lumy12

Page One Hundred Eighty-Three

Of course it's a panic attack. Feeling like you're gonna die when you're in no danger? ...what the fuck else would it be? Except it's worse! You've felt physical pain during these horrible affairs before, but never this bad. "I'm gonna die," you tell Joel. "My lungs -- are on fire -- I know it -- I can feel it -- there's like... --flames in there -- fuck! Joel -- what do I -- I can't breathe--"

"Ellie -- Ellie-- it's okay." Joel has more patience for this shit than you do. "Look at me. You can breathe. You're doin' it. Deep breaths... I know it hurts, but it'll help make it stop faster. Breathe in..."

You do look at him, although the only light source in the room is the flashlight beam on the wall, so you can't see him very well. It doesn't matter; just knowing he's with you does seem to help. You try and fail at the deep breathing thing, and continue to spew words at him. "I'm burning -- from the inside out -- it's backwards -- I can't breathe cuz -- cuz I'm dying -- this is it! It's real this time-- I can tell--"

"No it ain't," Joel tells you calmly. "You're all right. Deep breaths--"

"I can't! I fucking can't--"

"Okay, okay... quit talkin', at least? I know that's real hard for you..." He pauses, waiting for you to snicker or something, maybe, but you're too busy fucking dying to bother reacting to his teasing. "You ain't dyin'. You know how I know? 'Cause if you were, I sure as hell wouldn't be this calm. It would... upset me. A 'lil bit. Do I seem upset to you?"

"No..."

"There, see? You ain't dyin'. Your brain just likes to play tricks on you. Plus all that nasty smoke you took in did a number on your system. You're fine. You're safe. You're okay. I promise."

You throw your arms around his neck, which probably takes him by surprise because usually the most physical contact you'll tolerate during a panic attack is a hand on your shoulder. "Maybe-- maybe you just don't know -- that I'm dying," you gaspily point out.

He hugs you back, more tentatively or loosely than normal. "I would know," he says confidently.

"You don't -- know everything--"

"Oh yes I do. I know a lot more than you give me credit for. I am one smart motherfucker."

...Oh my God! If you could laugh right now, you would! "You just -- called yourself -- a motherfucker--"

"Whoops -- that's your word. I'm sorry. I just borrowed it -- you can have it back." He holds you a little tighter... starts rocking you, slowly... much slower than your frenzied gasps. "It's okay, baby girl. You just gotta ride this one out. Same as all the others. You can do it."

You think it's the rocking motion that helps you the most, in the end. Why should that help? If it's supposed to remind me of my mother rocking me as a baby... I don't think she ever did? Or... maybe the rocking is soothing, in and of itself... Joel stops after a bit, when you're breathing better... but before the panic is done with you. "Can you keep doing that?" you ask him.

"Sure. ...you think it's helpin'?"

"Totally." You know it makes Joel feel good to be able to do something for you (he's told you before that these attacks make him feel helpless, and you know that's a wretched feeling... probably even more so for a guy like Joel)... and it makes you feel good to make him feel good, and... hey, I'm NOT dying. This one really wasn't any different... except for the chest pain, which is unrelated!

When you pull away from him, you're glad that the poor lighting means he can't see you very well -- these fucking things are super embarrassing, afterward. "Um, thanks. I'm okay now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

He chuckles. "I told you, you don't--"

"--have to apologize. I know, but... they're sort of humiliating. They make me--"

"--feel stupid. But you can't help it... you can't control it. It ain't your fault."

You think it's incredibly sweet that Joel actually researched panic attacks. As in, looked shit up in books -- even talked to someone in town with a background in psychiatry (you weren't thrilled with that, at first, and he didn't admit it outright... but you were nevertheless touched by his concern). He says you have something called PTSD, and that lots of people have it -- he thinks the majority do, in fact. He says he has it too, but you think that's bullshit -- that he's just trying to make you feel better. "Well, once again, I didn't die," you tell him, as if it's news. "You were right... you smart motherfucker."

"I'm always right," he says -- and you don't think he's exaggerating the smugness in his tone by much.

"You shouldn't make me laugh. It hurts!"

"Does it hurt real bad? Breathin'?"

"Kinda, yeah. Like, I think the cracked ribs were better than this."

"We need to get you to the hospital. Let's just give the horses a 'lil more rest, then get goin' again."

"What? In the middle of the night? Not even the middle-- the night just started!"

"Then we can get there around dawn. Or some time early in the mornin'."

"No -- I'm tired, you're tired --"

"You can sleep on the horse. I'll hold onto you so you don't fall off."

"I repeat-- you're tired..."

"So I'll sleep after we get there."

"No. First of all, I don't think you'd be able to, in a strange place surrounded by strange people you don't trust. Shut up, I know they're friendlies-- " --you halt his protest before it even gets out of his mouth-- "--that doesn't mean you trust them."

He snorts. "You know me too well."

"Second of all -- no offense, but you're old. You suffer too much when you don't get enough sleep. And don't deny it, I've seen you every day for the past two years. I've seen you after... like, every level of sleep there is -- every amount you can get. You have to at least take a nap. I insist."

"Well, if you insist. What about you? Are you even gonna be able to sleep... bein' in pain?"

"I'm tired enough, so yeah, I think so." You have no idea, actually. You're still way too mindful of every painful breath, which does not bode well...

"Wish we had a humidifier. That would help, I think. Get some moisture in there."

"That's like... a machine that adds water to the air, right? Is that something we have at home?"

"Prob'ly. I'll dig one up somewhere. Maybe at the hospital, just in case there ain't some back home that work."

"You'll steal one of theirs?"

"...I'll borrow it."

"...Without asking."

"I'll ask first. If they say no, then... I borrow it anyhow, send it back when you don' need it."

"Don't you think they can fix me there? Maybe I won't need it at home."

"I don' know what they'll do... maybe you're right. We'll see how it goes. If you really can't sleep... you wake me up an' we'll get goin' early, all right?"

"I'm not gonna wake you up. You need your rest!"

"I'd rather you wake me up. Tell you what... come here." He takes your hand and walks you over to the window. "See where the moon's at? If you're just layin' there, not sleepin' still by the time the moon gets to... about right there..." He points to a random spot in the sky. "Then you wake me up. Okay?"

"Okay." You can agree, but that doesn't mean you'll actually do it. You could let Joel sleep and pretend later that you slept at least a little bit... how would he know?

"I'm gonna sleep in here with you tonight," he declares.

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to. If you have another panic attack or somethin', I'll wake up."

"...But there's only this one bed. And it's too small for two people."

"I'll sleep on the floor."

"No, really, Joel, you--"

"I sleep just fine on the floor. Always have. ...Unless you really don't want me to--"

"No! I'd... like that. That's really nice of you."

"Nah -- I'll sleep better havin' you close."

"Fine, it's not nice at all," you tease him.

"You think you can sleep now?"

"Yeah... yeah, I'm good. Thanks, Joel."

You're even more exhausted now that you've had a panic attack... but you're very glad that's all it was. That there's not something seriously wrong with you. However, it's going to be a long night if you can't stop thinking about your breathing... about the little jabs of pain accompanying each breath. You're going to have to find a way to tune that shit out. Maybe Joel's rhythmic snoring will help... yeah, maybe it will drown it out... and while we're DROWNING, throw some water on that fucking fire in my lungs!

THE END

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