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it was 9pm on a dark, rainy Thursday night, whitaker had gotten off the day shift at 7:15.
he got home at around 8, he had spent the hour since getting home tidying up and taking a well deserved shower.
he had just gotten out of the shower, he threw on a slightly baggy old shirt and some cuffed gray sweatpants.
the shirt had a small hole near the hem, it was light gray, so old he could barely make out the design on it.
he had always assumed it was from one of the many church clubs his mom had forced him to go to.
his hair was wet, not dripping wet, but too wet to be considered damp.
he was brushing his teeth in the bathroom, his plan was to make some avocado toast and go to sleep in trinitys guest room, the one she had reluctantly yet graciously offered to let him stay in.
he scrubbed his teeth with a old blue toothbrush and some random mint flavored toothpaste he had taken from the hospital months ago.
he gurgled and spit out some water from the tap, it was then that he suddenly became hyper aware of his surroundings.
the sound of the fan in the other room, the wind from outside, the shadows in the window.
he feels a sudden wave of fear, he try’s to calm down, to reassure himself, “ nothings happening, i’m safe. “ but he can’t shake this feeling.
he walks out of the bathroom and steps onto the hard floorboards right outside the bathroom, in the hallway.
he walks to the guest bedroom he’s staying in, he is still feeling terrified.
once he enters the room he shuts the door behind him.
his breathing is heavy and fast, and his head is suddenly pounding.
he stands against the door, with his eyes closed, trying to calm down.
suddenly, he hears a voice.
“ whitaker, did you take my headphones?? i can’t find them anywhere “ trinity says.
his eyes dart open, “ oh, no sorry “ he manages to say.
she turns and sees whitaker, standing against the door, breathing so heavy you would think he’s just run a marathon.
“ whitaker? “ she says, confused.
he stays silent, his breathing should’ve gone back to normal by now, but it only becomes harder to breathe.
“ dude what wrong with you “ she asks
he doesn’t respond.
she walks towards his, as she gets closer she can now hear his breathing, he sound terrified.
“ whitaker, seriously what is wrong? “ she says, with concern laced in her voice.
he opens his mouth to say something, but doesn’t manage to get anything out.
“ did you run in here or something?? “
he nods no.
she asks another question, but all he can hear is his head pounding.
“ no “
“ no “
“ no “
“ fuck. “
he says in a panic, or thinks, he can’t quite tell at this point.
“ this can’t be happening “ he thinks to himself
that’s when he realized.
he is having a panic attack.
a panic attack.
he hasn’t had one in months, they used to be pretty bad, but he got on anxiety medication to help prevent them.
it’s been working pretty well, until now.
he try’s to remember what he did last time, how to stop this, but he can barely hear his own thoughts.
he stumbles to the ground.
now sitting near the door, against the wall with his eyes closed.
suddenly, he feels a hand on his shoulder, his eyes dart open, again.
trinity says something, but he still can’t focus on her words.
she kneels down and says it again closer to him.
“ whitaker, what is happening, talk to me “
he swallows harshly, trying to compose himself.
he’s always hated being vulnerable in front of other people.
especially a girl he’s only known for a few months.
this is his worst nightmare
his worst fucking nightmare.
“ is this, a panic attack? “ she says, with concern in her voice, something not very common for her.
he nods.
“ do you.. get them a lot? “ she asks
he reluctantly nods.
“ oh, okay well um what do i do? what do you normally do “
he suddenly remembers, the rubber band, a year or so ago he heard online that pain can snap someone out of a panic attack, so he flicks it.
nothing happens.
again
nothing.
he’s run out of ideas, he was so unprepared he though he was done with this.
the meds were working so well, why is this happening.
he remembers, this morning he was in such a rush to get to work he had forgotten to take them.
“ meds “ he says quietly
“ meds, what meds? “
“ my bag “
she rummages through his bag and finds a pill bottle
trazodone, 150 mg.
“ take once a day with water “
she puts it in his hand
he turns the bottle around, “ no, wrong one “
she looks again and finds another bottle.
xanax.
she hands it to him
he unscrews it weakly and swallows one.
“ water “ he mumbles
she grabs a old plastic half filled water bottle from the old table text to his bed.
she hands it to him.
he takes a sip and swallows.
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they’re now sitting next to each other in front of the door.
“ so “ she says
he fidgets with the rubber band that remains on his wrist
“ you have panic attacks “ she says, as more of a statement then a question.
“ yea, “ he replies.
“ i must’ve forgotten to take my meds today “
“ sorry “ he says, feeling embarrassed.
“ i’m sorry i didn’t notice “ she states
“ it’s okay, its not a big deal “
“ no, it is a big deal “
“ you have been living at my house for months, we work together, and i never noticed. “
“ well i haven’t had them for a while- “
she cuts him off
“ it’s not even that, the depression meds, i am so sorry whitaker, that must be really difficult. “
“ you can talk to me, you know? “
he smiles.
“ thanks “
“ you had me scared there for a second you know “
she nudges him playfully
they talk about small things, like their days and the most recent annoying thing robby said.
they dozed off together while rain poured down on the windows.
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