The lock flips. I grab the doorknob and twist before he can lock it again. The door slides open easily and I slip inside.
Hayden is crouched on the floor, back against a wall, hands gripping fistfuls of hair. The backward baseball cap he was wearing is lying upside down on the floor. He’s taking these loud inhales and exhales like he’s hyperventilating.
Oh fuck. He’s having another episode. Attack. Whatever the fuck it’s called.
I shut the door behind me and lock it again before moving to him. I try to pull him into my arms, but he flinches away. “Hayden? Babe?”
He shakes his head. The movement looks painful for some reason. “I can’t,” he says in a strained, choked voice.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean? “You can’t what?”
“I can’t. I just can’t.” He shoots to his feet and stalks to the other side of the bathroom.
It’s one of those fancy places with real hand towels rolled on a plate next to the sink. There’s a wing-backed armchair in the corner. And instead of piss, the room smells flowery.
Hayden bangs his head not-so-lightly against the wall when he reaches it. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s ripping at his hair.
Christ. I think this is the worst I’ve ever seen him. Worse than the park. Worse than cake-tasting day.
Maybe he shouldn’t have come today. Maybe this was too much for him. But there’s no way I would’ve left him at home by himself either. Who knows what would’ve happened if he was all alone while the rest of us were here.
I should've stayed home with him. Yeah, that’s what I should’ve done. I should’ve told Sebastian we needed toreschedule and stayed home with Hayden until he felt better or until we could get him in to see a therapist. This is my fault. It’s my fault he’s spiraling now.
God fucking damnit. I wish there was something I could do. Like a magic pill or secret spell orsomething.Anything.It’s excruciating to see Hayden like this. I didn’t know it was possible to hurt for someone this badly. To feel like his suffering is my suffering. To want to bear his pain so he doesn’t have to.
I approach him slowly, afraid of touching him in case he flinches again. I stop behind him, just an inch away, and carefully lean forward to rest my cheek against his shoulder. He tenses for a moment, holding himself so still. Like he doesn’t know if he should accept my touch or shrug me off.
Come on, babe, don’t push me away. Let me help you.
The tension eases from his body slowly. His breaths come in ragged ins and outs. My hands drift up to settle on his hips and I press my front against his back. After several long moments, he relaxes into my embrace.
We stand there as minutes tick by. I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure anything I could say would make any difference. There’s an entire battle playing out inside Hayden’s mind and I have no idea how to help him win.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says. His voice cracks with emotion.
I slide my hands from his hips around to clasp in front of his stomach. “About what?”
He shakes his head, forehead still resting on the wall. “Everything.”
I want to say that he has nothing to be sorry for, that none of this is his fault. But would it matter? Would he believe me?
“We’re getting you help,” I promise, pouring all the tenderness and affection I feel for this man into my words, hoping it’ll be enough. “You’re going to get better.”
“What if it doesn’t work? What if I don’t get better?”
I squeeze him around the middle. “It will work. You will get better. I’ll make sure of it. If Sebastian’s therapist isn’t a good fit, then we’ll find someone else. We won’t stop until we find the right person.”
Hayden takes a couple more labored breaths before continuing. “I’m just so tired.”
“Want me to take you home? You can take a nap and get some rest. I can order something for dinner.”
He shakes his head again. “I don’t want to fight anymore. It’s too hard. I can’t do it.”
He’s not talking about being sleepy. He’s talking about something that scares me to my very core.
“I just want to give up. Stop trying. What’s the use anyway? I’m never going to get out of this.”
Fear grips me, icy cold in my veins. I turn him around and he doesn’t resist. He lands with anoomph, back against the wall, shoulders slumped, chin resting on his chest like his head is too heavy for his neck to hold up.
