Page 71 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
He dips his head in acknowledgment and opens the door. He peeks back over his shoulder before he shuts it, and I see what he’s thinking clearly written in his blue eyes—it should be him here, not Jameson.
CHAPTER 21
SPENCER
EIGHT YEARS AGO
Ifeel like I’m suffocating all the time. Like no matter how hard I breathe, I’m not getting enough oxygen in my lungs. My vision blurs on the edges and the next thing I know, I’m shoving out of my desk and sprinting from the room. The teacher calls after me, something about how I can’t leave and I don’t have a pass, but I don’t stop. I keep going straight out the door until I make it to the center quad in the sunshine.
Bracing my hands on my knees, I try to breathe but I just fucking can’t. My body is working, taking in the air, but I still feel light-headed.
T.J. is gone.
His desk is empty.
Every day it’s a reminder that there’s a gaping hole in my life where my best friend was.
I stumble further, using the wall for support until I make it to the water fountain. With greedy gulps, I take in as much liquid as I can until it’s dribbling down my chin and onto my shirt.
“Are you okay?”
My shoulders tense in recognition at the voice.
I turn slowly and take in Harlow standing beside me with a worried frown. Her English textbook is clasped to her chest.
I don’t answer, just stare, and she cocks her head to the side.
“I think you’re having a panic attack. Come here.” She grabs my wrist and tugs me over to one of the benches that dot the center lawn.
I do as I’m told, mostly because I’m too weak to fight her.
She sets her book and backpack down beside her and takes my hand, holding it palm up. She traces her fingers gently over the lines in my hand. “Breathe,” she says. “Focus on my finger.”
I do as she says and feel my breaths slow.
She finishes tracing the one hand and grabs my other, giving it the same treatment.
She goes back and forth between my hands for a few minutes before she sits back and looks me over. “Better?”
“Yeah. A lot better.”
“Have you had a panic attack before?” she asks.
I nod. “It’s happened a lot since T.J. died.”
It’s only been two weeks. It’s still so fresh, but I feel like it’ll still feel that way a year from now, five years now, a decade from now—what do you mean I can’t just text my best friend? What do you mean he’s not going to graduate with me?
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, not quite meeting my eyes. “I really am. He seemed like a nice guy.”
“He was.” My throat feels constricted. “The best.”
Harlow presses her lips into a thin line. “If you’re feeling better, I better get going. My free period is almost over.”
“Oh.”
Sympathy rounds her features as she gathers her stuff up. “Try to take care of yourself. Okay? Think you can do that for me?”
I nod in response, words failing me.
