Page 23 of Healed Hearts

My phone starts ringing and when I see it’s the hospital, I answer immediately. I didn’t know we’d get results so soon, although maybe I should have guessed. “Hello?”

“Hello, Julian. This is Holden Nash.”

He didn’t even need to say his name. I knew from the first word. His voice fucking haunts my dreams. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to forget it. “Hey, Holden.”

“I have some good news for you.” My entire body sags in relief. “Wren’s folate levels are back within normal range. She should be feeling better soon, if she’s not already.”

I’m quiet for a second while I watch her shove bite after bite of mac and cheese in her mouth, getting her entire face and half her hand covered in sticky, yellow cheese. It seems that maybe she is getting better. “That’s good news. She’s eating really well today. It’s the first time in over a week she’s eaten like this.”

He chuckles. “That’s definitely what we like to hear. Well, I better get back to work, but I wanted to call you personally and update you. If you have questions, you can text me.” The way he says it sounds like he wanted to say more, but stopped himself, so I wait for a second and sure enough, he follows up with, “Or you know. If you just wanted to text me, that would, uh… that would be okay too.” His voice has changed. He sounds softer, more vulnerable.

I find myself nodding as a smile spreads across my face. “Yeah, I’ll definitely do that.”

It sounds like he breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s hard to tell. A siren type sound goes off somewhere in the background. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath. “I’ve gotta go.”

I don’t even have time to respond before he hangs up.

It really doesn’t matter, though. He just gave me blanket permission to text him,andWren’s levels are back to normal. Everything is looking up.

Five days later, I’m standing in front of my bathroom mirror, trying to talk myself out of having a panic attack because I was wrong. So wrong. Things are not looking up at all. Sure, I’ve texted Holden off and on, but nothing of consequence, and to make matters worse, Wren’s not getting better. Not at all.

I thought she was. She was eating, she was playing, she was getting better, and then it just stopped. Like hitting a brick wall. She’s been sleeping fourteen to sixteen hours a day. She’s barely eating. She nods off on the couch. I just got her tucked into bed an hour earlier than normal because she was falling asleep on her dinner plate.

My breath is coming in choppy pants, and tears are burning the backs of my eyes. Why is this happening to me again? I struggled when Maya was sick. Hard. But I haven’t had a single panic attack since then.

Not when my friends stopped being my friends. Not when I was sleep-deprived and grieving. Not when Wren got her first stomach bug. Not when I realized I was truly alone. No friends, no parents. Just Wren and I. I was fine.Fine.

So why suddenly am I no longer fine? It feels like a sign. A bad sign. A bad omen.

Panic attacks when Maya died. Panic attacks now. Is there a correlation?

I look up at my reflection. I’m crying. Big tears pouring down my cheeks. I feel awful. My throat is constricted. From the tears or the impending panic, I don’t know. I open the medicinecabinet and stare at the bottle of Xanax. I’ve done so well at not taking them. I don’t want to. I hate the way they make me feel. Always a little groggy and tired. I can’t drive. I can’t do the things I need to do.

But I’m spiraling. I know it. I can feel it. It’s going to spiral out of control. Soon. Any minute. I’m not going to be able to stop it. I suck in a gasping breath.

Oh, fuck it.

I grab the pill bottle and drop a single pill into the palm of my hand. Shaky legs carry me from the bathroom and into my bedroom, where I have a glass of water sitting on my nightstand.

I sit down on the edge of my bed, staring down at the pill in my hand as my chest heaves and my stomach sours.

If I take it now, I’ll be able to sleep. Otherwise? Who knows?

If I take it now, I’ll be able to breathe again.

If I take it now, I’ll be able to stop this panic attack before it starts.

I toss the pill into my mouth and swallow it with a big gulp from my drink.

I crawl into bed, willing my body to relax for the next fifteen to twenty minutes. That’s all I need. Just a few minutes.

I force a deep breath into my lungs.

My phone buzzes, so I reach over and grab it. With any luck, it will be Holden, and he’ll be able to distract me.

Holden

Yum.

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