Page 25 of Winter Break Up

“Emily? Mercer?” Mrs. Palmer shouts again, and I know we have to get back.

“Later. Let me take you somewhere. We’ll talk about this.” I’m asking, but the words don’t come out as a question.

After a beat, Em nods. “Yeah, okay.”

I won’t start anything with her without clarity on what happens when Christmas and New Year’s is over. Because I certainly don’t want us to be, and it’s time to lay it all on the line. I’m dangling on this precipice, and I might as well take the chance on blowing up my whole life before a new chapter starts rather than leaving unsaid words and regrets in the one I’m bringing to a close.

Laying one last kiss on her lips, I squeeze her hand twice and then take off in a sprint in the direction of her mother’s voice.

Behind me, I hear her chuckle at my boyish antics. Inside, my heart feels like it’s floating with anticipation of what’s to come.

11

EMILY

One second, I’m making myself a tea in the break room of the barn, and the next, a thought comes flitting into my head.

This is how it always happens. I’ll be alone in the silence, trying to be positive and work on the mind exercise techniques that I’ve read about when an unwanted, awful thought invades my brain. It’ll be something from my past I’m not proud of or maybe a flashback to the week of my breakup. Maybe it’s the scene I walked in on when Rich was in that bathroom at the party. Maybe it’s the looming conversation I’m supposed to have with Mercer and what that means for the rest of this winter break. Or how we fit into each other’s lives for the foreseeable future. Whatever it is, that thought poisons my brain against me and starts a spiral of epic proportions.

Next comes the sour feeling in my stomach, the impending doom crushing down on my chest. My fingers tingle, and my mind feels like it’s on a Tilt-A-Whirl. The only thing I can focus on is that awful thought, relive it again and again, and make up worse scenarios. My vision goes blind to everything else except that moment and the feelings associated with it.

Fumbling with the teacup, I try to focus on sucking in air and closing my eyes. I need to stop going down this path of negative thinking, but it’s not that easy. Once the anxiety attack takes hold, I can’t get out of its clutches with anything else but my emergency anxiety medication. Which is currently at my parent’s house, and I’m nearing the end of the workday at the tree farm.

The only thing worse than not having my meds on me is alerting any of my family or coworkers that I’m currently in the midst of an anxiety attack. Sure, mental health is a much less taboo topic today than it ever has been, but this is still embarrassing to me. The fact that my mind turns against me at the drop of a hat, or that I can’t control it enough to function? It makes me burn with shame, even though I know I shouldn’t. My mental health issues feel like a failing of some sort or that I’m weak. Of course, so many people out there would tell me the exact opposite, but when I’m already in the midst of an anxiety attack, further negative thoughts are what crowd into my mind.

“Emily. Emily, look at me.”

Out of nowhere, Mercer appears at my side, and I clutch on to his triceps to remain upright. Wordlessly, I look up at him with pleading eyes. I wish he could make this stop, and I wish I could stop these attacks from coming on out of nowhere.

“Hospital, do you need the hospital?” His face fills with fear, and his voice edges on panic.

Shaking my head, I try to take a breath. “Just need to sit. Anxiety attack.”

I feel lightheaded as he steers me toward a folding chair, and my chest begins to heave from the lack of good breaths I’m taking.

“Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth with me.” Mercer sits beside me, stooping down so he can look me straight in the eyes.

I’m hanging on to his arms for dear life, like they might stop this. And I try, I really try, to mimic his breathing patterns. But nothing he does is helping.

“I can’t … I want …” The more I try to talk, the more I begin to cry.

Hysteria takes over, and I feel like I can’t get my lungs to work. Harsh gasping noises come from me, and then I’m being lifted.

“Where am I taking you?” Mercer’s voice is all business.

“Home.” The word is wheezed from my lips.

Swiftly, he takes the back exit out of the barn and hurriedly walks a path that keeps us out of view of mostly everyone on the farm. I lean into his chest as he carries me like a bride over the threshold and try to concentrate on breathing as Mercer all but runs us over the hill to my family home.

“I’ve got you, Em. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He presses his lips to my forehead as he run-walks.

Scrunching my eyes closed, I let the cold wind cool the sweat on my face. It’s below freezing, but my body is burning up, the anxiety making every nervous gland secrete sweat.

The minute we’re in my parent’s house, Mercer whisks me up the stairs to my bedroom. He’s been in there too many times to count, it’s no mystery how easily he finds it now.

“What do you need?” He sets me down on my bed and looks me in the eyes.

“I need … I have … on the dresser, my pills.” I point to my dresser, the mirror edges filled with pictures of my friends and me in high school.

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