Chapter 9: Cassidy

##Chapter 9: Cassidy

Book One: Stay

"Okay, Cassidy, you can go back now. Dr. Thompson is ready to see you." The receptionist smiles as she shuffles around a few papers on her perfectly tidy desk.

I give her a brief smile in return before walking through the door and into the office of the psychologist I've been meeting with. After I'd received my acceptance at Western this summer, I'd realized I would need to continue with my sessions. Dr. Thompson has turned out to be a perfect fit.

Her office is decorated in soothing tans and whites, with splashes of blues and oranges that catch the eye. There's actually a couch, but there are also comfy chairs. Since I'm a creature of habit, I always gravitate to the same chair. I'm sure that says something about my personality. Dr. Thompson usually sits directly across from me with a notebook close at hand in case she wants to jot down a few notes. In the beginning, I found it disconcerting and wanted to take a quick peek to see what she'd written down. Now it seems normal.

All right...I still want to peek at the notebook.

Once we're settled, Dr. Thompson starts off our session just like she always does. There's a measure of comfort in our established routine that calms my frayed nerves.

"Tell me how this week is going for you." She has kind eyes, and they hold mine as if genuinely interested in my answer.

I inhale a deep breath before quietly pushing out the dreaded words. "I had an anxiety attack last Thursday night."

I can tell my response catches her off guard by the way her narrow brows draw together before carefully smoothing out. She knows this is the first episode I've experienced at school. It's actually the first one I've had in months. Another wave of unease crashes over me. I'm terrified of backsliding.

Terrified of tumbling back down into that yawning pit of despair I've only recently crawled out of.

"All right. Tell me exactly what happened, Cassidy." Her words are calm and soothing. In response, my muscles loosen as I sink into the chair.

If there's someone who can help me through this, it's Dr. Thompson.

I blow out a breath and recount everything that occurred Thursday night. I tell her about my interaction with Alex and then Cole.

"Had you been drinking at all? Even a sip?" The question isn't censorious, merely curious. Like me, she's trying to get to the bottom of what triggered the attack.

"Nope, just a diet cola." I haven't had a sip of alcohol in more than nine months. Not since that night.

She gives me a slight smile before jotting down a few notes. "All right."

The anxiety of that night threads its way through my body before crashing over me like a massive wave. As much as I don't want to let it suck me under again, I don't know how to stop it from happening.

"He grabbed your upper arm from behind and spun you toward him," she clarifies.

"Yes." Hearing her describe the incident that way makes me feel as if my throat is closing up and I'm being strangled from the inside out. My eyes widen as my fingers claw at my neck as if that will loosen the pressure.

"Cassidy, I want you to look at me." Her words are firm but comforting. My gaze flies to hers. "You're safe in this office. We're going to work through this together, all right?"

Unable to verbalize a response, I nod.

"I want you to close your eyes and relax into the chair."

When I don't immediately comply, she says, "We're going to engage in some breathing exercises to help calm you."

I jerk my head and settle against the chair before squeezing my eyes shut as the soothing timbre of Dr. Thompson's voice washes over me. Any moment I'll hyperventilate and totally lose it.

"I want you to focus on drawing in slow, deep breaths. Inhale through your nose and then breathe out through your mouth. In and out. Good. You're doing wonderfully."

I concentrate on the sound of her voice. On breathing in before slowly pushing it out. Little by little, my muscles relax. First the tips of my fingers and then my toes. My arms and legs. After a while, everything feels limp as a noodle while she continues to instruct me. When she falls silent, I peel open my eyes, realizing that I no longer feel as if I'm being suffocated.

"Better?" she asks before sitting back and watching me closely.

"Yes, much better." No longer does my body feel strung tight, riddled with anxiety and icy cold panic.

"Good." She asks gently, "Do you feel like you might need a prescription at this point?"

Drawing in a deep breath, I turn the question over in my mind. I don't have anything against taking pills if they're needed, but... "No. It only happened once, and I don't want to start taking anything again."

I've been down that road before and want to handle this on my own.

"I understand your feelings and I respect them, but you need to promise that if you experience another attack, you'll call the office right away. Even though you're reluctant, we may need to revisit the subject again."

"I promise that I will." My hope is that it won't be necessary.

"Good. Why don't you tell me how your classes are going? It's been a little over three weeks since the semester began. Are you overwhelmed by the workload?"

Something within me settles, because academics are the easy part. With the exception of last year, I've always excelled scholastically. Especially in math and science. Steering the conversation away from what caused my panic attack to school feels like safe terrain. There's no racing heartbeat, frantic thoughts, or panicking.

I can handle this.

"My classes are going really well." After the disaster of last fall, it feels good to be doing well.

"And working in the tutoring center hasn't added too much stress?"

"No." My thoughts immediately turn to Cole and the probability that he'll be popping in from time to time. "I really like tutoring. It fits in my schedule and I'm enjoying it more than I thought I would."

"I'm glad to hear that. It sounds like you've got a good handle on your courses and your job. Other than the anxiety attack, everything else seems to be going well." She smiles before jotting down a few more notes. "That has to feel good."

I draw in another deep breath before releasing it. "It does feel good."

Not only am I excelling, I'm enjoying my classes. It's a complete contrast from last year when I felt like I was drowning in my coursework almost from day one. Being at Western feels like a second chance, and this time, I refuse to blow it.

With a glance at the clock, Dr. Thompson wraps up our session. "We have about ten minutes, is there anything else you'd like to discuss before you leave today?"

"The guy who grabbed me..." my voice trails off as awareness skitters through me. Even thinking about Cole has my insides prickling. It isn't necessarily a bad thing, but he affects me more than I want him to.

More than I'm comfortable with.

Spending that hour tutoring him, and then grabbing dinner afterward, only made me like him more. He's ridiculously easy to be around.

She leans toward me before pressing the issue when I fall silent. "What about him?"

"He's in one of my classes and showed up at the tutoring center the other day."

Why am I even bringing this up? I wish it were possible to backtrack or snatch the words from the air. I don't want to discuss Cole.

"Does he make you uncomfortable?" Concern threads its way through her voice that this guy might be harassing me. He isn't, of course.

While Cole makes me feel uncomfortable, it's not for the reasons she thinks. "No, he's not bothering me like that. And I haven't felt like I was going to have another anxiety attack when we've been together either."

She tilts her head. "How do you feel about him then?"

I shrug, almost afraid to admit that he's the first guy in a long time to make me feel anything remotely sexual. After last year, I just kind of shut down. For reasons I don't understand, Cole is different. I haven't been able to run him off. Even though that felt threatening at first, it no longer does.

"I'm not sure," I admit. "Scared. Nervous."

But sort of excited too.

As that realization flits through my head, I decide to keep it to myself for the time being.

Cole forces me to feel things I'm not quite ready to explore. I can't deny there's something about him that attracts me. And it's not just his looks either. The more time I spend with him, the more I like him. For someone like me who is fairly anti-relationship, it's kind of a problem. I don't want to like him anymore than I already do.

I don't want to like him at all.

Dr. Thompson pauses before pulling off her thin, black framed glasses. "Do you think it's a good idea to get involved with someone right now?"

I sigh, unsurprised that she's hit the nail on the head so quickly. Even though this is only our third week working together, she's really good at what she does. Astute. Intuitive.

"Probably not." Actually, it's the worst possible idea. I know it. And Dr. Thompson knows it as well. The only one who doesn't know it is Cole.

"How come?"

Of course, she realizes why it's a terrible idea, but she wants me to verbalize the thoughts out loud. It's a cheap counseling trick. But it's one that works.

"Because it's important that I focus my energies on school, and pull my life together so I can get healthy."

"I think those are valid reasons to take a break from relationships. Just remember, it's not forever. The fact that this boy has triggered an anxiety attack is concerning. Getting healthy is your first priority and then, when you feel better equipped to handle stressful situations, you can think about relationships again. You're finding success at Western, and we don't want to do anything that will derail it."

She's right.

In all honesty, I didn't need her to confirm that getting involved with Cole will more than likely end in disaster for me, but it's probably good that she did.