Your foot tapped anxiously against the floor as you mindlessly twisted the drawstring to your boyfriend’s hoodie into knots. The pressure building in your chest, pushing against your lungs kept you from focusing on what the teacher was saying. You could feel it coming, silently growing worse throughout the day. All you could hear was your own heartbeat in your ears; your mind was racing a million miles a minute crashing into every problem you had and spilling it like a can of worms.
“Not at school, not in public.” You thought to yourself over and over again. Looking up at the clock, your eyes chased the second hand, willing it to speed up, willing yourself to hold everything off for just two more minutes. The next hundred-twenty seconds felt like a decade but as soon at the dismissal bell rang you were out of your seat and dashing out the door.
Thankfully your off block came next, it really didn’t matter either way. You needed somewhere to go, you started to wrack your brain for what classrooms would be empty this period. Standing still in the hallway, you try to block out all the noise of the other students and decide to head to room 132.
You push through the crowds, completely oblivious to your favorite brown haired boy calling your name from down the hall.
Peter’s brow furrowed in confusion as he watched you disappear into the crowd. He had seen the blank look on your face, detached and slightly panicked. He had only ever been around once before during one of your panic attacks and it definitely wasn’t something he was going to forget. Thankful that he had started to identify the signs much faster, he raced after you.
You slammed the door to 132 open, immediately dropping your bag on the floor. Your hands met your knees as you bent, trying to get a deep breath and failing miserably. Tears spilled their way onto your cheeks, cascading faster than you could wipe at them. Sliding down to the floor, you lean against the wall, sobbing into the cuffs of the hoodie.
If you could just get a breath, why couldn’t you get a breath?
So focused on trying to breath, you didn’t hear the door next to you swing open or the thump of Peter’s knees hitting the floor next to you. You quickly pushed away the hand that reached for you, not wanting anyone to see you like this but it didn’t stop. Eventually you gave in and allowed yourself to be pulled into Peter’s chest.
Peter wasn’t completely sure what to do, you never talked about your anxiety and he had only found out about it when he had walked into your room near the end of one of your panic attacks. But he did figure out that holding you helps. So that’s what he did. He held you, whispering calming words in your ear. The words he was saying didn’t matter so much as listening to his heartbeat and focusing on the feeling of rise and fall of his chest to match your own.
It’s, unfortunately, never the same; unpredictable in every sense. Soon your sobs ceased and you sat, curled up in Peter’s lap and allowed him to play with your hair, occasionally he would place a kiss on your head.
“I’m sorry.” You muttered quietly.
Peter turned you to look at him, “For what, love?” His gaze was filled with concern.
“I think I might have ruined your sweater…” You pull at the now stained cuffs and knotted drawstring.
He went to speak, worried that you would start to apologize for something that was completely out of control, but stopped, “Wait, what did you say?”
“Your sweater. I ruined it.” You mumbled sadly.
Peter chuckled and shook his head, “Sweetheart, I don’t care about the sweater. Are you doing better?”
You nodded and layed back against his chest, still fiddling with the knots. Sitting in silence for a while, you looked at the clock to check the time. If you wanted to make yourself presentable, you would have to leave now. “We should probably go.” You crawled off of Peter’s lap and retrieved your bag.
He slowly stood from the floor, pulling you up with him. “Are you sure? I could call your mom and she could call you in or something.”
You shook your head and looked down, “No, I have too many classes I need to go to. I’ll be okay.”
Peter pushed your chin up to look at him, “If you need anything the rest of the day, just text me.” He waited for you to nod before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, resting his forehead against yours. “You don’t have to do this alone. You aren’t alone.” He gave you another kiss and pulled you into a hug.
You took a deep breath after a couple of seconds, “Okay, let’s go.” Taking his hand, you pull the door open and enter the hall as the next bell rings.
