3 Everleigh Glue Myself Shut—Noah Kahan #3
Uncurling his fists, he slowly sinks to his haunches in front of me. The face peering at me is sculpted in firm lines—a wide forehead, round jaw, and strong nose, all overshadowed by the living forest in his eyes, crafted from a rich tangle of ivy, moss, and ferns.
His face is covered in a light dusting of caramel-rich hair, disappearing into a navy baseball cap covering his head. Vale Landscaping. There’s even a pair of crossed axes embroidered beneath the stitched words, denoting some kind of local trade.
These small details filter into my brain in a disjointed way, providing a meagre distraction from the all-consuming panic. Then another wave of despair crashes over me, and I’m dragged back to the edge of a blackout all over again.
“Friend of mine wakes up like this a lot,” he rumbles, his voice a gravelly rockfall cut with single malt whiskey. “When he moved in, I found myself on psychology websites, trying to figure out how to help him.”
I watch him through black-spotted vision. Please help me too.
“Apparently, distraction helps.” He shrugs one massive shoulder. “So we play a game. I get him to name five things he can see. Want to look around for me?”
He watches me struggle to reply, my hand twisting in my sweat-soaked hoodie. I can’t inflate the disobedient lumps of useless flesh in my chest any more than I can go back home.
“Like . . . trees,” he supplies, the corner of his mouth twitching. “That’s an easy one.”
They’re all around us. A thick copse that protects me from the outside world. Luscious and tightly packed together to form the comforting woodland.
“Er . . . gravel, I guess. That counts, right? And trucks. Plenty of those here.”
Right. Trucks. Rows of cars parked up outside the nearby pub. He’s good at this.
“Two more,” the stranger hums to himself. “The moon? It’s sure big tonight. Oh, and a street lamp . . . Look, right over there. Rare around here, I know.”
Sure enough, there’s a wrought iron street lamp illuminating the night. Watching me catalogue each item, his smile softens, transforming his face into a gentle look of reassurance. It seems out of place given his intimidating bulk.
“Your turn now. How about four things you can hear? Say them in your head if it helps and let me know when you’ve got them all.”
Owls hooting. Trickling water.
Voices inside the pub. His deep, whiskey-smooth voice.
“Good,” he encourages in response to my small nod. “Keep going. Three things you can feel now.”
Pain in my chest.
Cold wind.
Thin fabric grazing my arms.
“You’re doing great.” He watches me closely.
The first slivers of air trickle into my lungs, offering a lifeline. I greedily drink them down like golden nectar, plunging head first into the mirage to escape the certain death of drowning on dry land.
“That’s it, keep breathing. What about two things you can smell?”
Sucking in another stuttered breath, I try to find something. Anything to pull me from the darkness that makes its bid to overcome me on a daily basis.
“Smell that? I love the scent of the forest.” He glances around, jaw dancing with tension. “It’s the only place I feel at peace. I can actually hear myself think out here.”
Meeting his sad gaze when he looks back at me, I nod. Peace. That sounds nice. Idyllic. And all too unknown.
“The last one is the hardest.” His smile lengthens into an almost-smirk. “One thing you can taste.”
With each short breath, my senses are returning to life. The world filters back in. I realise I can taste sharp, metallic copper on my tongue, coupled with stinging pain.
“Blood,” I rasp in a small voice.
“Bit your tongue?”
A shrug. Probably.
“My friend bites his too. Force of habit, I guess.”
My next few breaths are laboured, but it’s enough for my vision to clear further, pulling me out of the danger zone. I take a moment to centre myself, then my cheeks flush pink with shame. Stupid, weak Everleigh. I never did this in front of an audience before.
“Sorry . . . y-you had to see that.”
“Why are you apologising?” His caramel brows knit beneath the brim of his cap. “You needed help.”
“I didn’t mean to trouble you.”
“No trouble.” After a pause, he draws to his feet. “We all need help from time to time.”
“Help.” The word tastes foreign, unfamiliar. “Right.”
“You need a hand getting somewhere or . . .”
Trailing off, his attention fixes on the pub behind us. When I look, Cassidy stands outside, hands on her hips and gaze locked on the mysterious stranger helping me.
Gentleness morphs into tense lines on his face as my saviour squares his shoulders, seeming to prepare for some unknown battle.
“Sorry,” he mutters.
In a second, he’s gone. His gait is long, carrying him into the thick darkness seeping from the woods. Cloying mist quickly swallows him whole, and I have to blink to verify the whole saga wasn’t some panic-induced hallucination.
“Eden?” Cassidy walks over to me.
When I don’t respond, she sighs, lifting a dark shape locked in her grasp. My backpack.
“You forgot this.” She tilts her head towards the pub. “If you’re done running, do you still want that room?”
Exhausted, I let my head slump.
Where else am I supposed to go?