I reach three hundred and feel a warm hand on my back. I reach three hundred and fifty when I hear September’s voice. I reach four hundred when Cline picks me up and carries me back to the tent.
I lose count when Elliot wraps his body around mine in the sleeping bag and whispers that he’s sorry while pushing my sweaty hair from my forehead.
His touch is what allows that first real burst of air into my lungs, and I pull it in with such force I almost choke on it, wheezing and gasping as I inhale and cry through the exhale. But he holds me through it until the pain in my chest begins to loosen. Until the tightness in my throat lessens, and I can swallow and speak. Until the vice around my head unclenches and the fuzzy gray patterns behind my eyelids give way to actual shapes again.
The campsite is quiet by the time my mind and body go into rest, and I hold Elliot’s hand to my chest as I fall into a dreamless sleep.
Their voices are hushed, but I can hear them as they discuss me by the small fire they started after I fell asleep. Sometime in the night, they got up to talk, leaving me by myself, probably thinking the episode would have knocked me out. But I didn’t take my nightly pills, so the insomnia caused by the morning ones has caused me to wake up suddenly, very alert.
“She had a really big day. The jump and everything.” September’s voice is quiet.
“Don’t forget riding Elliot’s dick earlier.” Cline’s voice is not quiet at all.
“I’m not going to tell you again that we didn’t have sex. We didn’t. Not that it should matter to you or that it’s any of your business, but we didn’t. And even if we did, that wouldn’t be part of this equation in any way.” My heart skips at the sound of Elliot’s voice and the thought that he feels like being with me might have had something to do with this.
“It could be any number of things or it could be nothing at all. These things aren’t by the book. Panic attacks, anxiety attacks—they happen for a lot of reasons, and they happen in a lot of ways. But if you guys are going to be traveling with her for the next week or so, you’re going to have to know how to handle it if she has another one,” September outlines for them.
“That’s what I was trying to look up when she saw my laptop. That’s why she freaked out.” Elliot’s explanation is making my heart race again.
“You should come with us. Just in case.” Cline is asking September to stay for his own reasoning but using me as justification. I should be pissed, but I’m not. I like her. And I like him when he’s with her.
“I’ll think about it. You only have a couple more stops before you go back to Tennessee, right? If that’s the case, I can put off going back home for a little while longer.”
The chatter begins to die down, and I hear them say goodnight. The zipper opens, and Elliot steps back inside as quietly as he possibly can. He slips back into the makeshift bed with me and pulls my back to his chest, securing me to him with his arm over my stomach.
I listen to him sleep for the next six hours until the sun comes up and I have an excuse to get up and go take a shower. My reflection mocks me with puffy eyes and tangled hair. This nagging voice in my head that sounds irritatingly a lot like Miranda expresses to me me that I’m not good enough anyway, and I should just let Elliot go. I’m tainted and wrong and broken, and he can’t fix me. This trip is a waste. I’m hopeless.
And for the first time in a very long time, I nod in the mirror and think that maybe I am lost cause. Maybe I finally agree.
I just won’t let any of them know yet.
I’ve had my shower, taken my pills, and had a cup of coffee. All of those earlier thoughts are scattered, and I am focused on cooking our last breakfast at the campsite. Bacon and eggs on Elliot’s dad’s old skillet, plus biscuits from a bag. I’m not a gourmet cook, but I can work with what I’ve got.
I’m slicing some apples when Cline emerges from September’s tent.
“Whoa, you want some help with that?” He asks, hands raised and eyebrows drawn in concern.
I frown. “Are you afraid of me having a knife? Really, Cline? It was a panic attack. I should shank you just for being a dickhead.”
He nods and shrugs a shoulder. “So, you’re okay, then. Good to see you’re back to normal, Byrdie.”
I don’t even flinch at his use of my old nickname. I just hand him a cup of coffee and point to the bacon. “Save some for Elliot. That man loves his bacon.”
“Since when is Elliot a man?” Cline asks as he shoves a piece of pork in his mouth.
“Since he made me come in under a minute.”
“Damnit, Audrey, I’m trying to eat!” Cline slaps the picnic table and shoots me a disgusted look.
“What’s going on?” Elliot steps out of the tent, his dark hair standing up in all directions, his eyes still half closed with sleep.
“I was telling Cline about your super powers, and he’s all jealous and stuff.”
“Shut up, woman!” Cline makes a move like he’s going to get up.