Patrick's POV

I mumble to Lydia that I need the toilet and then lock myself in her bathroom, trying to release the pressure in my head, but it's too loud. It feels like someone with an iron grip is squeezing my head, pressing on it until I can hardly think. This is what happens before I have a panic attack, and I don't want to do this, not now. It will terrify her.

As quietly as I can, I try to normalize my breathing, even though I'm making sounds like a dying duck and I'm almost positive that yes, she can hear me. The walls in these apartments are thin. I know that from experience.

I take off my hat and jacket and then ball of the front of my shirt, stuff it into my mouth and release the wave of hysteria that's building up inside me. I'm so scared, so scared, and I don't know why. I have never known why.

"Patrick?" Lydia's voice sounds like it's a million miles away, even though it's painfully close. I try to calm down, but it's useless. I'm in a later stage of the panic attack now, and I'm beginning to rock backwards and forwards. This is good. Well, obviously it's not good, but it show's I'm calming down. Thank god for that. I don't want her to come in now and see me like this.

"Patrick!" yells Lydia, and she sounds panicked, too. Great. Just great. With some difficulty, I stand up and unlock the door. She bursts in, her red hair flying, and in that moment, I want to confess to her who I really am, and why. But I can't. No words can escape my mouth.

"Oh, sweetie," she whispers, and hugs me. She smells of vanilla and sugar and chocolate biscuits. It's hard to believe that just a few minutes ago, we were laughing and eating biscuits. Now we're on the floor, crying. Or, at least, she is.

She doesn't need to ask. Her face, her lovely face, says it all. "Panic attack," I mutter, my cheeks growing hot. I can feel my ears go red, too, so I jam my fedora back on to hide them.

She kisses me, and immediately, I feel better. She has this effect on me, and I don't know why.

"Was it me?" she asks.

A jolt of panic rises up in my chest. "N-no," I stutter. "No. Definitely not." There. That's better.

"What was it, then?" Oh god. How do I tell her? How do I tell her that it wasn't caused by anything, save a horrible flashback? I want to tell her, no, I want to sing to her. It sounds crazy, I know, but I get the feeling that I can't express what i'm feeling, not in words, anyhow.

"As long as you're ok," she says. I nod.

"I'm ok."

She gives me a sad smile, and then says, "Ok. I'm just going to take a shower. You can wait for me out there, if you like." I nod again and go out into her main room.

I like this room. Yeah, it's a bit big, especially for an agoraphobic like me, but it's still nice. She has a lot of books, scattered all over the place like someone's gone crazy and decided to fling some books around. I've done that before.

To distract myself from having another panic attack, I softly sing, just quiet enough so Lydia can't hear me, but loud enough for me to enjoy it. I sing Golden, mainly because it's soft and sad, like me.

I bet Lydia would love Fall Out Boy. But I can't take that risk. As much as I love to sing, I also hate singing to people. I will only ever sing in front of the guys, and even then, I'm shy about it. Normally, if I come in contact with some I don't know, I will polite them to death, because then they'll think I'm weird and leave me alone. Usually.

*

Sorry, that's off topic, but that is my mind full stop. My brain is insane. I can't can't can't can't....

Sorry again. I try to be positive, but what's the point if we're all going to die anyway? Why do we have to be happy? Why can't we just...

I screw up my face and spew out the words in my head. There's too many voices voices voices and it's too much for me. The lights of the city are too heavy for me. Christ, I need to stop quoting myself.

Like a train. The guitar. And the screaming. And the yells of the woman and the girl and the little boy who has to protect them all. And the shadow of the man who beats them and kicks them until they're on the floor.

*

When at last the attack fades, I sit up slowly and look around. I can still hear Lydia in the shower, so at least I don't need to worry about her finding me.

I often do that after a panic attack. I don't know what it is or why I do it, but it's the memories, I'm certain of it. They come back. They will never leave. No one will leave. I just want Lydia. She is all I have ever wanted.

Author's Note: Ok, so this chapter is short, but it's from Patrick's point of view, which is new. In this one, he goes into hallucinations, because he can't cope with the constant terror his mental condition ensures. Lydia is now literally the only thing keeping him going.