by Amanda Dick
“Breathe,” he begged, his voice cracking under the strain.
I wanted to be sick. I’d never seen anyone go through anything like that before.
Finally, she took a ragged, rasping breath, the effort of which drew her upright before almost doubling her over again.
“Good, that’s good,” Leo soothed, easing her upright again. “Now do it again.”
She stared at him, but I wasn’t sure she could see him. I wasn’t sure she could see anything. I knelt beside them both, my entire body taut with tension.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t call 911?”
I’d never felt so utterly useless in my life.
“It’s a panic attack,” he said, glancing over at me. “She’ll be fine.”
Panic attack? I thought panic attacks were a figment of someone’s imagination, but there was nothing imaginery about this. It was real, physical and happening right in front of me.
“Breathe, Sass,” he said, turning his attention back to her. “Breathe in, then out. Come on, try again.”
She did, and this time she grabbed her chest with her hand, squeezing tight as if manually forcing her lungs to take in air. She was still shaking violently, but she continued to breathe in and out, as Leo coached her through it. It felt like it took forever, but in reality it was just a few minutes. A few of the longest, most agonising minutes of my life.
I couldn’t help but draw comparisons to the night of the car accident, six years ago. That sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach was the same, as was the sense of helplessness and uncertainty.
Slowly, the colour came back into her lips, although she remained fragile. She breathed shallowly, like she was afraid to force it.
“You’re okay,” Leo said firmly, leaning forward to pull her into his arms. “You’re fine.”
Slowly, her eyes found mine. They were all I could see above Leo’s shoulder, and they filled with tears before she closed them. It felt like my heart was being savagely carved from my chest with a rusty spoon.
I’d never seen anyone have a panic attack before. It was terrifying. Questions ricocheted around inside my head.
How often does she have them?
Why do they happen?
What made this one happen?
Who the hell is Jason?
“Come on,” Leo said, withdrawing from her. “Just sit here for a while and I’ll go lock up, okay? Callum’s here. You’ll keep an eye on her?”
He looked over at me and I nodded. As if I could take my eyes off her now. He stood up and made his way around the bar again, leaving the two of us alone.
“How do you feel?” I asked tentatively. “Are you okay?”
She stared down at her lap. She looked like a rag doll, and a worn out one at that. She was still shaking, but not as violently as before.
I scooted closer to her, although I was afraid to touch her. She still looked like she might break and I didn’t want to be the one responsible for that.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I admitted, willing her to look up.
I thought she might’ve been cold, or maybe she was in shock. I sure as hell was. I shrugged out of my jacket and carefully draped it around her shoulders.
She wouldn’t look at me. My patience was wearing thin. I wasn’t like Leo. I didn’t know what to do or how to handle a situation like that. I needed to know she was going to be okay, and I needed to know now.
I reached over and tilted her chin up carefully. Slowly, her eyes followed until she was looking straight at me. I saw the fear in them, as well as the anxiety. What shone out above all else was the pain, though. I had no idea what was hurting her that much, but I figured it had something to do with what the reporter had said. It was the only logical explanation.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears that quickly overflowed, running down her cheeks.
I couldn’t have that. Not on my watch.
I pulled her close to me, rationalising that she needed the comfort as much as I did.
“Don’t be,” I murmured, smoothing her hair down as her head settled stiffly into my shoulder.
She was heavy. Her body, her burden, her pain. All of it.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“You have to choose whether to love yourself or not.”
– James Taylor
Sass
I was drowning in quicksand. Every movement was an effort. I had no strength to question why Callum insisted on accompanying us home. I heard him talking to Leo out the back while I waited at the bar, shivering in Callum’s jacket. I couldn’t seem to stop myself from trembling. I kept thinking about what the reporter said.
Do you miss playing? Do you keep in contact with Jason’s family? Have you forgiven him for what happened?
I pulled Callum’s jacket closer around me. It smelt of him, that comfortable, familiar smell that worked its way under my skin and into my bones. I closed my eyes and tried to forget tonight had ever happened. I tried to forget that Callum had come behind the bar and kissed me, right there in plain sight, because he couldn’t wait to get me alone. I tried to forget that the reporter had dredged up memories I’d been fighting to forget for over a year. And I tried to forget that I’d had a panic attack in front of Callum, the one person who cared enough to want to get to know the real me, broken parts and all. Just when I was trying to convince him – and myself – that I was strong and capable and could handle whatever was happening between us.
Distant voices filtered through to the bar area. Callum and Leo. I heard one of them mention the reporter’s name and my skin crawled. God, I hoped Leo wasn’t telling Callum about Jason. He wouldn’t, would he? No. I trusted him.
A few minutes later, Callum reappeared.
“All locked up,” he said, scratching his chin distractedly. “Leo’s gonna meet us out back, at the car.”
I stood up, taking a moment to let my knees get used to the idea. My whole body felt like jelly. It’d been a very long time since a panic attack had affected me like that, and all I wanted to do was get home where I was safe. I was paranoid that we were being watched. Reporters can do that, paparazzi too. They suck the sanity right out of you.
Callum stuck to me like glue as we made our way through the bar and out the back door. He hovered as I climbed into the car with Leo, then he followed us home in his car. I wasn’t really sure why. I was too tired to ask.
Leo was quiet on the drive home. A few words making sure I was okay, and that was it. He didn’t say anything about Jason, and he didn’t mention what had just happened either. I was grateful for both.
Gemma and Aria were already in bed when we got home, another thing I was grateful for. I didn’t feel like going over things again. I assumed Callum was just going to see us home then take off, but I was wrong. He came inside, sat down on the couch and accepted the whisky Leo offered him.
“Sass?” Leo asked, handing me a glass.
I shook my head.
“I think you should,” he said gently. “For the shock, if nothing else. It’s been a hell of a night and it’ll help you sleep.”
I didn’t have the strength to argue so I took it, sitting down on the couch beside Callum. I just wanted the night to be over. The sooner I downed the whisky and went to bed, the better. I could feel the questions brewing and the last thing I wanted to do was talk.
I took a sip of the whisky, coughing as it burned a trail down my throat. Callum scooted closer, rubbing my back gently.
“Take it easy,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear.
“I’m gonna go check on Aria and Gemma. Back in a minute,” Leo said, taking a quick swig from his glass before putting it on the coffee table and heading for the hallway.
As soon as he left, Callum’s hand stilled on my back. I could feel it burning through his jacket, like he was branding me with his palm. The frustration built inside me. I wanted to shrug it off, move away, put some physical distance between us, because I thought that’d help me
keep it together. But I couldn’t move. Instead, I stared down at the glass of whisky in my hand, watching the amber liquid swirling in the light. It was probably bullshit, but it had been so long since I’d had anything that strong, I thought I could feel it affecting me already. My head felt heavy, like my body, like my soul.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
No. Not at all. Not ever. Especially not right now, when it was all I could do to keep my eyes open. I’d promised to tell him the truth, so I did.
“No.”
He gave me a second, although it felt like much longer. I hunched over my glass of whisky, holding it tightly while it rested on my thigh. My arm throbbed, a reminder I didn’t need, especially right at that moment. I was already feeling fragile.
“Maybe it’d help if you did.”
I sighed, one of those sighs that feels like your breath is being sucked out of your body, taking every last ounce of strength with it.
“I don’t think it would,” I murmured. “I don’t think anything would help.”
His fingertips, resting on my back until now, began to trace little circles just below my shoulder-blade. It was distracting, just like it was every single time he was near me.
“You’re really tight, just across there,” he said gently. “Your muscles are all bunched up. Does it hurt?”
I was too exhausted to be anything but honest. My whole body ached.
“Yeah. A bit.”
His fingertips began to search deeper, and it felt so good, a little moan escaped before I could stop it.
“Turn around,” he said, pushing me gently with his hand.
I did, although I had no idea what he had in mind. I was about to ask him when he began massaging my shoulders, with both hands this time. Slowly, I could feel the tension rising from deep inside my body, working its way to the surface. I closed my eyes.
“Is that okay?” he asked, stopping for a moment. “I’m not hurting you?”
“No. It’s good.”
His fingers resumed their kneading and prodding, a bit more firmly this time.
“I used to do this for Ally,” he said. “She used to get a lot of shoulder pain after her accident. Massage helped.”
My heart squeezed. His kindness, his loyalty, his friendship. It was something special. So was he. I remembered what Ally had told Aria at the barbeque, about her accident.
“What happened to her?” I asked, before I could stop myself. I cringed, adding “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
I could feel him weighing up the question.
“No, its okay,” he said. “I don’t think she’d mind.”
The whisky, the massage, the fact that it was just the two of us in the safety of my living room – all of it combined to soothe my ragged soul. Or maybe it was just that I felt safer with Callum than with anyone else.
“It was a car accident. Jack, Ally and I were coming back from a Pearl Jam concert – the same one Gemma and Leo were at. Remember?”
I nodded, visions of my own accident creeping in. I shoved them aside and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
“This guy ploughed into us, head-first, and forced us off the road. The car flipped upside down, and rammed into a tree.”
I shuddered. Impact-related injuries. I knew all about those. My arm tingled as if it remembered, too.
“I was knocked out, and so was she. Luckily Jack wasn’t, though. He woke me up and he pulled her out of the car.”
His hands stopped working, just for a second, then they resumed.
“The impact damaged her spinal cord at the T-12 vertebrae, which means she can’t feel anything below her waist. She had surgery just after the accident, and they inserted metal rods in her back, for stability. She gets pain in her back from the rods, and her shoulders and upper back get tight from using her crutches and her chair. It puts a lot of strain on your upper body, when it suddenly has to take on all the work your lower body used to do. Our bodies just aren’t designed to work like that.”
I wiggled my toes inside my boots, suddenly grateful for being able to do so. I’d been suffering with tightness across my shoulders for a while. My doctor said it was because the prosthesis weighed more than my missing hand, and due to the muscle damage I was compensating by over-using my right hand. He was right. Our bodies aren’t designed to work like that.
“I didn’t realise,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t know she couldn’t feel anything below her waist. I saw her using crutches when she was at the bar on opening night. I guess I just thought… I don’t know.”
His fingers continued to work their magic.
“She wears braces on her legs to keep them straight, and she directs her legs with her hips and the muscles in her back that she can still control. It took a while to get the hang of it, but she splits her time between wheelchair and crutches, which helps with a lot of things, health-wise.”
Once again, a sense of helplessness overcame me.
“Anyway,” Callum continued. “Massage helped loosen up her shoulders, and sometimes it helped loosen up the muscles around the point of injury too. They knot together, and because she can’t stretch out properly, they sometimes freeze like that. She’s pretty good, though – she knows when she’s reached her limit and she needs help, and she’s not afraid to ask for it.”
That seemed very pointed. I bristled.
“Is that your way of saying that I don’t?”
His hands paused again, and he rested them on my shoulders, squeezing gently.
“That’s not what I’m saying at all. I hardly know you, but from what I’ve seen you manage pretty well. Besides, you and Ally have completely different injuries, therefore completely different needs.”
“You sound like a doctor.”
It wasn’t a compliment.
“Maybe I do,” he said. “Because I spent four years going through all this with her – rehab, specialist assessments, hospital visits, and everything in between. I saw her struggles first-hand. I was there every time she fell, and I was there every time she got back up and tried again. I watched her do things that the doctors had told her were impossible. I was there. Nothing’s impossible if you have the guts to try and the patience to stick with it.”
I wanted to cry. If he saw Ally do all of that, then what the hell must he think of me?
Four years. I couldn’t even begin to imagine where I would be in four years. It had been just over a year since my accident, and I was still struggling. Tonight was proof of that.
“I don’t,” I whispered.
“What?”
I swallowed back the tears that were blocking my airway.
“I don’t have the guts. I’m not that strong.”
His arms crossed over my stomach and he leaned into me, his chin resting on my shoulder. He didn’t have to say anything. That one simple gesture said it all. He didn’t try to placate me or make me talk about it, he just held me.
I fought the urge to cry, even though it took every single ounce of self-control I had. My instincts screamed at me to get up and get out, but he held me so tenderly, I couldn’t.
I was so confused. Every time he came near me, it was more pronounced. What was it about him that had me simultaneously wanting to run from him and to him?
Chapter Thirty-Three
“If my eyes could show my soul, everyone
would cry when they saw me smile.”
― Kurt Cobain
Callum
I didn’t tell her that Jack had spent four years trying to outrun the guilt after the accident. I didn’t tell her that when he finally came home, it was for Tom’s funeral. I didn’t tell her that, when he finally did show up, he was the last person I thought Ally needed. I didn’t tell her that despite everything that had happened in that four years, they found each other again, and that opening up about what scared them most was probably the hardest thing either of them had ever had to do.
I didn’t tell her any of that, b
ecause it didn’t really matter.
What mattered was that obstacles could be overcome. That was my point. That, and the fact that I wasn’t scared to get involved. Nothing she told me would change the way I felt about her. I wanted her to know that she could tell me anything. I wanted her to know that I could handle it. I wanted her to trust me.
I tried to mentally suffuse all of this information into her when I held her. I could feel her body still trembling, but it was different. It was as if she was trying to hold everything in, not block everything out.
“What happened to your hand?”
Her chest rose and fell beneath my arms as she took a ragged breath.
“Google it,” she murmured finally. “It’s all there online, for anyone to read.”
She pulled away from me, setting her whisky glass down on the coffee table and walking into the kitchen.
I was sitting there, waiting, wondering what to do next, when Leo came back.
“Gemma’s still awake,” he said, picking up his glass and quickly draining the contents. “I told her about what happened. She wants to talk to Sass, but I told her it’s probably best to leave it till tomorrow.”
He looked around, frowning.
“Where is she?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
God, I hope so.
“Okay,” he said slowly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to step in. “Well, I’m gonna hit the sack then.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, for tonight.”
“No need to thank me.”
He glanced into the kitchen, then back at me.
“Keep an eye on her, okay?”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
“Night.”
“Yeah, g’night.”
He waited a second longer, then he left, and I could hear his footsteps echoing down the hall. The bedroom door opened, then closed, and the house lapsed into silence.
