The most ironic thing about the Austin Grand Prix was the fact that all the European boys and their respective teams automatically equated Texas with all the accouterments of yee-haw culture - namely, sporting cowboy hats and boots, denim on denim, or some kind of cowboy animal print. The tackier, the better.

In reality, Austin was the least Texas part of Texas. It was just a glorified college town ripe for bachelorette parties and brewery tours and liberal art and music fests. Not very yee-haw in the grand scheme of it all, especially Texas. But hook 'em horns, I guess.

None of that changed the fact that Jaye wore a black velvet cowboy hat with a big red jewel in the center and red cowboy boots, and thankfully that drew a lot of the press in his direction before the start of our Saturday, and final practice before qualifying. Atlas had abstained from it all, claiming Jaye was being extra enough for the both of them.

All of Jaye's extra gaudy cowboyness hadn't saved Callahan though. I felt the reluctance in the smile he forced from all the way across the paddock as he walked by in a caramel-colored suede cowboy hat that looked just a touch too small for his head, like they'd accidentally plucked it from the children's section.

"Looks like you really dodged a bullet this weekend," I chuckled as I looped my arm around Atlas's elbow, continuing our way through the paddock and to the Porsche garages. Phantom trotted along beside us, astute as could be as he assessed every living being that came within six feet of Atlas or I.

"Yeah," he grumbled. "It's just a glorified fucking circus this weekend."

I thought back to my conversation with Callahan, knowing at some point I'd have to ask the question only I was meant to ask, but not here, and not now. I opted to squeeze his arm a little bit tighter, silently letting him know that no matter what, this time was different, because we were together.

We made it to Atlas's trailer after dodging a few reporters (including bestie Ronn Kota), mostly in part thanks to our wolf dog bodyguard, but even as Atlas settled into his routine before FP3, the unsteadiness in his breath was hard to miss.

"Are you okay?" I asked, petting Phantom who sat in front of me on the couch.

"Fine," he replied curtly, zipping up his overalls. "I'm fine. I'll see you in the garage, alright?"

I knew by now that was him telling me to get out without explicitly saying it, and normally I didn't think twice, but the little cracks in his voice made me linger.

"Alright, well...good luck." I offered him a soft smile.

"Thanks." He looked up at me, and after what felt like far longer than just a moment, he returned my smile and blew me a kiss.

Atlas put his Porsche in the wall.

With only a few minutes left in final practice, Atlas spun out in one of the sharp corners and sent the back of his car right into a barrier, smoke pluming from the tyres.

What followed was a storm of angry radio messages and frantic mechanics as they prepped for Atlas's car to be brought back to the garage. Atlas himself, on the other hand, made it back with no assistance, throwing his helmet in frustration against the wall as he stalked back to the hallway leading out to the paddock.

My whole body snapped upright as he walked by me, seemingly oblivious that I was even there. I stood at the back of the garage for a moment, weighing the options of giving him space to cool off versus going to give him support. I opted for the latter, because I knew I'd want the same done for me.

By the time I'd made it back to Atlas's trailer, he'd already unzipped the front of his overalls and taken his boots off, sitting on the couch with his face in his hands as Phantom laid at his feet.

"Hey," I greeted him softly, leaning against the doorframe.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he muttered into his hands. He let out a groan and sat back on the couch. I treaded over to him slowly, lowering myself on the couch beside him.

"I just...I fucking hate it here," he sighed out. "I hate this track, I hate this atmosphere, I just...I hate it."

"Why?" I blurted out, almost daring to ask the question I needed to.

"I...I don't know," he shrugged, his voice sharp. "I just do."

It wasn't the answer I was expecting or looking for, but I decided it wasn't worth it to push him. It seemed like making it through the weekend unscathed was already asking the universe for a lot.

We sat in silence for a while, until eventually Atlas got up to stretch and hydrate before qualifying started. Ronnie came by at some point to let him know the car was fine and the damage was minimal, which drew out a sigh of relief from Atlas. When we were alone again, he came over to me and wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on top of my head.

"Thanks for checking on me," he muttered before pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"Of course," I replied, squeezing him a little tighter. "I care about you Atlas. Don't forget that."

"I won't." He unwound himself from me, and we shared a quick kiss before I made my way back to the garage.

I'd gotten myself into a routine being in the garage - I had my own corner, with my own headset, and a view of any screen I needed to pay attention to. I was out of the way, but close enough to notice things.

For instance, the fact that Atlas had yet to come to the garage after at least 15 minutes had gone was something I caught onto rather quickly. I scanned the little sea of Porsche crew and realized Ronnie wasn't here either, but it seemed that with everyone so hyper-fixated on doing their usual job, I was the only one that had noticed.

I was in the middle of firing off a quick text to Atlas in hopes that maybe he still had his phone on him when Ronnie finally came jogging into the garage, his headset still dangling around his neck.

That was when the energy shift occurred, and suddenly everyone noticed. Two other mechanics came to Ronnie's side, and I found myself leaning forward on my toes slightly as if I could have grabbed just a snippet of their conversation. Over the idle hum of qualifying start preparations, the air became thick and stale. Ronnie frantically shook his head, then disappeared back out of the garage again.

When another engineer briskly walked past me to the other side of the garage, I heard him say, "Start getting Derek ready. Get him set."

Whatever it was that happened Atlas's rookie year, it was happening again, and my instincts kicked into overdrive.

I threw my own headset off onto the table and bolted out the back of the garage without a second thought, dashing through the paddock to try and catch Ronnie. I was sure people could smell the panic on me, but I ran right into that tunnel, with that vision I'd tried so desperately to escape all these months. Somehow I knew there was no light at the end this time - just a shadow, but a shadow I was still trying to reach.

I made it to Atlas's trailer just as Ronnie did, keeping my cool as best as I could as I walked up the metal stairs behind him.

"What's going on?" I asked him, feeling a knot of glass constrict itself square in the middle of my throat.

He barely looked at me, just casting a glance over his shoulder as he fumbled for his access badge. "Nothing you need to be worried about. Just go back to the garage, alright love?"

He moved to open the door, and I smacked my palm against it, pushing it shut.

"No." Even getting one word out past that knot in my throat was a herculean effort. I tried to gulp it down. "Where's Atlas?"

Ronnie finally turned to me, and no matter how cool and collected a person normally was, there were certain things that could undo anyone. Whatever that thing was, I saw it in his eyes. Silently, he stepped aside and pushed the door open for me.

"Hey," he gently grabbed my arm as I walked by him. "Just...take a deep breath before you go in. I'll be out here if you need me."

It was like the moment I sat before the swells back in Portugal, and my body begged me not to go as my heartbeat rioted and my hands shook, but my mind had already committed to it, so I forced myself to take a breath, and jumped.

Phantom snarled and barked the moment I stepped foot in the entranceway, and I jolted my hands up in surrender.

"Hey buddy," I said softly. I didn't move as I allowed him to approach me slowly, tucking his ears back with a soft whine. "It's okay."

I reached down to gently pet the top of his head, and once he was satisfied, he turned and seemed to lead me through the short hallway into Atlas's room. My heart beat so furiously against my ribcage, I was sure it would bust out of me at any given moment.

I knew I couldn't begin to entertain ideas of what I thought I would find, but nothing could prepare me for the sight of Atlas on the floor with his arms out to the side, his face soaked in sweat and his body trembling like he was being shot with electricity. I dropped to my knees beside him and put my fingers to the side of his throat, where his pulse pounded against my fingertips.

Phantom laid down on the other side of him, placing his head next to Atlas's.

The neurons in my brain were firing off at lightspeed, but I didn't have time to shuffle through all the realizations, and all of the pieces of the puzzle that were sliding into place. The only thing I could focus on - and needed to focus on - was him at that moment. I let adrenaline burst through the floodgates and drown everything else out.

"Come on, Atlas," I whispered as I slid my arm under his shoulders. "Come on, let's get you up."

"No," came his hoarse, choked reply. "No, no, no." 

He finally opened his eyes, looking up at me through a veil of tears, and he kept shaking his head. The breaths that came out of him were short and sharp, like no matter how hard he tried, oxygen wasn't reaching his lungs. He was being suffocated by something toxic and unseen.

I'd been lucky enough to never experience a full-fledged panic attack, but I knew what one looked like, and right now, it was laying in front of me.

It took all the energy I had to keep my voice steady. "You can't stay on the floor. Let's at least get you to the couch."

I grabbed his arms and gritted my teeth as I pulled him and his dead weight into a sitting up position, putting a hand to his back as he continued to tremble and rattle like he'd been left outside in sub-zero temperatures. Despite that, his skin was a furnace to touch, and sweat soaked through the back of his racing shirt.

"Alright, we're gonna move again," I told him as I stood up, offering him my hands. He didn't take them, keeping his gaze to the ground as he shook his head over and over again.

"Okay, okay." I sat back down in front of him. "Let me at least steady you here."

I took his shoulders and gently spun him around so that his back was pressed against the couch. If he passed out, which became more and more likely by the minute as his eyes glazed over with a sickly exhaustion, at least he wouldn't fall and hit his head.

"Just stay here," I instructed him. "I'm just going to get a wet towel for your face."

When I stood up, Phantom moved to the far corner of the room - the best vantage point to see everything - and he stayed sitting up, just as astute as ever.

I grabbed a few small towels from beside the sink in the bathroom and ran them under cold water, squeezing out the excess before returning to Atlas on the floor.

"I can't do this," he choked out. "I can't do this anymore."

"Yes, yes you can," I said softly as I pressed the wet towel to his forehead. "I promise. You're capable. You're strong."

I draped the towel around the back of his neck and held his face in my hands. "Look at me, Atlas."

I wasn't prepared for how much my heart would break when he did, but I had to ignore the daggers in my chest threatening to bleed me out. He needed me.

"You are safe, okay?" I whispered. "You're safe, and this is going to pass."

He shook his head again, shedding more tears that seeped into all the creases in my fingers.

"Listen, I need you to just do as I say, right now, okay?" I wiped the still spilling tears away with my thumbs. "Just reach up and hold onto my wrists, and you can squeeze the shit out of them, I don't care."

He hesitated for a moment, but eventually reached up and wrapped his fingers around my wrists, his grip weak.

"Good, good," I told him with a nod. "I want you to inhale as best as you can and squeeze, count to four, then exhale and let go."

His whole body trembled as he tried to do as I instructed, but his breath was still harsh and ragged.

"Do it again," I urged him, still keeping my voice calm even though internally I was more unsteady than I'd ever felt in my life.

In, clench, count to four, exhale. In, clench, count to four, exhale. In, clench, count to four, exhale.

Just like Malia had taught me, and I forced myself to breathe along with him. I needed to be steady, if not for me, for him. 

Eventually with a heavy breath, he let go and allowed himself to fall forward into my arms, his head pressed into my shoulder. Phantom wedged himself beside us, and I wrapped my arms around Atlas's shoulders as the trembling began to subside.

"It's alright. It's going to be alright." And I repeated that softly, over and over again until at least one of us believed it.

I wrapped myself around him so intently, like I was terrified he'd just come undone if I let go.

It may have been hours, or it may have only been a few moments, but we eventually stirred from an exhaustion-induced sleep, stuck to the leather of the couch with our ankles tangled and the backs of our necks sweaty. I didn't even know how we'd made it onto the couch. Atlas gently unwound my arms from his torso, sitting up and stretching with a groan.

"How are you?" I asked, rolling over onto my back so I could look up at him.

He responded with a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with his hands. "I feel disgusting. I'm going to go wash my face."

I watched him as he shakily rose to his feet, the top of his racing overalls still hanging open around his waist. When I heard the faucet turn on, I allowed myself the moment to breathe. There was the taste of stale metal at the back of my throat, the kind you get when you fall asleep with tears floating in your system.

I heard him making a guttural, lurching noise as he threw up in the sink. I jumped up to my feet, feeling all the blood rush to my head and seeing stars blink in the corners of my eyes.

"Are you okay?" I called out to him.

"Y-yeah..." he called back.

Eventually the faucet turned off, and he meanered back into the doorway of the bathroom.

"I think..." he blew out a heavy breath. "I think you should go."

Water dripped off of his hair and speckled dots onto the shoulders of his racing shirt. He crossed his arms over his chest and wearily leaned against the doorframe.

I forced out a chuckle, half expecting him to say he was joking. "What...what do you mean? Atlas, you just had a panic attack, you missed qualifying, I'm...I'm not just going to leave you."

"That wasn't...you shouldn't have seen that." There was a hollowness to his tone when he spoke, like someone else was projecting their voice through his body. Throughout all these months together I thought I'd really grown to know him. His breath, his body, his voice. And I knew this man in front of me right now was not Atlas Vaughn. 

"Atlas, don't do this," I pleaded. "Don't self-destruct-"

"Why not? It's just what I inevitably always do." He snapped. "I know I'm perceived as this stone cold, invincible, unbreakable entity. But I'm not, okay? I'm just...I'm not. I'm all fractured edges and broken glass...and I don't need you bleeding trying to pick up the pieces. So whatever this is, whatever this was...it can't be any more."

"You don't mean that," came out of me in a harsh whisper as I felt myself backing towards the door. "You can't mean that."

His expression turned cold. "I've become...far too emotionally attached to you, and it scares the shit out of me because I never meant for it to happen. This was never meant to happen."

"Emotionally attached?" I groaned, fighting back tears that prickled at the backs of my eyes. "What the fuck does that even mean, Atlas? Just say it."

"No." He was trying really hard to keep it in, but the tiniest cracks in his voice began to show, and even though his words were melded together with anger and frustration, the hurt glinted in his eyes. "I wouldn't do that to you."

I grit my teeth, and even though it felt like I'd swallowed glass, I choked out one more thing. "You already have."

I then took the daggers out of my heart, and I walked out to see a stunned Ronnie, waiting for me. The pained sincerity in his eyes sent me off the edge.

"This isn't the first time this has happened, has it?" I asked him through gritted teeth, desperate to keep tears back. I thought back to the Deadspin article, Atlas's previous withdrawal from this same race, and I felt like I was being drenched in ice cold water. "You knew."

He met me with silence and a pinched frown, but in moments like these, silence spoke louder than any words could have.

I bolted down the stairs, past all kinds of faceless bodies in the paddock and cold-shouldering any living person that came too close. I had to get out of there before the bleeding became apparent to everyone.

I walked out of the circuit, and I kept walking. I walked until it became physically impossible to catch my breath, physically impossible to hold back the sob in my throat, physically impossible to convince myself what just happened had been nothing more than a bad dream. I didn't know where I was, but it was silent and empty as one road cut through a dry field, a gentle breeze shaking a few crop stalks. 

I could close my eyes, and I still saw Atlas in everything. He was my morning coffee, and he was the first breath I took when I broke the water's surface. He was 10 PM in the dark, and he was 6 AM as the sun rose. He was the finite dust on the windowsill that you could only see in the sunlight. I'd fallen in love with him in the same way that you drown - struggling and suffocating, clawing for the surface, until you finally reach the bottom and you realize it's too late. You're done for.

i need him like water
he thinks that i'm alright
i'm not feeling human
i think he's a good guy
but it's complex

complex / katie gregson-macleod

this was a chapter i was both very nervous and excited to share. i'd planned this since the beginning, but that didn't change how difficult it was to write. difficult, but rewarding.

i don't want this (and what follows) to be treated like a "plot twist" because using mental health and things like panic attacks should never be used in that way. rather, the reason it's revealed this late in the story is simply because i felt that it was realistic for atlas to have held onto this. i also personally suffer from panic attacks, so i wanted to integrate this into the story in a way that is familiar to me. not everyone's experiences are the same, but i do want those of you who can relate to feel seen and represented. obviously this will be tackled in the next few chapters as well, so if this is triggering or sensitive for you, please continue reading with caution.

if you've read really any other story of mine but in particular BLIND AMBITION, you'll know that mental health representation in sports (both professional and amateur) is a subject i am very passionate about. it's more or less combined my love of sports and my own lived experiences. giving this to atlas was my way of contributing to that conversation - one that we should still actively be having.

feel free to leave any thoughts or comments or if you just need to talk, it's always welcome <3