"Jessa, baby?" Mom turned around and her eyes widened when she saw me pulling at the scar on my neck with one hand. My fingers on the other hand were tangled tightly in my hair as I tried to rip the strands from my head.

"I can't breathe. I can't breathe." I looked down at my feet, feeling the darkness spreading over me. It felt like little needles were poking my skin, tattooing me with words of shame and weakness for all to see.

My mom rushed over to me and wrapped her arms around my body. I began screaming into her. I fought against the urge to hit her. I wanted to hurt someone else to make it go away.

She helped me slide down to the ground before I fell over. I began scratching at my face wanting to wipe away the scorching acid peeling off my skin. She grabbed my hands away from my face to keep me from hurting myself. Her strong, steadfast hands pinned mine down to the ground and she pressed the weight of her small body on top of them to keep me from breaking free.

"Ezra! Help me!" My mom yelled up the stairs as I thrashed around on the floor.

My dad came sprinting down the steps a few seconds later, pulling his shirt over his head. He was still in his pajama pants and house slippers. His eyes were barely open and he looked like he was half asleep on his feet.

"What happened?" His eyes bugged out of his head when he saw me. His face was creased with worry lines as he swooped in next to me to hold me down against the floor so I couldn't get up and run.

"I don't know. She was crying about seeing Cameron and her face went blank." My mom cried.

Dad shifted my head off the wood floor and into my Mom's lap. I tucked my body into a ball on my side as they both surrounded me. Even as my dad's hands shook and my mom fought back her tears, neither one of them was going to let me go.

I was lying in the fetal position on my mom's lap, gasping for breath with every muscle in my body spasming for what felt like hours. When Dad felt assured enough that the worst of it was over, he leaned forward and slid his hands underneath me to cradle me to his chest. I squeezed him as hard as I could.

My dad would make this better. He would find a way to make this go away.

"Riley, call Dr. Schroeder. Tell him to meet us at the hospital. I'm taking her there now. Get in touch with Jax. Tell him to get his ass home and make him drive you to meet us at the hospital as soon as he gets here." Dad instructed.

"But I want to go with you now." My mom protested.

"You're panicking too. It's not a good idea, beautiful. I can't have both of you crashing on me. I'm trying to do this without alerting the whole world she is having an episode. She doesn't need cameras in her face right now and neither do you. Go catch your breath, and call Jax. I will get her there." For once, my Dad had the most level head in the room.

He picked me up effortlessly and carried me to my mom's SUV. He reached across my lap to buckled me in as he whispered soft, sweet words to coax me back into reality. They all sounded like rushing waters crashing against my eardrums. I cupped my hands over my ears to drown out the unwanted noise.

"Dad, I'm so sorry. I couldn't stop it. I really tried." I cried as he climbed in and started the car to take me to the hospital. Every word or sound I made was separated by a screaming wheeze.

"Don't apologize, baby. You didn't do anything wrong. Just close your eyes and relax for me. Can you do that?" He asked in a gentle tone.

"Don't' be mad at me." I sobbed.

"I'm not even close to mad. You did well this time, Jessa. You asked for help. That is extremely hard to do when it hits you like it did. I just need you to try to keep up that fight a little bit longer. I want you to practice some of the things you learned in treatment. Try counting, Sweet Pea. It will give you something to focus on." He grabbed my hand and held it softly.

I laid my head back against the headrest and started counting one to eight in a G Major scale in my head; then I reversed it eight to one going down the scale. I went back and forth up and down until I ended at one, two, one. I started again in A Major. I worked this way through all the major scales as I envisioned the notes being played on a piano. In my head, my fingers were dancing over the keys smoothly as I played each note in tempo in perfect order.

"Are you still holding on over there?" Dad asked when I was silent for too long.

I nodded as every muscle in my body convulsed at once.

"Good, sweet pea. You are doing so well. Just close your eyes and let it out." He smiled.

I sat back with my eyes shut tightly like he said. I listened to his rich, silvery voice fill the car as he began singing softly with the radio. My body began to settle down as I latched onto the comforting sound as he continued to soothe me with his music. It was just enough to keep me holding on a little bit longer.

When we pulled up to the hospital, Dr. Schroeder's smiling face opened the car door and greeted me warmly. He looked a little bit like a clown in his light khakis, pink checked shirt, and matching newsboy cap. It was vastly different from the white lab coat and dark pants he normally wore at the hospital.

"Well, look what we have here. It's my two favorite people interrupting my morning golf game." His eyes crinkled in amusement. "Jessa, if you missed me that much, you could have just called and asked me to meet you for lunch."

"Shut up." I laughed between breathless sobs.

"Come on, it was funny and you know it. Can you walk or do you want the chair?" He asked, tapping his fingers against the handles of a wheelchair that he drug over from the entrance.

My body felt weak and empty. There was no way I was going to make it inside under my own power. Bad Jessa was running laps in my head, screaming as she pounded her fists on the inside of my skull. She was fighting me; she didn't want me to go inside.

"Chair." I choked out.

"That sounds like a good decision, dear." He praised me. Dr. Schroeder's wrinkly hand took mine as he helped me into the wheelchair. My dad was already out of the car, walking over to help him with me.

Dad grabbed the handles from Dr. Schroeder, who looked like he would fall over if he tried to push me. He was old when I first started seeing him and he was even older now. He walked next to me with a slight limp like it hurt a bit. It made me a little bit sad to think he wasn't going to be able to be my doctor much longer. It looked like his health was fading a bit now. I had seen this man since I was fifteen years old and my dad has been visiting him on and off since he was twenty-four. He knew my family as well as anyone. We were both lucky to have found him, even if he was an expert at pissing us off every time we saw him.

He was an amazing doctor who had a huge heart.

"Let's go inside and see what's going on with you today. I want you to know you did a wonderful job getting yourself here before it got too bad. You are doing really well, Jessa."