Page 46 of Knotty, Nice, & Holiday Lights
I never stopped wanting Iz, not for one minute. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t still struggling. And that was why I left to see my family. I needed some space to think.
But, like most of my plans the past few years, it didn’t work. Instead, I obsessed, mind reeling over and over with thoughts of Iz, of Will and Asher, and what life might be like if all of us were together as a pack.
I can stream on GamerTube from anywhere, as long as I have high-speed internet and a space for my setup. And I know Iz would be great at content creation, especially given her industry background and insights. And Asher has that voice that people would pay to listen to reading a phone book. And I know Will enjoys gaming, too.
And then I’d come back to my senses and realize we can’t all make it as content creators in this world. Plus, there’s still the issue of my… well, issues.
When I’m with the three of them, I definitely feel an easing in this constant weight on my chest, but even that didn’t help me from almost spiraling at the thought that Iz was in danger when she passed out.
Did I get it together? Yes. Was I able to keep it together the rest of the night? Sure. Am I actually good to have around in a crisis?
No fucking way.
So what good am I to a pack, a family unit, if I can’t be depended on?
After I lug my stuff up to my apartment, I drop everything by the front door and trudge my way to the couch, turn on the TV, flip on one of my favorite streamers, and let my body fall over onto the pillow beside me.
I dream of holding Iz as I sleep, hearing her voice confess her deepest and darkest desires. And I know that when I wake, I’ll need to go to her, like I’m under her spell.
At the B&B the next morning, things… smell different. It’s not overpowering, this mingling of the three distinct scents, but it’s recognizable as I sit in the living room and wait for Iz to come back downstairs.
The neutralizers in this common room are still visible, high on the walls around us, but as I sit with Asher after Will had gone to get me some water, I can faintly smell his amber scent, melding with Will’s vanilla, and above it all, Iz’s lemon blossom.
Where the last time Asher and I were alone, in my apartment, and I could scent the others on him, I knew that they were separate scents just lingering on his form because of their proximity. But now…
There’s no doubt in my mind that they’re fucking. But their scents aren’t completely one yet, still leveling out, so to speak. So, that means they haven’t marked one another.
Part of me is pleased, knowing that their bond isn’t complete. The rest of me, though, is pissed. Not at them, but at myself.
If I could just be a fucking functional adult without completely random moments of thinking I’m about to die for no reason, I could have this too. I could be a part of this. Of them.
Whenever I’m not panicking, I’m always pissed off that control has been ripped from me. I tell my therapist at every session. Most of the time, he suggests books or methods to redirect my thoughts so I don’t spiral.
But once I’m in that mode, it’s almost impossible for me to get out without having a panic attack.
“Don’t do it, mate.”
I peer at Asher, who’s staring me down on the other end of the couch.
“Do what?”
“Spiral. I can see it all over your face. You’re ready to dive into that dark place, like when Izzy passed out the other night. I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, but just breathe.”
Just breathe.Something I tell myself several times a day.
But he’s right.
“And Izzy isn’t the only one who’s here for you,” Will says as he hands me a glass of water, which I take a gulp from before he sits on the armchair. “When my parents died, I would have terrible anxiety attacks whenever I was alone. Which was almost all the time at first. But, when I met Asher, I gained a pack brother. And he’s supported me this whole time.”
“We’ve supported one another,” Asher corrects.
“I would have these episodes where I’d forget to breathe and get dizzy,” Will shakes his head slow. “It hasn’t happened in months, but I think the worry that it will happen again is anxiety-inducing itself.”
I sit quietly, not trusting myself to respond.
This guy lost his parents and started having issues with anxiety.
I freaked out over work stress and crowds.
