Page 21 of The Girlfriend Game
I’ve fucked this whole thing up.
“Yeah, her name is Kendall. She’s my therapist and this douche had just spilled his coffee on her and was being an asshole. So, I was just calling him out on his rudeness, but I guess I want a little too far.”
There’s a bit of silence and the heave of a sigh from the other end of the line. “Yeah, well, it’s nothing you can’t get yourself out of. Just keep working with your therapist and talk to PR. You’ve got that camp thing coming up soon, right? That should help your image.”
Oh great. I completely forgot about the basketball camp I’m scheduled to volunteer for next week in Atlanta. That is, if they still want me, considering I appear to have an anger management problem.
“Yeah, maybe,” I concede.
“Well, anyway, bro. I’m here for you, man.”
I snort. “Thanks, I appreciate it. But aren’t you back home in Germany for the summer?”
“I meant it in a theoretical way. Dude, you’re so literal. I better go and let you take care of things. Again, I’m sorry I had to break the news to you.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. You did me a solid. I’ll talk to you later, man.”
I end the call and hang my head in my hands in desperation, the weight of my anxiety squeezing my chest like a vise. I feel the tightening in my muscles, pulling on my skin like a rubber band ready to snap. I try to take deep cleansing breaths to find my center like Kendall taught me, but instead it comes out in choppy and uncontrolled bursts. I clutch at my heart, the excruciating pain ripping through my chest.
Shit, maybe I’m having a heart attack?
I think back at what Kendall told me about anxiety and panic attacks. My anxiety is a state of mental distress caused by fear…fear of something unwanted. To calm myself, I must stay present, remain aware of my surroundings, and redirect my thoughts to something positive. Change my mindset and perspective.
Easier said than done.
I grab my notepad from the nightstand and jot down in my journal, listing out the things I can’t control and then all the positives.
It takes me ten minutes, but the passage of time and the redirection of my energy has calmed my breathing and slowed my heartrate back to normal range.
Just as I do, my phone blows up, starting with a message from Glen Roberts in PR.
PR Prick: CALL ME IMMEDIATELY.
So much for my calm state of mind. Looks like the shit has just hit the fan.
Again.
