[TRIGGER WARNING: Depiction of a severe panic attack.]

When I startle awake from that dream, I'm immediately thrown into a panic attack. I try to be quiet, but I'm thrashing. I'm thrashing because nothing was fucking fair and I couldn't fucking breathe. I loved Stacy. I didn't love her like Tristan, but I fucking loved her, and she took my virginity, and she took my child, and she took herself, and now she wasn't even fucking here to make amends with.

For the first time ever, I wanted Stacy to be alive so I could scream at her. Every other time my mind ran off to memories of her, they were sweet. I wanted another chance to hold her and tell her I loved her. I wanted to try and talk her out of leaving again.

Now? Now I kinda wanted her to be alive just so I could punch her in the face, because my life had been fucked up enough without her adding to it, and I was stupid, I had been so Goddamn stupid--

The door bangs open. "Orion?!"

I freeze, panicked. Amy, dressed in her Beatles pj's, rushes into the room after closing the door behind her. She sits down next to me on top of the covers, the covers that are partially wet with my sweat, the covers that I'm tangled up in because I'm having one of the worst panic attacks of my entire life.

"Fuck, Orion--what can I do?"

"I think there's something seriously wrong," I tell her, because the panic is making me feel like I'm literally dying.

My sister jumps back on her feet and looks absolutely panicked, and I feel so terrible. "I'll go get mom--"

"No!" I wheeze at her. "N-no. I just--my chest is killing me, and I know it'll pass, but I feel like I'm fucking dying."

She doesn't know what to do. So even though the comforter around me feels like a boa constrictor, and even though my brain is screaming at me, THIS IS IT, ORION, YOU'RE ACTUALLY HAVING A HEART ATTACK!, I concentrate on Amy. I concentrate on Amy because I have to be better for her.

"P-panic attack," I manage to croak out.

"Are you sure?" she asks.

I screw my eyes shut tight, nod, and whimper.

"Fuck, Orion."

I move around some more, trying to get my limbs to stop feeling like they're on fire.

"What can I do?"

I shake my head, taking in as deep of breaths I can manage. I hate how it takes on a pathetic screech.

"You're freaking me out. Do you have an inhaler, or--"

"I'm f-freaking myself out," I choke out, and then force a laugh.

A pause, and then, "Are they usually like this?"

I close my eyes again and shake my head vigorously. I'm fighting down the sick taste of bile. I don't want to puke, because there's not a trash can in here, and the bathroom is far away, and I know I wouldn't make it, and I don't want to make a mess of my mom's house, and I don't want to impose, and God, I'm such a fucking loser--

"Did anything cause this?" Amy asks, and I'm happy for the interruption of my spiraling thoughts.

I nod, but it's awhile before I can speak. When I'm finally able to, I find that I can't stop. The words, my life, just pour out of me.

Eventually I'm settled back down. I'm on my back, under the covers that're pulled up to my chin, with Amy sitting next to me. Occasionally as I speak she runs a hand through my hair, or gives me a hug. Aside from that, Amy just respectfully lets me spill my guts to her.

I tell her everything. I tell her absolutely fucking everything. I tell her how I wasn't adopted until I was ten, and how that made me feel. I told her what happened between myself and Daryl. I told her every little detail of the abuse I went through at the hands of my dad. I told her what had caused my panic attack tonight, how I had never put two and two together, and at the very least I hadn't been ready for sex.

I told her everything that had happened as Orion Bauwens, rockstar. It wasn't all bad; I told her about all the hilarious, crazy shenanigans. There was truth, though; I told her about all the lonely nights. I revealed to her how my tour bus had slowly started to feel like a iron maiden cage.

I explained how everything slowly morphed in my head over the years. How I was--on some level--cognizant of the fact I was developing all these harmful coping strategies, but I just didn't give a flying fuck. I admitted to her how the past couple of years of touring had started to grate on all of us, and the miles had finally caught up with the band, and we were all pretty fucking miserable. I explained to her how I was convinced everyone hated me, because I hated myself so Goddamn much.

It was when I said that she started crying.

But I kept going.

I told her about Tristan and how badly I fucked that up. I admitted to her the reason why Jake was so angry at the hospital was because I had slept with him, I had used him. I confessed I wasn't sure if we were even friends anymore. Telling my sister that I wasn't sure if Saturn Mutants was even a band anymore was one of the most devastating things I've ever said. Once more we had switched roles and I was crying, and Amy was listening.

I told her I thought Tristan might've been my soul mate, and I had blown it. I explained that I would do fucking anything to have him back. And I thanked her--I thanked her for listening, and I thanked her for being an amazing sister, and I thanked her for existing. I told her she was one of the reasons why I was going to get better.

She kissed the top of my head with a small chuckle, and told me I had said that already.

"I need you to feel it though," I implored, barely awake.

"I do," Amy said. Then, with wisdom beyond her age, she said earnestly, "Ori...While it's sweet, you can't just be living for other people. You have to want to live for yourself, too."

Yet when she said that, all I could think about was Tristan. How was I to stumble through life without my better half? That really was what he was to me. Tristan brought out the best in me, and I had never found anyone in my life who was able to do that, and I was such a fucking twat for choosing alcohol over him.

The last thing I remember was apologizing to Amy.

"Don't apologize," she told me with a yawn, because it must've been three or four in the morning by now. We had been talking for hours.

"I'm sorry my life is like a bad SVU episode," I muttered, closing my exhausted eyes and soul.

She laughed. And it was with her laughter, and my hollow feelings, and with thoughts of Tristan swirling through my head that I finally fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep.