Be good to us, please.

Prologue

Blinding.

That's the word Jane would use to describe her panic attacks; a word she would choose, if so asked ―

"What is it like to have a panic attack?"

Such a question seemed synonymous with another: "What is it like to die?"

It is the world crushing her, far too heavy for her slight shoulders to bear. It is the ground giving way, the only stable thing in her whole life, melting away beneath her very feet. . It is everything at once― --

I am small . . !

I am weak . . !

I am alone . . !

Jane would weep under the weight of it all; the pressure chilling her spine and dragging it out of her thin body; one rotted vertebrae at a time. Her ribs, tied together with garishly, meticulous tiny knots; a web of tendons and sinew tightening her chest cavity until it burst in a slush of viscera and flesh.

Gasping for air, over and over and over again, she weeped ― trying so very hard to catch even the smallest of breaths! Only for her to choke on it, and force it out with such exertion, that she let out soft sobs.

Blinding.

When Jane was in this state, she saw nothing around her. Simply unable to properly focus on anything; a total blindness throughout. Her senses seemingly shut down, touch, smell, audio, and, obviously, the visual.

Jane was blind to the horrified whispers, those vain attempts to reach Jane in such a furthered state. Two of the girls quickly crowded themselves around her, wiping away her tears and tried to comfort her. She didn't see the third girl, hovering in the doorway, a look of recognition flitting across her features. Jane didn't feel the gentle pets, or them running their hands through her hair to try to calm her, or wrapping their arms around her and held her tight.

No, no.. she saw nothing, felt nothing ― other than the stars collapsing around her, devastating her feeble, corporeal form.

Not even when the door rattled, shifting a bit in the jam as someone went about unlocking the deadbolt. Not even when the girls clung to each other, clung to Jane, all in the tub. Not the third girl, sitting at the head of her bed, hugging her legs to her chest. Their frightful wide eyes becoming glossy with a fresh coat of tears borne from terror. They let out a small gasp at the motion of the door; at the thought of whom was on the other side . . .

Even as he entered, Jane was unaware.

When he easily 'removed' the two girls from Jane's side with simply an unwavering, stern look. She didn't notice his control, his dominance.. Or his familiar features.

Not even when the man with the clean shorn head and black rimmed glasses watched her, stepping closer to the bathtub where she took refuge, with a deepening grimace on the face she knew only as..

..Barry.

・・・・・ ・・・・ ・・・・ ・・・ ・・・・ ・・・・

Arthur's Note:

Hi, I'm Glow.
I like paragraphs, semi colons, ellipses, italics,
parenthesis, run-on sentences, and too much detail.
Thanks for reading.
Also, I will be pooling my own experiences into this.
[also hoping to be adding many a Barry, seriously I love them all.]