ELEVEN HOURS of Soul Searching

Angry Butterflies

First, there is this uneasy feeling in my stomach. It's like butterflies when you are in love, but they are so angry. They multiply and flutter their wings in the rhythm of my heartbeat. I can hear its pounding in my ears. 

Their tiny wings flutter faster, and faster, pushing the air out of my lungs, so I desperately fight for breath. An overwhelming sense of dread paralyses while the whole world is closing down on me. There is so many of them trapped inside my chest, trying despairingly to get out. It's becoming painful.

'Don't just stand there. Use your noggin. Ask for help.' 

Agatha's voice's stressing me out even more.

I look frantically around, searching for a familiar face when I remember I am entirely alone in it. That realisation makes the whole situation so much worse. 

Not knowing what to do, my sweaty hands ball up into fists so hard that my nails pierce the skin on my palms. My body tenses and starts to tremble uncontrollably. I never felt so helpless before.

Thousands of thoughts rush through my head at the insane pace. Not being able to catch up, I feel like I am losing my mind.

The whole world is spinning, so I bend my knees. And as I am about to give up and fall, a strong arm grabs my waist, and a husky voice says, 'It's ok. I got you.'

He wears a pleasant cologne and has fresh minty breath. 

I hold onto his shirt as if my life depends on it; my fingers tightly wrapped up on a silky soft material. I somehow manage to stay conscious, although everything seems far away like I am not even there.

'I am a doctor, and I will try to help, but you need to tell me what's going on.' 

His voice muffled as if it was coming from behind a wall.

'I think I am dying. My chest hurts so much,' I whisper with my mouth dry, while he's taking the bag off my shoulder.

'You will be fine. I promise.' 

His voice is calm and confident. I believe him.

'Can you walk?' I nod, and he takes me and sits me down on a chair.

'What is happening to me?'

'You have a panic attack. We will sort it out together, ok?'

'Melody, look after the luggage, please,' he addresses a girl accompanying him.

I still hyperventilate and tremble. The doctor presses on my wrist to check the pulse. I focus on his steady voice, guiding me out of the darkness and chaos inside my head.

'Breath in, breath out.'

'Good!'

'That's it. You are doing great.'

He keeps repeating it like a mantra, and after a while, that feels like an eternity, I manage to calm the butterflies.

'Are you feeling better now? Do you need anything?' He asks when I take the last deep breath and put my head up.

'I am better now. Thank you. You've been very ...'

Handsome - the only word that comes to my mind.

' ... helpful.' I finish the sentence out loud.

'Please, you are barking at the wrong tree. Poor you.'

I study his features carefully - the prominent jawline, broad nose and bushy eyebrows. The sound of his voice, the way he looks at me - it's bizarrely familiar, although I am positive I have never seen him before.