Chapter 18 #2
Contemplating whether he wanted to check outside or upstairs first, Ethan was about to turn around and leave when he heard a clattering sound coming from the bathroom.
He paused, tilting his head closer. Normally, barging in on someone in the bathroom would be his limit.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened.
Moving closer to the bathroom door, just to check, while acknowledging the absurdity of it all, he heard it again—a rhythmic sound, like a repeated gasp, someone breathing in and out in a heavy, rapid pant.
Hyperventilating.
The word came to him swiftly even as he rejected it. It can’t be. Why would it be? He leaned even closer. It was unmistakable now. Quiet gasps. She could be muffling sobs. She could be choking.
Whatever anger or hurt he had felt before melted away from him, disappearing into the floorboards as if it had never been there at all. The only thing that existed for him now was deep-seated concern for whatever the hell was going on with her.
“Ge— Julia?” The sound of his voice, seemingly so loud in the small room, surprised him almost as much as it was likely surprising her. “Julia?”
No response.
He knocked on the door lightly. “Can I come in? Are you okay?” A pause, then: “It’s Ethan.”
Still nothing.
Testing the doorknob, he realized it wasn’t locked, and he opened it with as much care as he could muster in his haste. Peering in, unsure of what he would find, he spotted her immediately.
She was sitting on the tiles, knees up, her fingers curled slightly around them in a frozen half grasp.
Her face was stark and pale, though redness rose high on her cheekbones.
Her jaw was tight, teeth gritted as she heaved out short, rapid breaths.
Ethan could see her whole body trembling even as she pressed her back against the wooden vanity.
She wasn’t looking at him, and possibly hadn’t even seen him at all or realized he was there as she rode out…
whatever it was that was happening to her.
He panicked for a moment—Was it a seizure? Or some other medical condition she had that he wasn’t aware of?—and he dropped to the floor to grab her, wanting to help in some way but not knowing how.
She flinched when his hands made contact, and her eyes shot to his, her expression so fearful, he felt a painful jab in his heart.
She remained stiff and still, aside from the slight tremors through her body.
The only indication that she understood that he was there with her was the welling of tears in her indigo-blue eyes.
“Hey.” He rubbed a hand up and down her back in a weak attempt to soothe her.
“Hey, it’s okay.” His gaze ran over her, still looking for signs of a physical injury.
He could hear her teeth chattering slightly, and he looked back up at her face just as she placed her head down, resting her forehead on her knees and shaking it back and forth slightly.
Since she didn’t seem to have come to any physical harm, and he knew she had no history of epilepsy or any other medical issues, the logical conclusion to draw was that she must be having some sort of panic attack.
Admittedly, he didn’t have much experience with those—aside from his own brief moments of crippling anxiety that cropped up occasionally—but it made sense by his own deduction.
Not knowing how to help, at least not properly, he chose to just sit there instead and quietly continue to rub his hand up and down with one hand while anchoring his other hand to hers.
He murmured things that he hoped would be helpful—“You can get through this” and “It’s going to be okay”—while taking in deep inhales and exhales that he hoped would encourage her to mimic him.
Slowly, over an indeterminate amount of time, he could feel her begin to wilt, the tremors subsiding and her body growing lax.
She seemed to sag, releasing the tension that she’d been carrying that whole time.
She leaned against him heavily, and he moved his hand from her back to around her body, drawing her even closer.
Turning, he pressed his lips to her head, unable to help himself, and held her tighter still.
“Sorry,” she croaked finally, her voice shaky and unused. “That”—she paused as though parsing her words—“happens sometimes,” she finished.
His heart clenched again at the thought of that happening, ever, but especially when she was alone with no one to help her through it.
“Is it…?” A panic attack? He didn’t know if he should voice the words. Something about it felt taboo, like he’d be crossing a line if she knew he could identify it.
“I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “It’s something.” He could feel her shrug, still nestled in his embrace.
“Have you spoken to anyone about it?” I don’t want this to happen to you.