TW// Panic Attack

MY FOOD COMES out in waves and my stomach practically sings as it's laid in front of me. I eat unceremoniously and without worrying about any table manners; the guy had to know by now that I wasn't the classiest person ever.

        I couldn't help but wonder what good Roman seemed to see in me. I wasn't an idiot—I knew that I wasn't the best person in the world. I was sad and rude and selfish. But the idea that something about me wasn't broken, that someone as good as Roman could see something good in me was enough for hope to settle securely in my chest.

        Some part of my head screamed that that was bad. That I was getting too attached to Roman, that I cared too much about what he thought of me. How did we even get to this point, anyway? When did he go from being a random bartender to one of my only friends?

        You like him, I think. You like him a lot.

        I swallow a huge gulp of scalding coffee, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. This wasn't going to end well. I just knew it. I should get out of this friendship while I could.

        But I can't just run away. I like him way more than I'd intended.

Roman had finished his muffin a few minutes ago and was gingerly sipping at his coffee. I swallow back french toast sticks drizzled in syrup. "Did you want some?" I ask, chewing slowly.

He glances down at my plates. "I'm all good, thanks."

I make a face. "Oh, come on. I bought enough food to satiate a football team. My eyes were bigger than my stomach this time, unfortunately."

Roman opens his mouth to argue but I shove forward a plate of pancakes. "Eat," I say.

A slow smile spreads on Roman's face as he picks up a knife and fork, digging into the food. "And you call me controlling," he mumbles.

I smile softly and continue eating my food, pushing more plates towards him. Despite his protests, he finishes most of the food I gave him in less than five minutes. A satisfied grin threatens to show on my face, one that I'm having a really hard time fighting back. "What are you smiling about?" he asks, a mouthful of bacon.

        "Nothing," I respond cheekily. "Nothing at all."

We dig back into our food and give the conversation a rest for a little while, but when I look back up Roman is fighting a smile too.

¥

        "Whew!" I exclaim, rubbing a hand over my stomach. "I am stuffed."

        Roman laughs as he pulls open the diner door and heads outside, me tailing him. "I sure would hope so. You did clean out all the food in the entire restaurant."

        "Yeah, well," I mumble, laughing softly too. "All that boxing takes a lot out of a man."

        "Apparently," Roman responds. He begins mentioning something else, something about how warm it seemed to be getting so early this summer and that's when I feel it.

        Red hot pain flashes along my chest, burning its way through my heart and all the way to my lungs, searing a hole in between the organs. I suck in a breath of air and find that there was none. My hand comes to my chest. "R-Rome—," I get out, my other hand coming to the car door. It was trembling.

        Roman's eyes find mine quickly and pretty soon he's holding onto my waist, keeping me straight up as my body threatens to double over. "Braylen?"

        My chest jumps up and down and black spots fill my vision. I was dying, I was dying, I was dying. "Braylen, you're okay. I know it doesn't feel like it but you're okay," Roman whispers, his voice soft but firm.

        "Not...not okay," I hiss back. "Can't breathe."

       Roman clutches my hand, squeezing tightly. "You're okay, Braylen. I promise you."

        I shake my head, heat flooding my face. "It hurts."

        "I know," Roman murmurs. "I know, but you have to try to breathe."

        I squeeze my eyes shut. "I can't."

        A hand comes to my face, forcing my eyes open. Roman's there, his expression a strange mix of nervousness and calm. I knew he was worried. But I also knew that he'd seen this before. "Keep looking at me."

        I do as he says, trying my best to ignore the constricting feeling in my chest and focusing instead on him and the feeling of his thumb rubbing circles on my cheek. "What color are my eyes?" he whispers.

         "What?"

        "What color are my eyes?" he asks again, slightly firmer this time.

        I sniff, pounding my knuckles against my chest. "Brown," I mutter. Obviously.

        "Okay, what else? What else are they?"

        I look deeper, zeroing in on his eyes and realizing that there was something more. "Green...and gold," I whisper back. "They're green and gold."

        "Good," Roman responds. "They're green and gold, that's right."

        I tear my eyes away from Roman's, bringing my hand from my chest and onto his instead. I ball up the white material of his shirt in my hand and force myself to take calming breathes. "You gotta take me to the hospital. This is not normal. I feel like I'm dying."

        Roman's fingers press into my waist. "Braylen, this is perfectly normal, okay? You're not dying."

        "Then what the hell is it? Indigestion?" I ask. It was suddenly much easier to breathe, though the pain in my chest still aches.

        Roman chuckles softly at me. "You're having another attack."

        "A panic attack?" I ask, etching my eyebrows. I think back to what Sebastian said to me the night Oba got engaged. I hadn't had a panic attack since he'd returned. I thought I was better. I felt better. "No, that's not right."

       "I think it's a little bit worse than it was last time," Roman continues. "You're handling it well, though."

        I stare at the white of my knuckles as I grip Roman's shirt. "Am I? Because right now I'm only five seconds away from ripping your shirt off."

        Roman raises an eyebrow. I squeeze my face together. "Jesus, I didn't mean—"

        "It's all right. I've long since acknowledged the sexual tension," Roman remarks with a smirk. "You know it wouldn't be that hard to say, 'Roman, I want you to kiss me.'"

        I laugh loudly, the pain in my chest dissipating just a little bit. "You're joking, aren't you?"

        Roman's eyes twinkle with some emotion I'm too freaked out to recognize. "Of course I am," he responds. "Got you to smile, didn't I?"

        "Yeah," I whisper back. "Somehow you always do."

        There's a moment of silence where he seems to think about something before changing his mind. I slowly let go of his shirt and bring my hand back down to my side. "I think it's passed now. The worst of it. I don't even know what triggered it."

        "Sometimes it can be anything. A smell, a rogue thought," Roman explains. "Sometimes it's nothing apparent at all."

        I nod my head slowly, only half paying attention. I was too focused on the feeling of his fingers on my body that I could hardly understand anything he said. "You seem to know a lot about this."

        Roman shrugs. "I get them all the time."

        My eyes bulge. "You do?"

        "Yeah," Roman responds. "Well, I used to, at least. I've got them figured out mostly now. I know what things trigger me, how to avoid them. They still come and go unprovoked sometimes, though, and that's okay."

        I gnaw on my bottom lip. "What...what triggers them?" I ask. Roman's eyes leave mine for a moment and guilt washes up over me. "I'm sorry, you don't have to tell me or anything. I shouldn't have asked."

        "No, it's okay," he responds. "I'm super claustrophobic. Not just little spaces, either. I have to have my bedroom window or door open whenever I sleep or I freak out. Really bad."

         I run a hand through my hair. "I wish I knew what my triggers were. I wish I knew how to avoid them."

         "You'll learn," he assures me. "I should take you home. To get some sleep."

I shake my head, tucking my trembling fingers into my palm. "No, I don't want to go home. If I go home I'll just sit there feeling like this and I won't sleep and—"

"Okay, we don't have to go there, then," Roman responds. "That's okay."

I blow out a breath and rub a hand over my chest as if the movement would erase the pain that I'd felt just a few minutes before. "Okay. Thanks," I mumble.

Roman clicks his tongue, moving his hand from my waist to my hand, squeezing it once. "Come on. I'm gonna take you somewhere."

I raise an eyebrow before chucking Roman the keys. "All right, then. Let's do it."

¥

Roman pulls into the parking lot of a large park complete with large oak trees and a small koi pond in the middle of it all. There were kids running around and laughing, pointing at the tiny fish and grinning brightly at each other. I stare out at them, smiling softly. "It's nice here," I remark.

"I come here from time to time," Roman says, climbing out of the car. I follow suit and he locks the doors before making his way further through the park, the lush grass soft underneath our feet. "To think, to relax. It's calming. Haven't been in a while though; get so busy, you know?"

"With the bar?" I asked, jogging to catch up with Roman who seemed seconds away from breaking into a run through the fields like those people in diabetes commercials.

He finally decides on a spot next to a large oak tree, burrowing down at the base of it and stretching out against the grass. I follow suit, laying down next to him and squinting underneath the sunlight. "Yeah, that and the other little odd jobs I do."

"Odd jobs?" I ask.

Roman nods. "Yeah, like cleaning pools or construction. Things like that."

"I didn't realize you worked so much," I mumble absentmindedly.

Roman laughs softly. "Yeah, well. I'm doing alright."

"Did you ever go to college?" I ask, turning my neck slightly to look at him. He was already staring back at me. "What?" I ask, blushing.

Roman smiles. "Nothing," he responds. "No, I never went to college. It's complicated."

"Complicated?"

He purses his lips. "Yeah. Complicated."

I decide not to push it further and instead focus on the feeling of the grass beneath my fingers. I sigh deeply and shut my eyes. "You should get some rest," Roman says. "I won't go anywhere."

"I don't think I could sleep if I tried," I laugh. "My mind is all over the place."

Roman pokes my forehead. "Well, let's try to get it all back in one spot. What are you thinking about?"

"Panic attacks. College. The future," I whisper, tearing my eyes away from him. "You."

He doesn't respond right away and I instead listen to the sound of activity in the park around us. Roman had a point—it was sort of the perfect place to relax. I could feel my breathing begin to slow just when Roman speaks again. "Have you always had panic attacks?" he asks.

I turn my head. "A few here and there. They've gotten more consistent since I came back to Malibu this summer, for some reason," I mumble. "But I've always had anxiety if that's what you're asking. If it's not panic attacks then it's me convincing myself I'm sick or nightmares that literally make me fear ever falling asleep. My body doesn't react well to trauma, I suppose. I've never had an attack that bad, though. For some stupid reason, I thought things were getting better."

"I cut my hair," Roman says. "I get tattoos and take up boxing. I make sure that no one would ever even think about hurting me again but none of that matters. Because sometimes I can't even get out of bed in the morning. Something just paralyzes me and sends me back to the times I was afraid."

I fiddle with my fingers. "Does that happen often?"

"Not so much anymore," Roman responds. "But I'm not sure it'll ever fully go away."

I look back over at him, looking into his eyes and trying to figure out what shape his trauma came in. I suddenly wanted to ask him, wanted to know everything I could about this man that had become something else to me entirely. But my eyes are drooping and my body is heavy with the fatigue I'd been desperately fighting since my panic attack.

Roman seems to notice. He brings a hand to move a stray strand of hair away from my face, an action I'd chastise him for if I wasn't half asleep.

"Get some rest," Roman murmurs. "I'm not going anywhere."

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extra chapter cause why not