Page 16 of After the Storm

I knew his friend showing up at Roman’s shop wasn’t a coincidence. I just thought—maybe? I don’t know. I hoped it was just the same nonsense everyone has to deal with when you have a bad breakup in a small town.

As I make it to the bottom of the stairs, the thought that I don’t know the last time I was really, truly safe slams into me. It’s suffocating.I’msuffocating. I can’t fucking breathe. I’m trying to force air into my lungs, but I can’t even tell if it’s working because I’mreally fuckingpanicking.

I walk into the dark kitchen and lean over the sink, trying to breathe. I run cold water over my wrists and splash a little over my face, but the panic buzzing through me doesn’t budge. I know what I need right now are steady, even breaths, but I’m left dragging in staggered, frantic ones.

“Woah, hey—what’s the matter?” A familiar voice wraps me in a comforting hug.

I turn around. There, in the dim kitchen light, is Roman’s tall and broad silhouette. For a brief moment, it feels just like those nights from high school. Except in high school, the things keeping me awake were minuscule. Now I can’t pull air into my own lungs because someone has been watching me for days, maybe even weeks. I don’t respond to him, mostly because I can’t as I fight for breath, but he makes his way over to stand in front of me.

“Breathe with me,” he instructs softly, our eyes locking together.

I nod frantically.

“In deep through your nose…” He takes a deep inhale with me. “Hold it…” He guides me through every second.

I follow his lead, but I can’t hold the breath as long as he does.

“Slowly out through your mouth. Like a silent whistle.”

I blow out the air I’m holding, but the panic remains. All I can do is shake my head.This isn’t working. Why isn’t this working?

“It didn’t help!” I snap, throwing my face in my hands.

He pulls my hands from my face, making me look him in the eye. “Again. Give me five more.”

So I do. I give him five more deep breaths. He counts them out loud for me. I’m still annoyed and panicked after the second one, but by the fourth, I feel like I can breathe again. By the fifth and final breath, I feel like I can talk.

“Thank you,” I mutter, meekly.

“No problem. What are friends for, right?”

The smile he gives me, a perfect mix between cheeky and sincere, makes my heart flutter. There’s something really attractive about the way he talked me through my panic attack while staying calm; the effortless way he became the rock I needed to elevate above the noise in my own head.

“What’s your favorite animal?” he asks.

I know he’s trying to distract me, just like always, but I kind of like it. It also doesn’t hurt that I could really use some distracting right now.

“Land or sea?”

He pauses for a second. “Both.”

“Land, red panda. Sea, whale shark. You?”

“Hmm. Land, bear. Sea, stingray,” he replies, shrugging.

“Bear? Ugh, basic.” I roll my eyes jokingly.

“Favorite friend?” he continues, winking at me. I shake my head.

“Ohhh, no. I don’t pick favorites.” I throw my hands up in defense.

“Of course not.” He shakes his head at me, his eyes glimmering with mirth. “Favo?—”

I cut him off. “How come it’s never my turn to ask, hm?”

He throws his hands up in the same defensive position I did, perfectly mirroring me. “Apologies, Ms. Hart. Please, go right ahead.” He bows slightly, making me giggle.

“Thank you, Mr. Dawkins.” I nod my head, mimicking him. “What’s your favorite color?” I ask. He smiles at me, a small, genuine one this time. I feel more myself here in this dark kitchen, asking my best friend’s brother about his favorite color, than I did in a room with my oldest and closest friends. The thought is nauseating. At the same time, I wish this bubble Roman’s made for us could last all night.

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