Page 39 of Bad at Love

“You’re having a panic attack,” she says softly. “You’re okay.”

I know that. Realistically, I know that, but it doesn’t help.

“How do I stop it?” I pant out.

“Just breathe. Focus on the cold water.”

I move the bottle around on my face, to my head and my neck. It feels good, and my body slowly starts to come down from thepanic. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a panic attack like this; one that came on so quickly and harshly.

“Good,” Marta says gently. “You look much better.”

I still can’t talk, so I take another mouthful of water before replacing the water bottle to my cheek.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks. “Was it dinner with your parents?”

Of course she would think that, and I guess that’s what started it. Had that not happened, the other thing wouldn’t have happened. Or if it did, it would have been easier to handle because it was justonething and not a freaking mountain.

“Partly,” I say, resting back and closing my eyes as I move the water to my other cheek.

“And the other part?”

“I kissed Storm.”

If she reacts to that, I don’t hear it and don’t feel her move. It’s not that I expected her to freak out, but I thought she’d have a reaction. It’s crazy what I did. How isn’t she freaking out?

I open my eyes to look at her and she’s watching me carefully, but doesn’t seem shocked by my admission. Concerned, yes. She’s got that motherly look on her face, but nothing tells me she’s surprised.

“Why aren’t you freaking out about that?” I ask.

“What’s to freak out about?”

“I don’t know, all of it!” I flinch at how loud my voice is and shrink back against the couch. “Sorry, I know the kids are sleeping.”

“They’re fine.” It’s silent for a short time, my heart still beating so hard I can hear it. “Gabriel, why areyoufreaking out about this?”

“Are you serious right now?” I glare at her. Her expression doesn’t change.

“I’m just trying to understand,” she simply says.

“I kissed my roommate, Marta. My verymaleroommate.”

“So it’s the fact that he’s a man that’s bothering you?”

“Of course it is! I’m not gay.”

“Kissing a man doesn’t make you gay.”

“No? What does it make me then?”

She turns to face me a little more, keeping her face serious. She’s such a good doctor; such a good person.

“Human. Curious. Vulnerable.”

“Kissing him doesn’t make me vulnerable.”

“No, but maybe you were, and that’s why you did it.”

I sigh, putting the water bottle onto the end table before scrubbing my hands down my face. “How will I ever go back there?”

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