Page 80 of Not Catching Love

“Last night. Twice this week.”

“They’ve picked up again.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose!” And I don’t like his tone. See? Fucking shrinks, man. They think they know everything and try to convince you of things that are just plain wrong. He doesn’t know what it’s like to show up at that pharmacy and get a random stranger and wish with my whole heart that Derek would walk in and hold me. None of them understand.

Going to the pharmacy isn’t working anymore.

That building used to be enough to ease the panic, but not anymore. My emotional support person is gone.

And yes, I can recognize the need for an emotional support person is kinda fucked-up, but I’m trying. I don’t mention my episodes to Derek. We don’t talk about it at all. If I brought them up, I know that he’d feel guilty, and the anniversary of him walking out of the pharmacy that day is only a month away. We’ve made it through a year. One more to go.

I just need him not to get sick of me before then.

A smell tickles my nose. A familiar scent that reminds me of something nonspecific from my past. Something terrifying and lonely that throws me back into helplessness. Reality is a black rush of crushing pressure as it barrels away from me, and I lose grip.

The darkness hits me so quickly I’m powerless to stop it. And I’m back there. Before Seven and Molly and before all of my brothers. A completely insignificant speck. A nothing.

If I go missing tomorrow, who the fuck would care?

I try to remind myself Derek would, but then I see our future.

Derek getting annoyed. Derek getting distant. Derek giving me that taste of us and then taking it all away.

A deep pressure settles over my chest, making it hard to breathe, and fuck. Why? Why now?

Why this?

My lungs struggle to expand, and the harder it gets to inhale, the quicker I spiral.

A sudden pain slices through my chest, and I hunch forward, trying to breathe, trying to remember my fucking strategies to make it all go away, but Derek isn’t here. Derek might never be here.

Each inhale makes my chest tighter. My vision takes on that loopy haze that almost sends me toppling sideways. My heart isracing, racing, racing out of control, and my face is getting so hot my brain is going to boil.

But fuck. The pain. It’s deep in my chest and crippling, sharp and sudden every time I try to inhale.

Holy fuck.

I’m having a heart attack.

It’s actually happening. It’s actually goddamn happening. Shards of pressure radiate through my chest, a spike of agony that comes back and comes back and comes back.

“Fuck. Ah, fuck.”

The room has disappeared, but gentle hands ease me forward, and a strong hand rests on my back.

“You’re safe, Xander. You’re in Sherwin’s office.”

“Call an ambulance.”

“All you need to do right now is breathe.”

“I’m … heart attack. Pain … call. Please call.”

“You’re having a panic attack.”

His words are coming to me through water. An echoey drip of nonsense. My whole head is burning, and I’m trembling so hard I’m sure I’ve got a fever. Is that what’s causing this pain? The bolts hitting my chest over and over are stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before, and my fingertips are frozen.

“I’m … I’m dying,” I gasp. Through dips and twists in my vision, I vaguely register that Sherwin isn’t moving. Isn’t reacting. Calling for help. Saving me.

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