Content warning: This chapter is mainly about the mc experiencing a panic attack

This is all fine. 

All. Fine. 

Then why are my hands trembling like crazy and my eyes doing tricky things with my vision? 

I feel like there's this big weight on my chest, making it harder and harder to breathe the longer I ignore it. Desperately, I gasp for oxygen, but it doesn't help. The pressure only increases, and now I can't think of anything else. But when I focus on it, it only worsens. 

So I should distract myself, but how do I do that when the pain is all I can think about? 

I lift my trembling hands to my head, resting them against the sides of my face. My mind tells me, screams at me, to focus on the homework in front of me. It orders me to get back to work. There's no time for this nonsense. 

Essays must be written and submitted. Projects must be discussed with partners and then made, to be submitted directly after with limited time to even reread it well. Tons of chapters must be studied, only to forget it again after the test because the next is already there. Textbooks must be read, and the deadline doesn't wait. The teachers don't care if your assignment for the next day is reading an 800 pages book, they just throw another on top of that. 

Who am I even kidding? I can't handle all this academical stress. I thought it would be good for me, some pressure, because I aced everything in high school. Which is why, together with my dream coming true, Law school seemed like a good option. 

Instead here I am, close to crying because I have no clear view of what to do and how many things to do, and I can't make a summary because that'd take too much time. I should've started earlier, done it right away, but I didn't and now I have to carry the consequences. 

And Alex will be here in ten minutes, and I can't get everything done in time by then, but then again, will I ever manage to do things in time? Finals are so close, but there's still so many things to study, to write, to analyse I can't even study for those properly. 

My lungs feel like they're about to collapse. Still, I try to pay no attention to them, thinking, hoping, it goes over. It will, right? 

Leaving my head to carry its own, I lower my hands and shake them a little, not unlike performing jazz hands. They feel sweaty, and a little numb, but how can that be when I feel my heartbeat pumping in them? How does that work? 

The letters on my homework go blurry, yet blinking my eyes and looking away for a couple of seconds does not work to help it. It is only when I reach one unsteady eyes to my left eyes that I know why. Tears are cascading down my cheeks, and they don't stop. Wiping them away with these useless hands doesn't work either. 

Feeling overwhelmed by this feeling, I stand up and pace a little. It's a pathetic attempt to get better, and it doesn't even work. The tears are blurring my sight more and more, and I can feel my heartbeat in multiple places all over my body now. Am I supposed to feel it in my toes? 

I'm still doing jazz hands when the bell rings. Immediately, my panic is immense. Alexander is going to come in here. He'll want to have sex, since that's what we've signed up for. Every Sunday. He'll take up from my time, and after he'll be gone, I'll be too tired to do any sort of schoolwork. 

My knees buckle, reminding me of last week and how long that took, and it just results in me gasping for more air. To satisfy my body, I decide to sit down, with my back against the wall. I'm shaking now, but I can't get a grip on it. It's like something's taking over my body and I don't know how to control it anymore, or if I was ever able to control my body. 

The faint sound of the door opening makes me want to hide until this over, until I can properly communicate again. What do I do now? I have no idea how I can help myself out of this situation, let alone have sex right after. 

"Jake?"

A strangled noise leaves my throat. It's not voluntarily; my body feels like it has a mind of its own, and I'm just the poor soul who has to bear it. I resent the feeling with all I have. 

The door closes, making me flinch. It's probably not visible from his point of view, thank fuck, because my limbs are flinching continuously anyway. I close my eyes, maybe that can help me get through this. 

"I'm going to walk towards you now, okay?" Alex speaks to me in a low, clear tone. I force my mind to focus on it. I don't know if I've managed to nod, but I am able to hear him take the steps needed to get from my door to me. 

He kneels in front of me, and I swear I try to open my eyes and look at him, but I just can't. Lucky for me, he tells me I don't have to. "Easy. It seems you're having a panic attack. Have you ever had a panic attack before?"

Is that what it is?

I shake my head. All I can think about is how I need him to keep talking, keep telling me sweet nothings, so I can have some sort of lifeline I can cling onto. 

"Okay. Now, what you're feeling is scary, but it's not dangerous and it won't stay. Can you tell me if there's something you need?"

For this to stop. 

"I don't—don't know," I manage to bring out, my labored breathing cutting me off in the middle of the sentence and after each word. How can he expect me to know what I need? Fuck, I can't even focus on a thought right now, how would I think about my needs?

Maybe— I raise my hands, wanting to hold his. Maybe that way, some steadiness can help me catch my breath. 

"You want me to take these?" he asks. Perhaps he's asking to be sure, to not overthrow some boundaries or cross lines, but I don't want to repeat every movement or nod. Not right now.

With a nod of me, he finally grabs my hands. "Jake? You can get through this, alright? I'm going to help you. Let's start with breathing. Breathe with me, okay?"

I hear him breathe in, and since he told me to do the same, I gasp for air. He squeezes my hands. "Now breathe out." 

I release the oxygen, but there's a lot of time in between my next his intake of air and his. The thought makes me want to bawl. He doesn't allow me. "No. You're doing such a good job right now. I'm proud."

Proud of what? I'm having a panic attack because I can't do anything right, not even handling my emotions, and I can't meet his expectations of breathing properly. Breathing, something newborn babies can do without the help I'm asking now. 

"It's not—working." And now I'm even closer to crying. He squeezes my hands again. "I'm sorry. Do you have an idea on how I can help you?"

"Talk," I gasp, "Just talk." 

"That's something I can do. While I talk, can you promise me you'll match your breathing to mine?"

I nod. Anything to get a grip on myself. 

"I'm going to guess all sorts of things about you. Just tell me when they're wrong. Now, first of all, your favorite color is obviously still blue." 

I shake my head. "Purple."

He smiles. I can't see much through my tears, but his smile? Always. 

"My apologies. Your favorite meal. . . hm, that's a hard one. I'd like to believe you are a very cultured man and eat all sorts of food, but that's not you. I have faith, however. Me and my friends can teach you some manners. Now, your favorite meal is. . . Steak with French fries!"

Listening to his rambles really helps me to distract myself. And the longer I distract myself, the better I can breathe. I just need him to go on. "They're not-not French."

He laughs. Short and a little forced, as if he's nervous, but at least he laughs. "Then why are they called French fries? That doesn't make sense, does it?"

I've explained it to him so many times when we were kids. He always forgot it. Now that I think about it, every time he asked it, I was distressed. Which means— "Oh, you bastard."

His head cocks to the side. My breathing is now a little fast, but it doesn't take all my energy to keep breathing anymore. I steal one of my hands back (but I selfishly keep holding his other) and wipe the tears away. A few new ones roll down, but I'm not bawling like a baby anymore. 

"You finally figured out my distraction technique," he smiles. I'm starstruck. Every time he smiles, I'm so caught off guard by how handsome it actually is. 

"They're Dutch," I mutter, leaning forward to rest my cheek against his chest. He pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me fully as one hand brushes through my hair. Slowly, he rocks me a little, until I'm completely calmed down. 

He doesn't force me to tell him what happened, doesn't ask me anything at all. He just keeps rocking me, muttering nonsense to me as if his life depends on it. I find peace in this moment, his gestures, and close my eyes. Just for a moment, I promise myself. "I'll be good in about ten minutes to go through with our agreement."

A startled laugh leaves his throat. "What? Jake, no. We're not hooking up after you've had a panic attack. No. Tonight, we can watch a movie or something. I won't die without sex, don't worry. Christ."

I frown. "But—"

"No. Shut up."

"Make me."

"Kinky."

He smiles down at me, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. I like it when he does that. 

"Get on the bed. I'll get your laptop and then you can choose what movie we watch. I'm guessing you're a Disney man?" he teases. Little does he know, I wouldn't mind Disney. Or Pixar. Or Dreamworks, or—

I do as he says. The blankets are welcoming me, inviting me to get wrapped up in them and to never leave again. I surely wouldn't mind. 

Alex rolls me up in the blankets all of a sudden, making me look like a burrito. I grin up at him, not quite being able to do anything else. "Just get the laptop, idiot."

As he does, I track him with my eyes, noticing all the paperwork and the opened websites on my computer. The weight crashes back on me, but not like before; more like the rush of panic when you realize you forgot something important. 

"You're a messy  dude," Alex shakes his head, turning to face me. He reads it off my face; something's wrong. "What? Did I do something? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset."

I shake my head. "It's just that there's so much work to do for school. I'm really overwhelmed by it. That's the reason of. . . just now."

Understanding crosses over his face. He pushes me aside a little and joins me on the bed, one hand tenderly removing the hair away from in front of my eyes. "Would you feel better if we made a planning? That sounds really counselor-ish, I know, but it seems it would actually help you."

I shrug. "There's just so many work, I don't know where to begin."

Without another word, he leaves the bed again, taking place behind my desk. He closes the websites on my laptop after saving them, now only leaving the digital agenda. My paper agenda is taken too, and he gets to work. 

Instead of helping him and giving myself even more stress, I watch the muscles of his arms flex while he writes. Hm, yes, this is absolutely the better option. 

After some time (I have no idea how long, Alex' biceps are really entertaining), he turns around, much to my disappointment, and lays the notebook in front of me. I make no intention of grabbing it, leaving my arms in the warm cocoon of blankets. 

Monday- Essay Legal Methods

Tuesday- Essays English & Torts (+ practice)

Wednesday- Test Civil Procedure

Thursday- Practice

Friday- Assignment (read 350 pages in that Law book?)

It amuses me how he doesn't know what book it is and just decides to write Law book instead. Nevertheless, he has really helped me. "This does help. Thank you so much!"

He picks me up, with blanket and all, and engulfs me in a hug. "No problem. Do you need some time finishing up with that essay? It's due tomorrow."

I shake my head, feeling sort of giddy all of a sudden as I throw my arms around his neck. "I already finished it. I've started the others, too. Maybe I was being a little dramatic."

With a grunt, he grabs my chin and forces me to look right into his eyes. My breath gets stuck in my throat (but the good kind, now!). Woah. "Don't belittle your feelings. If you felt overwhelmed, then you were. There's nothing more to add onto it; it's just like that."

Okay then. "No need to be grumpy about it."

A kiss on my cheek. "I'm not grumpy. I just can't stand it when you tell me your feelings aren't valid. They are, to me."