Page 77 of The Breaking Pointe
On the other hand, I would rather her not see me hyper- ventilating and flying off the handle.
Slowing my flow and coming to a stop, I wipe my face with my t-shirt as I examine the small dance studio, peeking inside to see the lights are on.She could be in there, but with my luck, I very well could also be hallucinating. If my goal is to avoid being a creep, I’m doing a lousy job at it. I need to see her face one good time, and maybe I’ll go away. That’s all I’m asking for. Yet my breathing is becoming harder to control, and focusing on her being in there is, also.
Dropping the idea, I enable my legs to begin pacing, holdingmyheadasItrytoforgeteverythingaroundme
and focus on controlling my mind—or better yet, emptying it.
The door swings open, provoking me to look around madly.Still, the shallow breathing ensues.Trying to find a distraction, I press my hand on my heart, feeling the vibration on the outside.
Justrun.Justrunandit’llgoaway.
The moisture on my hands begins to puddle while simul- taneously the air becomes harder to swallow.Taking one last look in the studio,I run my fingers through my hair,walking out the door.
Pushing myself into a full dash, I dodge different folks walking ahead of me, seeing a park in my horizon. With no real direction, that is my first destination.Anywhere but here, where people can still see me.If I have to visualize embarrassing myself with a public panic and anxiety attack one more time, I’m gonna hit the ceiling.
Disregarding the streetlights, I keep going like I’m fraught with danger.I sort of am, with the way I’m ignoring everything,now.Deathbecomesoptionalforamoment as I hurl my body across the street.A couple of cars slam on their breaks, others honking aggressively. The sound of screeching tires fills the atmosphere, impaling surrounding ears. Stumbling over, I lose my footing as I continue to run, trying to rid myself of everything behind me.
My heart has to be fucking with me. It’s beating so hard that it has me sick to my stomach.
Speeding into an open space in a grassy area of the park,I abruptly stop myself, nearly dry heaving.I hold a heavy hand against my chest, rubbing it.
“Please…whatthefuck…”Igripmyshirt.
A solid hand smacks my back all of a sudden, sending a coughing fit throughout my lungs. I turn my body, pushing the lingering arm away.“No!”I yell, only to see that it’s Trey.
“Calm down, it’s just me!It’s Trey!”
He grabs my arms, blocking my flailing hand.A small sense of relief washes over me as I pick at my shirt. The last time I recall this feeling occurring, I might’ve been twenty or twenty-one. The sheer feeling of panic.I’m drowning in a thirty-foot-deep body of water, and nobody could convince me otherwise.
“I—I can’t breathe…” I blurt.
“Okay, sit, Cole, c’mon.” He firmly pushes my body down. The chill of cold sweat trickles down my skin in different areas,giving me a sensory overload.Snapping my headaround, I notice the world becoming hazier than before, so I bury my head in my hoodie, puffing all my air into a cubby. “God, it hurts so bad.Why does it hurt so bad—why is this
happeningtome?!”Ihowl,submittingtomyneedtocry.
Choking up, I open my body now, feeling around for Trey’s presence.I spoke too soon.If a second ago I couldn’t breathe, then now I must be dying. All airflow just seems to vanish from me, and now the real fear is setting in.
Not a sound can escape my body.
“Cole…” His eyes flicker around my body. “Help! Some- body!” he yells, calling attention from a few people.
I lie down, closing my eyes in the process.Whateveris happening, I don’t wanna think about the fact that it’s happening publicly like this.Everything starts to feel like it’s coming in waves.Every voice or noise around me is skipping like a bad record. In and out, over and over.
“What’s happening?”I feel another presence show up above me, with a voice I know that I’ve heard before.
“I dunno, he looks like he might pass out.”Trey begins smacking my face a few times, awakening me.
“Lauren…?”I huff.
“Yeah, it’s me. Sit up.” Her voice echoes as they each pull my upper body off the ground.
I watch as she looks through her fanny pack for a split second, whipping out an inhaler.She doesn’t even think twice before shaking it up, opening the mouthpiece, and shoving it between my lips.
“One, two, three…” She then mimics the breathing pattern she wants me to copy.
So I try, burning every single morsel of my lungs in the process.
“Again,”sheinstructs.
