Page 37 of Those Two Words

seventeen

JOHANNA

The familiarity of the vise-like grip around my heart isn’t welcome. My mind greeted that crippling fear like an old friend.

It’s a discomfort I’ve spent years learning how to avoid. But today it won. It’s been so long since it conquered me, I worry I’ve forgotten how to escape. Everything seems like a feeble attempt.Right now, I’m the prey. Anxiety is the predator.

I almost found my way out of the darkness, but even that failed me.

Green plant.

Green gin bottle.

Green bottle opener.

Green apron.

Green…nothing.

With that loss, my fight gave out and I let it take over.

Only when I sensed him did a sliver of light break its way through the clouds. But the fear and overpowering sensations playing havoc on my body and mind don’t let me take him in properly. All my senses feel muddled. I try to cling to them, like a buoy in stormy waters.

Touch returns first. A gentle brush on my shoulders, and then a warm hand on my chin.

Sound next. His voice; deep and soothing.

When my nose fills with the scent of pine and juniper, my heartbeat slows.

“P-P-Patrick?” I stutter out.

“It’s me, I’ve got you. Do you know where you are? Should I call someone?” The sound of his voice pulls me through that crack of light in the darkness, but I slip back in when his hand retreats. I fumble for him, needing his touch. Needing to know he’s got me.

I frantically shake my head, the pain in my chest pulling taut again, and I bury myself into his chest.

“I-I need…green,” I rasp.

“Green what?”

“It’s too d-dark. Need to see green.”

“Here, I’ll put on a light.” He stands and places me down. Bright light filters through my eyelids and I cringe away from it. His absence is short, and when I’m in his arms again, I don’t let go. The strong hold and comforting words he whispers in my ear help, but my mind is still so determined to find my something green.

“It’s not dark anymore, love. I’m here.”

He’s here.

Those words give me the courage to open my eyes, the bright, white light is startling at first, but I soon take in my surroundings.

Gentle hands take hold of my face, strong and firm fingers gently stroke along my ears, jaw, and cheeks, and soft lips brush against my forehead.

“What do you need? Let me help you.”

“Green,” I repeat. Not having the energy to explain myself.

“I don’t know what that means. Green what? Please look at me, Johanna. You’re worrying me and I don’t know how to help. Show me your eyes.” The pleading tone in his voice tells me I need to fight this. I need to find a way out. Not to let it win.

It takes a few seconds for him to come into focus, and even his silhouette is a comforting sight.

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