Stardust & Smiles ✅

Chapter 6: Panic & Playgrounds

"If I told you about the darkness inside of me would you still look at me like I'm the sun?"

~3 years before, age 19~

*I would really advise listening to the song while reading this chapter as it really brings out the emotions the character is feeling and will help you get in her headspace.

⚠️TW:Anxiety/Panic attacks⚠️
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I can't breathe.
   
I know there's tears streaming down my face, but I can't feel them, why can't I feel them?  Why can't I taste the salt that should be tainting the moisture I can feel dripping over my lips? 
   
I know there's air entering and leaving my lungs but I can't feel it, can't feel the air that's usually so full of life.  Why do my lungs feel like they're squeezing around nothing?  How, then, can I still be breathing?
   
I know there's a bed underneath my body but I can't feel it.  Instead I'm hurtling through a thousand possibilities, the darkness closing in around me, the blankets so cold when they should be warm. 
   
The door has been left ajar, a reminder of the past hour that caused me to feel this way.  I can still see his footprints, burned into the carpet, walking the wrong way. 
   
A quiet whimper escapes my lips and I look around the room wildly, all my fears reflected back into my watery eyes.  I'm not getting any calmer like I usually do and that's just adding to the panic. 
   
Normally it's over by now, why isn't it over yet?  My sweaty palms grasp at the duvet weakly, trying to center myself back to the room, but it's still spinning into different forms.  There's only one thing that could hope to fix me now.
   
I reach over to the nightstand with shaking hands and dial the number without even looking at the phone.  I've memorized the contact's place. 
   
The screen tells me the call's been picked up and before anyone can say anything, I blurt out a sentence.
   
"I need you to come over right now, I'm sorry, I don't think I'll calm down if you don't, I'm sorry." That just sends me into another spiral of tears, not that my voice wasn't already sobbing when I started talking, throat raw from the silence and tears of the past hour.  I press the red button to hang up and dive back into my pillow.  I try to remind myself that it only takes ten minutes.  Ten minutes and then I won't be alone anymore, won't have to face my worst fears without the person I need to help me through it.
   
I curl up into my knees and rock back and forth, whispering to myself that it will be over soon, just hold on. 
   
But hold on to what? 
   
I don't know.
   
And that's what fuels my terror.
   
I'm so completely out of it now, barely even still anchored to this world, completely retreating into my head, my deepest, darkest nightmare.  And I'm locking the door.  My shuddering breaths nearly drown out the sound of knocks on my door. 
   
"Lily, it's me, open up, I'm here!"  I exhale loudly, thanking God for the presumable lack of traffic and running through the hall to the door, ignoring the ghosts chasing me. 
   
I pull open the door and collapse into her arms.
   
"Hey, what happened?"  Elaine asks, full of worry, but no confusion.  She doesn't ask if I'm okay, she doesn't have to.  I've always thought it was a dumb question anyway.
   
"Lewis...he..."  I don't finish and another endless wave of tears rinses through my system.  She nods, stepping forward again and wrapping me in a tight hug.  Her eyes are full of understanding and sincerity.
   
"Okay, come on, let's go to the living room and I'll get you some water.  Deep breaths, okay?  Focus on me.  What did you eat for breakfast this morning?"  Elaine is completely cool under pressure as she walks me gently to the living room, helping me to sit down on the couch and pulling a blanket tight around my shoulders.  She walks around the back of the couch to the small kitchen area and begins filling a glass with water. 
   
"I made scrambled eggs."  I sniffle, the torrent softening as my brain works to recall the morning.
   
"You're doing great, and what was the first thing you did when you woke up?"  She walks back around the couch and sits next to me, handing me the cold glass.  I scrunch my eyebrows up in concentration and it works to hold back more tears as well.
   
"I journaled for a little bit."  I take a tentative sip of the water, the smooth coolness gliding over my raw throat. 
   
"And who was the first person you texted this morning?" 
   
"My dad, he was asking about work."
   
"Are you breathing?"  I inhale in response and the rattles of my exhales smooth over as I expel the tainted air loudly. 
   
"Great.  You're doing amazing.  So what did you tell your dad about work?"
   
"I, um, was telling him about the article I'm writing this month."
   
"And what's the article about?"  I smile a little.
   
"Tips For Young Writers: Advice From A Young Published Author."
   
"That's right.  Because what are you?"  I smile fully now, regaining some of my pride and composure.
   
"A young published author."
   
"Damn straight.  And what is he?"  My eyes dim but I persevere, knowing I can't recover until I address it.
   
"Not in control of me."  I mumble, embarrassed.
   
"There you go.  Say it again."
   
"He's not in control of me."  I say a little louder. 
   
"One more time, as loud as you can."
   
"He's not in control of me!"  I shout at the walls.  Elaine chuckles.
   
"See, that wasn't so hard."  I smile and lean forward, hugging her fiercely.
   
"I'll never be able to thank you.  Ever."  I whisper into her ear and she pulls back and looks me in the eyes, grabbing my shoulders.
   
"You don't need to thank me, you did this all by yourself."  I don't believe her, but I nod.  I still know that I'll forever be indebted to her. 
   
No, not indebted.  Friends don't owe any debts.  But I'll still spend forever trying to help her however I can, to make her feel secure like she makes me feel in my darkest times.  Because that's true friendship.
   
Elaine is standing back at the counter, picking up her keys.
   
"You gonna be okay?"  I nod. 
   
"Get out of the house today, okay?"  I nod again, letting the blanket fall off my shoulders and slip to the couch. 
   
"Thanks, love you."
   
"I love you too, you got this!"   I smile and wipe my eyes, still damp.
   
After a few minutes of staring at the blank walls, I force my legs to stand up and I walk back into the bedroom.  Then I walk back out. 
   
I go to the bathroom instead, grabbing my hairbrush and running it through my knotted waves, brushing and brushing until it's soft and smooth and silky and shiny.  Just like it should be.  Just like I should be.
   
I put on some deodorant, brush my teeth and roll on some chapstick to fill the crevices in my cracked lips with smooth stickiness. 
   
I grab my phone and my keys and leave the apartment without looking back. 
   
When I've reached the garage, I find my car and get in. 
   
For a while I just sit in the driver's seat, feeling the leather of the steering wheel and staring out the crystal-clear windshield at the concrete slab in front of me.
It only makes me feel like more of a letdown. 
   
I sigh and get out.
   
I walk around to the front of the building and sit on the steps.
   
My Uber comes five minutes later. 
   
"Where to?"  The driver asks, disinterested, but I prefer it that way.  He won't try to bother me with awkward small talk.  The question, however, startles me.  Where am I going?  Places run through my head but one remains longer than the others.  I tell him and he takes off.  I slip an Airpod in my ear and shuffle my playlist. 
   
Piano chords and Lewis Capaldi fill my ears and I rest my forehead against the cool glass window.  Blue and green slide past me in a streaks like a paintbrush pulled hastily across a canvas.
   
I close my eyes.
   
I don't know how much time has passed before the car pulls to a stop. 
   
I pay the driver without bothering to take out my Airpods.  Then I step out of the car.
   
Walking across the hot asphalt brings back so many memories, most of them funny, happy and sometimes petty.  I round the corner and the building comes into view, the tan walls still the same, the red brick squares that line the front still the same, the purple plastic tables and benches still the same. 
   
I walk over to the edge of the curb and climb up on it, sticking my arms out for balance and walking down, tipping from side to side, but never falling off.  When I'm halfway, I stop and sit down.  The dirt hill in front of me slides down to another asphalt parking lot.  At the end of that, the peeling paint on the black metal bars of the fence give way to the playground permanently stamped in my memory. 
    
I trace my eyes over the now-faded four-square court, the plastic wall that holds in the cascading woodchips.  I can practically see the little rollie pollies that I know nest in the corners, waiting for the little kids to pluck them from their dark hiding spots and corral them together.