⚠️ 𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: This chapter includes a first-person depiction of a panic attack and general discussion of the experience of PTSD/CPTSD.

SKYE

My chest clenches and all I hear is white noise. It's like the line that connects me to the world has been severed. My heart tears at my ribcage as though it's trying to crawl out of my chest and tears fall down my cheeks.

This is so embarrassing.

I slide my key card in the lock, slip into the room, and close the door behind me before crumbling to the ground. The scent of chlorine is still fresh on my skin.

Sometimes I get it in my head that I can have a normal life and do normal things and then stuff like this happens.

How am I going to explain this to Jacks? To everyone?

The first time I remember having an attack, I was 6 and my uncle was messing around pretending to be a monster. He popped up from behind the couch and grabbed my shoulders. I started wailing and sobbing and ran to the closet to hide.

I remember hearing my parents telling him that I was sensitive and easily startled.

After a minute, the closet door opened and in crawled Ollie. He somehow knew exactly where to find me. He didn't say anything at all, he just closed the door behind him and sat next to me in the dark.

Most of the family learned pretty early not to startle me. I usually reacted to being pushed, grabbed, or—as was with the unique case of Teddy Barnes in fourth grade—having a macaroni turkey thrown at my face. Ollie certainly made him regret that decision when he avenged me by biting the tips off every one of Teddy's crayons.

I've gotten a lot better through therapy and I do a pretty good job of avoiding triggers these days. There aren't a lot of instances in adult life where people physically invade your space like that.

Except when a world-famous pop star throws you in a hotel pool.

I'll admit, I didn't see that one coming.

I pull out my phone and hit play on my music, letting the rhythm of the guitar soothe my mind as I set the phone down on the floor beside me. It almost doesn't matter what the song is, but in this case the random shuffle seemed to pick the right one—"Swing Life Away", Rise Against's soft-yet-punchy acoustic rock anthem.

I tap my fingers on the carpet, following the pattern of the guitar and closing my eyes.

After a minute or so, I take in several deep breaths and stand up, grabbing my phone as I make my way to the bed. I hit the mattress and curl up, dialing the only person I can talk to about stuff like this.

"What the hell, sister, it's like 5 am." Ollie's groggy voice on the phone is music to my ears. I attempt to say hello, but it comes out as a choked sob. "Skye? What's wrong? Are you okay? What happened?"

"I h-had a p-panic attack," I stutter out, sniffling and wiping my eyes.

Panic attack is such a mild phrase—more like a PTSD meltdown in front of all my coworkers.

"Are you okay? What triggered it?"

"One of the guys tried to throw me in the pool."

"Bastard."

"Ollie, he was just being playful. He didn't mean anything by it. Nobody knows about my issues."

"I can still kick his ass."

"Not necessary Ols. I just needed to talk to you for a sec."

"Okay," he says with a sigh. "Well, I'm here. Are you somewhere safe?"

"I'm in my hotel room."

"Good. So he just kind of, caught you off guard?"

"Yeah. You know how I am with uninvited physical contact. Sometimes I just... freeze. It's like my body shuts down and I can't get enough air in my lungs. Why do I have to be the messed-up twin?"

"You're not messed up, Skye," he says with a soft voice. "There are good reasons for why you feel the way you feel. Our childhood affected you, even if you can't remember it."

When we turned 18, Ollie and I both had the option to read our state records containing all the information about our parents and our lives before the adoption. I couldn't remember any details about them and I wasn't sure I wanted to. We knew there was likely some abuse in our past and that we were taken out of their care because they were mistreating us. Maybe that's not the kind of thing you really want to remember.

Ollie read them first, and when I asked if I should read them, he said no. Whatever was in them made him pretty upset. But since he's the only one who knows what happened, his responses feel cryptic sometimes.

"I just can't believe I did that in front of everyone I work with. Everyone probably thinks I've lost it."

"I'm sure it wasn't as bad as you think it was."

"I could hardly talk. I was just... frozen. I just burrowed deep inside my head and walked right back to my hotel room. Jacks kept asking me what's wrong and I just bailed."

"Maybe text him then, let him know you're okay and made it to your room? I'm sure he's worried about you."

"Yeah, you're probably right." I sigh and look at my phone screen.

There are two new messages, the first is from Jacks.

Jacks: Are you alright? No pressure to tell me what's going on, but I'm here if you need me.

My chest fills with warmth at his response and I open the second message.

Kaylani: U ok?

I type a quick text back to them both letting them know I'm fine before returning to my call. I hear Ollie's heavy breathing on the other end of the phone.

"Did you fall asleep?"

"Gwah- hu- what?" he mumbles. "I'm awake."

"I'm sorry to wake you up. I know this is early for you."

"It's okay. Late at night is the only time my sister is available to chat. Have you heard? She's a big, famous, touring photographer now."

"Is that so?" I ask with a laugh. "Well you're big, famous photographer sister says go back to bed. I'm okay now."

"You sure?"

A knock at the door startles me.

"Yeah, actually, somebody's at the door. I gotta go."

"Say hi to Jacks for me," he says with a chuckle as I hang up the call.

I open the door to someone I didn't expect—Roman.

His shoulders are sunken and his eyes are on the floor, his hands fiddling with the pockets of his jeans.

"Hey," he says softly. "I... Are you okay?"

Is anyone ever going to stop asking that?

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm fine. I just had a little moment. It's been a long day."

"No, no, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pulled you into the pool. It was juvenile and stupid an-"

"No, don't apologize," I say, gesturing for him to come in. He follows me and I close the door. "You didn't do anything wrong, I just have this thing... it's not a big deal."

I'm not about to tell someone the details of my PTSD from a traumatic childhood I barely remember. It doesn't come up all that often, so I can usually avoid talking about it with other people. Even Greg doesn't really know the finer points of what affects me and why.

"Were you on the phone just now? With your boyfriend?" he asks, sitting in a chair in the corner as I sit on the bed.

"Oh, no. I was talking to my brother."

"You didn't call your man? I assumed you would have. You seemed upset."

"He and I don't exactly have that kind of relationship where I call him when I'm upset."

"Don't you want that, though?" He raises an eyebrow and frowns slightly. "Sorry if I'm overstepping, but it seems like maybe you're unhappy."

"I'm..." I pause for a second, actually thinking about it for a moment.

Am I unhappy?

Being on tour is just making me realize all the things that Greg and I don't have—closeness, connection, passion, longing. When he admitted he hadn't missed me, part of me thought maybe that was normal, because I hardly missed him.

"I guess being on tour has brought up some feelings that I'm still working through."

"You sure it's just being on tour?" he asks, tilting his head and biting his lip.

"I mean... I don't really understand what you mean."

"Maybe it's being around new people too?"

He's right. Being around Jacks made me see everything that I actually wanted in a relationship. The way we talk and laugh together—it's effortless. And for once it feels like someone actually cares about me.

It's stupid. I know Jacks is about a thousand times out of my league, and he's probably just like this with everyone, but if I'm feeling this way now... it must mean I'm unhappy.

Greg was supposed to be the safe choice. After dating my fair share of bad boys and losers, I thought someone stable like him would never hurt me. But now, maybe I want something more than just safe.

"Maybe," I say with a shrug. "I don't know what I'm feeling right now."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Probably not right now."

He nods and stands up.

"Well, I'll let you settle in." I stand and we walk over to the door. "Sorry again about... the pool thing."

"No apology necessary," I say, giving him a hug. "We're totally good."

"Skye," he says, with his hand on the door handle, "you deserve someone you can call in the middle of the night when you're upset. Someone who's not your brother."

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