In my panic, I’ve lost all sense of direction. The quaint shopfronts have given way to a maze of narrow back alleys. I spot a darkened gap between two brick buildings and stumble into its refuge, my shoulders scraping the walls.
I sink down, heedless of the filthy puddle soaking through my clothes. Tremors wrack my soaked body as I hug my knees to my chest. I try to breathe, to grasp at any lifeline that could pull me from this abyss of panic. But the same thoughts keep assaulting me like the endless rain.
You deserve this. You deserve this. You deserve this.
Logan’s pained expression flashes behind my clenched eyelids. My chest constricts further at the memory of our fight, of the way I pushed him into lashing out.
He’s right. This has to be why Jasper left. It’s why Dad left. It’s why no one wants you. It’s why you’re going to die alone.
I desperately long for the calming caress of fingers through my hair, for strong arms to anchor me against the storm raging inside. But I’m alone in this alley with only the cold indifference of brick and mortar bearing witness to my unravelling.
The panic rises, threatening to pull me under. I dig my fingernails into my palms, clinging to consciousness. But the walls seem to press closer, trapping me in this waking nightmare. My erratic wheezes echo mockingly back at me as I fight for air that won’t come.
I claw desperately at my constricting throat, my ragged nails leaving angry red trails on my skin. I’m drowning on dry land. The world narrows down to my strained attempts to draw breath into my spasming lungs.
In some distant corner of my mind, I know I need to lower my heart rate. But crippling waves of panic continue battering me against the rocks, allowing no respite.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the vertiginous spinning of the alley. But instead of steadying darkness, vivid memories assault me. My dad’s voicemail taunting me in the night. Jasper turning away with that last look of disappointment that shattered my heart. Logan’s pained eyes as we exchanged cruel blows.
Oh God, Logan … A fresh wave of anguish washes over me. I’d give anything to rewind time and take back that entire conversation. Because despite our fight, there’s nowhere in the world I feel safer than wrapped in his arms. No one who has ever come close to understanding the storms that rage inside me—except him.
But I destroyed that shelter, ruined that peace. Like I ruin everything.
And now he’s going to leave me.
The crushing weight of this truth feels like concrete blocks piling upon my chest, pushing out the last bits of air. Spots burst across my vision, consciousness slipping from my grasp.
A small part of me wants nothing more than to let the darkness take over. To release the iron grip I still have on awareness and let the panic’s riptide carry me under. Because it hurts. It hurts so fucking much I want to die in this moment.
But some primal instinct rebels against that fate. Through sheer force of will, I force myself to draw in a shuddering breath, then another. Each inhale fuels the dying embers of fight still left inside me.
As I cling stubbornly to consciousness, a sudden memory takes shape behind my closed lids. Thirteen-year-old Logan guiding me gently through the raging storm of my first panic attack. His voice a lifeline pulling me back from the brink, my hand clasped firmly in his.
In this moment, I need that Logan more than ever. But this time, I have no one to save me from myself.
As another tremor wracks my body, I know I can’t endure this alone. My first instinct is to call Logan, to hear his soothing voice reminding me to just breathe. But the memory of our vitriolic fight still rings in my ears. After everything we flung at each other, I don’t deserve his comfort right now.
My thumb hovers over my mom’s number next. A wave of guilt washes over me. She worries so much. And she’s happy now, finally past the way my dad left her. Do I really want to disturb that peace?
But the walls of the alley seem to creep closer with each ragged breath, reinforcing that I can’t handle this on my own. With a resigned exhale, I grab my phone with trembling fingers.
Mom picks up on the second ring, her cheerful voice piercing through the deafening storm in my mind. “Avery! How are you, honey?”
Hearing the smile in her voice, I almost choke on the lump in my throat. She sounds so happy, oblivious to the darkness I’m about to drag her into.
“M-mom,” I gasp out. I squeeze my eyes shut as if I can hide from the anxiety etched into that one word.
Silence on her end. When she speaks again, all traces of lightness have vanished. “Avery, what’s wrong?” Tension vibrates through the phone line between us. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?”
I cling to the phone like a castaway to driftwood. But no words come out, just halting breaths that catch in my throat. I can picture Mom’s face creasing in helpless worry at my silence. My chest constricts further, shame and panic swirling together in a toxic cocktail.
“I want to die, I want to die,” is all that can come out of my mouth. “Mom, make it stop, please make it stop—” A scream erupts out of me. “No, no, no, no, no …”
“Avery, I’m here,” I hear her say, but she might as well be on another planet. “Avery, listen to me. Listen to my voice. I’m here. Honey, my sweet girl, please, hear me. Mom is here …”
“Why did he leave?” The words come out strangled, half a scream, half a sob. “Why doesn’t he love me?”
“Who? It’s okay, honey, I’m here … I love you … so, so much …”
