While it’s not busy on a Wednesday night, we still have the normal crowd. I’m pouring a beer for one of our regulars, Michael, who is telling me about his children’s upcoming visit this weekend and how excited he is since he hasn’t seen his grandchildren for a few months. As he talks, I catch sight of someone out of the corner of my eye.
Panic claws its way into my mind, and I set the glass down in front of Michael harder than I intended.
No, it’s not him,I think to myself.
Surely my brain is just fucking with me. I turn my head and my vision blurs.
Aaron.
My whole body goes cold from the inside out, and my hands shake. I need to make sure. As I turn fully, I see that the man standing there isn’t him; he is older than Aaron, though he looks remarkably similar.
I twist away from him, gripping the edge of the bar as I breathe.
In through my nose and out through my mouth, just the way I was taught to ease the panic. Except my fucking body hasn’t caught up to my brain yet and my hands won’t stop shaking.
I face away from the customers and count the bottles on the shelf. One, two, three. Gin, vodka, rum. I start again, getting to nine and my chest pulls tight. The lasttime this happened was exactly a year ago. I thought I was past this, and yet clearly I’m not.
The noise in the bar grows louder and my vision completely blurs.
“Kayla,” Bianca says, her hand coming down on my shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” she says quietly, or maybe I just can’t hear her right because her voice sounds off. “Go out the back and take a break.”
“I can’t.”
“Go.”
I nod and hurry toward the back. When I push through the door, the corridor narrows and breathing gets harder. I make it as far as a stack of crates beside the fire exit before I collapse on one of them and drop my head in my hands.
Breathe.
I can’t draw a full breath into my lungs.
That’s the thing nobody tells you about panic attacks. It’s like your body is convinced it’s dying, and the harder you try to breathe, the more the air won’t come. Though I know this, it doesn’t help. My hands are trembling worse now, and I press them flat against my jeans to stop the movement.
In through your nose.
I can’t.
I just need air.
The sound of the door opening is not a priority rightnow. I don’t bother looking up. It’s a distraction I don’t need when I just want air.
“Hey.”
I relax slightly, knowing it’s Doren. He shuffles in front of me and his hands cover mine.
“Five things.”
“Stack of boxes,” I say, but my voice doesn’t sound right. “The fire door, the...” I stop and drag in half a breath. “The yellow sign on the extinguisher, the light on the ceiling, and your shoes.”
“My shoes are very nice.”
I almost laugh but it comes out as a sob instead. I slide my hands from beneath Doren’s and press the heels of my palms against my eyes as I murmur, “Four things I can touch.”
“Take your time,” he says, his voice sounding more like him.