Trigger warning: panic attack.
***
In the break room, Brendon is sat eating another bagel-- plain, with strawberry cream cheese-- while Debby sits in front of him, again, blabbering like she's use to.
He doesn't know why she's suddenly taken interest in his life, she never has before. She would give him quick glances and casual smiles but that was just Debby. Now, if she wasn't sat with him, it felt a bit off, and Brendon didn't like it that way.
No matter how much Brendon felt like he needed someone, he didn't want it to be Debby, he's learned.
She's too loud for his anxiety, too nosey for his paranoia, and too selfish for his self-esteem.
That's never someone you want to be around.
At first, having Debby around was okay. It gave him a chance to talk to someone besides Carina-- although he never really spoke-- but after a week and a half, Brendon came to the conclusion that whatever she was doing for him wasn't for him, but the exact opposite.
It was sick how she was using him for her own benefit.
He can't believe someone felt so pitiful for him they felt like they had to be his hero.
She was anything but.
Maybe Brendon thought about it too much. Maybe she really was trying to be helpful. Maybe she really did care about his well-being.
Then, he looks at her again, and it's obvious she doesn't.
She's putting on more lip gloss and adjusting her bra, talking on-and-on about how much work she's having to do lately, but oh, luckily she's Debby and she can finish it like it's nothing. She doesn't ask how he's been doing as of late, or if he might be struggling with work. Brendon's never had a friend in a work setting, but he'd imagine that's what it would be if so.
Brendon sighs, finishing his bagel.
He sits there for at least another three minutes; he can't believe someone can talk this much.
How is she breathing?
After that thought, his phone vibrates. Brendon feels like celebrating. He doesn't want to sit through this anymore.
Brendon slides his phone out carefully, knowing Debby would continue her one-sided conversation anyways. Even though it was obvious, now, that he wasn't paying attention.
Not that he was in the first place.
I didn't get my coffee this morning.
Uh oh. That's not good.
I'm going to have to stop by Starbucks now, ugh.
Brendon chuckles to himself. Josh really did need his coffee.
What's wrong with Starbucks?
Brendon liked any kind of coffee, really. He wasn't picky. Starbucks had a comforting smell of cocoa and it made him feel warmed. He wasn't bothered, he liked it.
Nothing. I just like complaining.
Smiling, Brendon's thumbs move against the keyboard. He doesn't even think about his surroundings any longer, he just wanted to text Josh.
After a few moments of watching Brendon, Debby slowly goes quiet seeing him type away, quickly noticing he wasn't paying attention to her, even though she wouldn't do that to him.
"If you don't want to talk to me, you could say so, Brendon." It's bitter, she's bitter.
Brendon stops his actions, eyebrows furrowing together. What?
He sets his phone down, nerves biting at him like he does to his cheeks.
"I never said I didn't want to. . ." Brendon doesn't want to be in this situation. He's not sure if he could handle any anger thrown at him, especially from Debby. The tips of her ears are red, her jaw is clenched, she's so menacing. Brendon shrinks back into his seat.
"You've been on your phone." She states.
Brendon's eyes shift to said object, pursing his lips together.
"Someone texted me, I. . . Uhm, I didn't want to ignore it."
"Who? Just last week I was the only person you were talking to." Debby doesn't hold back, she never does. Brendon wonders if she knows that was hurtful.
He has people to talk to, like Carina.
"Debby. . . You told me to put myself out there, and-and I did." Brendon frowns, pulling at the skin on his knuckles. "Please don't be mad, you're the one who pushed me to do this." He doesn't want to point fingers, but he really wouldn't have downloaded Tinder if Debby didn't come up to him that day.
"Okay, yeah, it's good that you're meeting people, that's what I want, but don't throw me aside." Brendon doesn't understand why she's acting like they're best friends.
"I'm not," he sighs.
"But you are." Debby pushes out her seat, nails painted a hot pink. The intensity in her hands makes Brendon tremble.
"No, no, Debby. . ." He's piteous, practically reaching out for her as she stomps away.
"No, Brendon." She says, not bothering to look at him as she continues marching out of the breakroom. "You're unbelievable."
He could say the same thing.
After Debby is out, Brendon can't help but notice all the other employee's eyes on him. They're wide, proclaiming, and all Brendon can do is shrink back even more.
He hates attention. He hates this. He hates that Debby had to make a scene, because she knows he couldn't stand it. Did she do this to spite him? Was she really that hurt he was texting someone she pushed him to meet, unententinally? Brendon didn't want to be here, he'd rather be at his mother's than go through this.
That was saying something.
They won't stop staring at him. What do they want?
Brendon's hands shake until they reach his hair, pulling at it. His eyes shift left, his eyes shift right.
Fuck.
Brendon feels like he's in highschool again. His peers are too nosey, they're too demanding without even having to speak, they won't look away and he's losing breath with each stare.
His leg starts to bounce, he hasn't felt like this in a while and he doesn't want to feel like this.
Stupid Debby. Stupid, selfish, conceited Debby.
Everything about this is immature but Brendon can't help it, his chest is stinging the longer he tries to hold it in.
He wants to say something to the employees but he'll never have it in him to, especially right now. They're watching him crumble to pieces and he's letting it happen. What's he going to do about it, though? Nothing.
He never does anything.
Embarrassment hadn't been this bad in a while, he wanted it to stay that way.
But it won't.
He doesn't have to think about it, he grabs his phone, already stood to head to the bathroom.
He can't believe he's already crying. No wonder he doesn't make friends; he can't handle the emotions that come with it.
Just like Debby, Brendon stomps out of the room, trying to get to the restroom as fast as he could. People in the cubicles don't understand what's happening, yet they're watching anyways.
Brendon wants to be gone.
Why is everyone so invested in the situation?
Brendon's never felt more thankful that no one is in the bathroom, he pushes the door open and locks it in a frantic manner. It's so blank in the restroom, the floor is white and the walls are even whiter.
His sobs echo back at him, everything is so abrupt.
Maybe this was all his fault, maybe he shouldn't have treated Debby the way he did.
She had feelings too, her words weren't meaningless. If they were, she wouldn't be so successful.
Debby is on a throne above him. Who was he to treat her like she was supposed to be kissing his feet? If anything, it should be the opposite. Debby had her whole life together, she was hard working, and if she shut her mouth she could get anyone she wanted. Brendon could never. The amount of confidence needed to reach that level is something he knew he couldn't achieve no matter how much of a push he got.
His life is disappointing.
He's not going to be Debby, he needs to start kissing her feet.
Brendon tries to lower his solemn soul, it feels impossible.
By now he's slid down the wall and on the dirty floor. He couldn't care less, he needs to let it out before it builds up even more.
Holding it in never helped. Forcing to refrain his panic left him to be a mess, not being able to breathe, talk, or even move.
He lost all humanity trying to retain it.
Brendon's used to comforting himself in times of need, but right now all he could use is comfort from someone else. He surely won't get it from Debby, he's afraid of what will come after today. She's unpredictable, she's moody, she talks.
What is she going to say about him?
He considers talking to Carina, then it dawns on him he never got her phone number.
Oh, my god. How has he never gotten her phone number? That is his closest friend, the only person he's willing to open up to and he can't even speak to her on a daily basis.
Brendon can't believe himself.
Shaking his head, his foot taps nervously against the tiled floor.
He has no one if he isn't at his mom's. The only time he gets to see his best friend is when he's at the place that brings him down the most. He really needed to ask for it this weekend, he needed to text her.
So Brendon's alone, he has to do this alone.
He feels so unbelievably stupid crying on the bathroom floor of his work, his co-workers probably lost all respect for him the longer he sits in here. Debby will most likely say things that will interfere with the troubles happening in his head, and Brendon isn't ready for any of it.
He's hyperventilating, telling himself to do breathing techniques but he can't.
Brendon doesn't know whether this is well-deserved or not.
He doesn't respect himself, what is there to respect? If anything he deserves this all the time.
Brendon can't help but cry even harder, hands tense, thighs squishing together. He's thrown his glasses aside by now, they're covered in tears, just like his cheeks.
It feels like someone is pushing on his chest, it's forcing his heart beat to increase. He could hear it, that's how bad of a hysteria he was in. Brendon had panic attacks often, it wasn't that much of a surprise this happened, but although the frequency, he never would have thought it would come again this quickly. Life had been alright for a while, he was smiling, he was happy. He wasn't worrying about his mother or how much work he had to do, because everything felt okay.
Why did this have to ruin it?
Why can't he be happy?
Brendon's mind is cloudy when his phone vibrates again.
He almost doesn't have enough motivation to reach into his pocket and check it.
Then he remembers who it is, and he suddenly realizes he does have somebody to help him through this.
I'm going to be here for ages. The line is so fucking long.
Brendon throws his head back with a smile full of agony. He wants so many things, he wants comfort. He wants to be held right now, he wants to be talked to and told everything was going to be alright, he wants affection. He needs affection.
Josh.
Tear drops are landing on his phone screen.
Yeah?
Brendon is needy, he's not sure that will ever be a good thing. He needs help.
Are you busy?
Not really, I'm going to have to wait here for a while. Why?
Brendon swallows-- well, tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but he can't seem to manage. Maybe he was asking for too much, he just knew he'd do this for him if they switched places.
Do you think i can call you.
I'm just freaking out and I want someone to talk to I'm sorry.
All Brendon can hear is himself. That's the last thing he wants. It's sorrow falling right back into his being, he doesn't want to hear that. He wants to hear something else, anything else.
Okay, yeah, of course.
He's pushing hair out of his face, mouth in a permanent frown as his thumb grazes over the call button.
He only feels more nervous.
Maybe he shouldn't call him, it might just make everything worse.
He pulls his thumb away, no. He can't. He isn't ready.
Brendon doesn't have a choice, though, because Josh calls him instead. The picture he set for him pops up, it's staring at him. He can't ignore it.
He answers, chest caving in.
Brendon hesitantly brings the phone to his ear, trying to hide his gasps for breath. It isn't working very well, he already knows. He's waiting for Josh to talk first, he doesn't have it in him to be spontaneous right now.
"Brendon?"
He only cries more; sniffling, whimpering, he's so shamefaced.
"Yeah-yeah, it's-it's-it's me."
Brendon can hear the Starbucks setting through his phone, there's small laughs and bells ringing.
"What's wrong?" Josh asks, his voice is like silk right now.
Brendon shakes his head, more to himself because Josh can't see. "It's fucking stupid!" He yells, sobbing. "I don't know wha-what to do. I didn't mean to-to-to hurt anyone's feel-ings. Everything was just-ju-just fine, I don't want this to happen." Josh doesn't understand what Brendon's going off about, he decides it's better for him to let it out instead if trying to push further.
"Hey, don't let your mind run so much, alright?" Josh seems like he's done this before, it's helpful. "Just try to focus on calming yourself down."
"Okay, okay." Brendon breathes, forearm against his forehead.
"Do you know anything that could help?"
"W-well I do have breathing exercises." Brendon closes his eyes, gasps and more gasps to leave his mouth.
"Try those."
"I already have--"
"Try them again."
Brendon's sick to his stomach but that's the last thing bothering him. He sits up from his slump on the wall, starting to breathe in.
He's muttering incoherently, Josh doesn't mind. He needs to do whatever he needs to do.
It gets louder though, and all he can hear across the line is a one, two, three. Breathe in. One, two, three. Brendon's breath wavers inbetween, his stomach is twisting and turning painfully.
"Josh. . ." He mumbles through his breathing.
"Yeah?"
"Can-can you just talk to me." Brendon coughs, choking on air and self-pity.
"Of course. What do you want me to talk about?" Josh wonders, tone nearly as sweet as Carina's.
"Anything. I just need to hear you."
It's quiet, Brendon's afraid he said the wrong thing. He was too desperate and that most definitely came across when he spoke. He couldn't help it.
Brendon tries to ignore himself, continuing his exercises as the line stays quiet.
"Well," Josh starts, Brendon feels reassured. "When Tyler ever has an anxiety attack, or whatever may be, the one thing that always helps them calm down is when you sing to them. No matter how tone-deaf or off key you may be, it's like magic. I just hold them and I'll sing The Beatles, The Beatles is their favorite, and everything's okay."
Brendon's breathing got quieter so he could listen.
"I mean, yeah, it takes a little bit, but if you just sing to them, it makes it go away." Josh trails off. "I'm not sure what else to say."
Brendon smiles, tears sticky on his cheeks. He's not crying as much anymore.
"It's okay," he says, he wants to reassure Josh the way he's reassuring him. "Do you. . . Do you think you can sing to me?"
"Yeah. But really, I'm not the best at singing." He chuckles, Brendon does too.
"That's alright." He's blushing once more. It's fine, though. No one can see except himself.
Brendon leans his head on the wall, still sat in the corner of the bathroom. With his phone pressed to his ear, a song Brendon's heard one too many times reaches him, and it's okay. His breaths are still heavy but now there's some sort of lightness to them he can't explain. There's no more sobs echoing right back to him, there's only In My Life by The Beatles making love to his head.
Yeah, Josh really wasn't a very good singer, but that didn't stop him from reaching his soul.