But then I hear a familiar laugh, a sound that used to make my whole day brighter. And then I see them.
Liam and Jessica.
They walk in together, standing so close their shoulders are almost touching.
The cheerful chatter of the café, the rich scent of brewing coffee, the warm golden light—it all fades away, replaced by a muted, gray static. They stand there, a perfect portrait of casual intimacy.
Jessica says something, her head thrown back in a laugh that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and Liam smiles down at her, a soft, private smile I used to think was reserved only for me. He’s wearing one of his own faded band T-shirts today, the one with the frayed collar, and his hair is a mess of curls that I have an almost physical urge to smooth down. But it’s not my place anymore.
My feet feel bolted to the floor. I have to say something. I have to act normal. I force my lips to move, to form words that feel alien in my mouth. “Hey,” I manage, my voice sounding thin and reedy. “Your mom came by earlier. Said to tell you to call her back when you get a chance.”
Liam’s gaze shifts to me, the warmth in his eyes instantly extinguished, replaced by a guarded, pained expression. “Okay,” he says, his voice flat. “Thanks.”
I can’t stand here. I can’t breathe in the same space as them. “I’m just… I’m going in the back to arrange the pantry,” I mumble, turning away before he can respond. “Jessica, can you watch the counter?”
“Sure thing,” she chirps, her voice bright and oblivious.
I walk away, my steps stiff and unnatural, feeling his eyes on my back the entire time. The swinging door to the kitchen flaps shut behind me, and I lean against it for a second, my eyes squeezed shut.
The back room is quieter, but the silence is no comfort. It’s just a hollow echo in my head. I walk toward the pantry, a small, cramped space lined with shelves of flour, sugar, and coffee beans.
I reach for a sack of flour, my fingers brushing against the rough burlap, and that’s when it happens.
A band tightens around my chest, so sudden and so severe that I gasp, my hand flying to my heart. It’s not a heart attack. It’s worse. It’s the feeling of all the air being sucked out of the room, out of my lungs, leaving nothing but a vacuum.
I try to draw a breath, but my throat has closed up, a tight, unyielding knot of muscle. Panic. Cold, sharp, and absolute. I’m having a panic attack.
The walls of the pantry seem to shrink, the shelves looming over me like a cage. The single bare lightbulb overhead begins to strobe, or maybe that’s just my vision. A high-pitched ringing starts in my ears, drowning out everything.
I can hear my own heart, a frantic, wild drumbeat against my ribs, too fast, too hard. I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die right here, surrounded by bags of sugar, and no one will find me until it’s too late.
I slide down the wall, my body going limp, my back scraping against the rough plaster. I curl into a ball on the floor, my hands clutching my chest, trying to physically force my lungs to work. But it’s no use. Black spots dance in my vision. The world is tilting, spinning, fading away.
The door swings open with a bang, a sliver of light from the kitchen cutting through the gloom. “Millie?” Liam’s voice, sharp with concern. “What are you?—”
He stops. I can feel his eyes on me, taking in my position on the floor, my desperate gasps for air. He’s at my side in an instant, crouching down, his hands on my shoulders.
“Millie? Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”
I can’t answer. I can only shake my head, tears streaming down my face now. I’m not breathing. I really can’t breathe.
His eyes widen in dawning horror. “Okay. Okay, I get it. Panic attack. Just… look at me, Mills. Right here.” He takes my face in his hands, his touch firm but gentle, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Breathe with me. In. Out. Come on, you can do it.”
He takes a huge, exaggerated breath, his chest rising and falling. I try to mimic him, but all I manage is a choked, pathetic wheeze.
“Again,” he commands, his voice a low, urgent anchor in the storm of my fear. “In through your nose. Hold it. Out through your mouth.”
I focus on his eyes, on the desperate plea in them. I try again. A tiny sip of air. Then another. It’s not enough, but it’s something. The black spots at the edge of my vision start to recede, just a little.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his thumb stroking my cheek, wiping away my tears. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay. You’ll be fine.” He repeats the words like a mantra.
He keeps me there on the floor, breathing with me, until the crushing weight on my chest begins to lessen, until the air starts to flow back into my lungs in ragged, painful gulps. I’m still shaking, my body wracked with tremors, but I can breathe. I’m alive.
He helps me sit up, his arm a strong support around my back. He glances toward the kitchen door, where Jessica is standing, her face pale with worry.
“Jessica,” he calls out, firm and authoritative. “Can you take care of the store? Lock the door if you have to. I’ll be right back.”
“Of course,” she says, her voice small.
