Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Xander
“What would your reaction be if I told you that I wanted you to put some distance between yourself and Seven?”
Dr. Sherwin’s question immediately makes me seize up. “You wouldn’t.”
“I might.”
“I’d tell you to fuck off and that I’m never coming back again.”
Dr. Sherwin laughs. “I appreciate the honesty. Does your closeness to him bother you? Even the smallest amount?”
“No.” It’s everyone else who seems to have an issue with it. If Seven’s happy and I’m happy, I don’t get why anyone else should care, but of course they do. Of course they look at our connection and want to make judgment calls on something they don’t understand.
“Do you think your connection to him will affect you having future relationships? ”
“I lost my virginity.” I say it so fast it takes a moment for Sherwin to pivot.
“Really? That was something on your mind a lot.”
“Yeah, it was, but it couldn’t have been more perfect.”
“Perfect is an … interesting word.”
“It describes Derek.”
“Derek. The thing you wanted to get out of our sessions?”
“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.” Actually, it’s probably bad karma to lie to your shrink. “Well, he’s not my boyfriend, but he wants to be.”
“And you’re open to it?”
“Yes.”
“So is there a reason you’re not in a relationship?”
I bite my tongue. Our relationship isn’t exactly illegal—I don’t think—but is it the type of thing he’d have to report? I’m pretty sure I can’t confess to killing someone in here without him needing to report it, and with how some people react about me and Derek, you’d think it’s on the same level. I’ve told him about who Derek is as a person but nothing about our relationship.
“You’ve gone quiet,” he says.
“Just trying to figure out how much to tell you.”
He hums, and I narrow my eyes his way.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The hesitance has made me curious.”
Of course it has. And this is why I don’t like shrinks. Instead of assuming that maybe it’s private and I don’t want to talk about Derek, he’s piecing together some far-fetched theory of his own.
“You don’t need to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with?—”
“I know.”
“But all I’m going to say is that if you’re with someone who isn’t available for a relationship, consider why that might be. Whether this man is telling you the truth or not, the reality is that you’re not in a relationship you both apparently want. Oftentimes, people who don’t feel worthy of love will self-sabotage in this way.”
I groan and hang my head back. “It’s not like that at all.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’d still recommend thinking about the hurdle between you and why you’re so content to accept it.”
I think I already know the answer to that. That niggling, fluttery happiness that hits my chest every time Derek’s around can only mean one thing. Like hell am I going to bring that up here when he already thinks I’m self-sabotaging. I don’t have the words to explain it to Sherwin though. I’ve met a lot of shitty people in my life. I’ve seen what it looks like when people aren’t interested. Or when they’re telling you what you want to hear. Or when they think you can benefit them.
Derek is none of that. Derek is stability and honesty, and I trust him as much as I trust Seven.
He’s the only person I’ve ever trusted that much.
And I still think they’re both going to leave me.
I rub at where my chest is getting tight.
“How are the panic attacks going?”
Urg. Another subject I hate. “I’m using your coping strategies.”
“When was your last episode?”
I chew on my tongue, not wanting to say.
“Was it recent?”
“Last night. Twice this week.”
“They’ve picked up again.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose!” And I don’t like his tone. See? Fucking shrinks, man. They think they know everything and try to convince you of things that are just plain wrong. He doesn’t know what it’s like to show up at that pharmacy and get a random stranger and wish with my whole heart that Derek would walk in and hold me. None of them understand .
Going to the pharmacy isn’t working anymore.
That building used to be enough to ease the panic, but not anymore. My emotional support person is gone.
And yes, I can recognize the need for an emotional support person is kinda fucked-up, but I’m trying. I don’t mention my episodes to Derek. We don’t talk about it at all. If I brought them up, I know that he’d feel guilty, and the anniversary of him walking out of the pharmacy that day is only a month away. We’ve made it through a year. One more to go.
I just need him not to get sick of me before then.
A smell tickles my nose. A familiar scent that reminds me of something nonspecific from my past. Something terrifying and lonely that throws me back into helplessness. Reality is a black rush of crushing pressure as it barrels away from me, and I lose grip.
The darkness hits me so quickly I’m powerless to stop it. And I’m back there. Before Seven and Molly and before all of my brothers. A completely insignificant speck. A nothing.
If I go missing tomorrow, who the fuck would care?
I try to remind myself Derek would, but then I see our future.
Derek getting annoyed. Derek getting distant. Derek giving me that taste of us and then taking it all away.
A deep pressure settles over my chest, making it hard to breathe, and fuck. Why? Why now?
Why this?
My lungs struggle to expand, and the harder it gets to inhale, the quicker I spiral.
A sudden pain slices through my chest, and I hunch forward, trying to breathe, trying to remember my fucking strategies to make it all go away, but Derek isn’t here. Derek might never be here.
Each inhale makes my chest tighter. My vision takes on that loopy haze that almost sends me toppling sideways. My heart is racing, racing, racing out of control, and my face is getting so hot my brain is going to boil.
But fuck. The pain. It’s deep in my chest and crippling, sharp and sudden every time I try to inhale.
Holy fuck.
I’m having a heart attack.
It’s actually happening. It’s actually goddamn happening. Shards of pressure radiate through my chest, a spike of agony that comes back and comes back and comes back.
“Fuck. Ah, fuck.”
The room has disappeared, but gentle hands ease me forward, and a strong hand rests on my back.
“You’re safe, Xander. You’re in Sherwin’s office.”
“Call an ambulance.”
“All you need to do right now is breathe.”
“I’m … heart attack. Pain … call. Please call.”
“You’re having a panic attack.”
His words are coming to me through water. An echoey drip of nonsense. My whole head is burning, and I’m trembling so hard I’m sure I’ve got a fever. Is that what’s causing this pain? The bolts hitting my chest over and over are stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before, and my fingertips are frozen.
“I’m … I’m dying,” I gasp. Through dips and twists in my vision, I vaguely register that Sherwin isn’t moving. Isn’t reacting. Calling for help. Saving me.
He stays where he is.
He doesn’t move his hand.
“You’re killing me …” I murmur.
I push to my feet to grab my phone, but the second I stand, everything rushes around me, and my ass hits the couch again. I can’t process any of his words, but how can I when he’s watching me die?
“You need to … sitting … breathing under control … hurt yourself. ”
I have no fucking clue what he’s saying. I’m tired. So tired. My lungs are burning with every failed breath. The deeper I try to breathe, the worse it gets, and the darkness passing over me solidifies to numb resignation. This is it. It’s over.
“Xander …”
I take what feels like the first real breath I’ve ever taken. My head burns around it, and my eyes are heavy, but I follow it up with another one.
“That’s it. You’ve got it.”
I recognize the voice. It’s vague and far away.
“There we go …”
Slowly, I open my eyes. I’m sweaty, my hands are shaking, and I’m still in Sherwin’s office. What could have been seconds or minutes or hours feels like I’ve woken up weighing an extra fifty pounds, and I’m more exhausted than ever.
“Was there a trigger?” he asks kindly.
I can’t answer him. That was way too strong and fast, and I’m disappointed I’m still alive.
Because if I’m alive, it means my brain won. Again.
It wasn’t a heart attack. I’m just fucked-up.
I’m never going to be better.
Never.
Seven’s already making improvements with his therapist, and I so badly wanted to make him proud. I wanted to keep Molly around and prove to Derek that I’m worth it.
That might be my biggest lie yet.
“Did something set you off?” Sherwin repeats.
My lips barely move as I say, “A smell.”
“Something specific?”
That’s the hard part. It doesn’t smell like anything I recognize. It doesn’t smell like anything , and it’s hard to know if it’s a smell at all or if my brain is getting its wires crossed. But whatever it is feels so familiar, like a memory, and it always throws me back to when I was invisible, worthless, weak. Like a hit of nostalgia that makes me panic instead of feel good.
I haven’t changed at all.
“Do you want me to bring Seven in?” he asks.
It takes all of my energy to smile. “No. I’m okay.” It feels like someone else is speaking. Smiling. Thanking him for the session.
“Before you go,” Sherwin says, “I think we should talk about seeing a psychiatrist. For medication.”