song. Before I knew it, Shelly had my head between my legs, coaxing me to breathe.
Not once did I acknowledge I’d had a panic attack in that moment.
How could it be a panic attack when it was only ever triggered by that song? Beth had recently told me she had an anxiety disorder, and she suffered from panic attacks. They weren’t triggered by only one thing.
Right?
Why a bloody song?
“What happened in there, My?” Baird asked quietly, never letting go of my hand. “I saw your face. You looked like someone punched you in the stomach.”
How did I explain without sounding nuts?
He squeezed my hand. “My, you can tell me anything.”
My heel caught on a cobble, and I toppled sideways on my shaky legs. Baird was there in an instant, his arm around my waist, steadying me.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured.
Aye, he did, didn’t he?
I stared up at him, a million wishes rushing up inside of me with frustration. Yet it wasn’t his fault I was catching feelings. I was not allowed to be frustrated by that.
Baird might not have been my real fiancé, but he was my real friend.
Possibly my best friend.
