Anxiety Attacks

Chloe

The guy I had nicknamed "Blowjob guy" had left before anything happened, leaving me alone on the balcony once again with the attractive guy. I stared down at the blunt, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness. I had imagined myself gracefully inhaling and exhaling the smoke, as easy as they made it look on television. But reality turned out quite differently. As I pulled from the blunt, the smoke burned my throat, causing me to immediately choke. My throat tightened, and in the midst of my coughing fit, I heard his chair scrape against the ground as he approached and took the blunt from my hands.

"This ain't for you, I guess," he said nonchalantly, and I took a moment to appreciate his thick New York accent. It made my heart flutter, even though he seemed indifferent to my well-being.

Once I regained my composure, I looked up and found him leaning back in his chair, now smoking the blunt he had taken from me. He seemed so perfect-his body, voice, hair, face-everything about him was impeccable. I almost envied him. But then I realized I had been staring for quite some time when his head slowly turned in my direction. He flicked the end of the blunt before acknowledging my presence.

"Do you always stare at people like that?" he asked blankly, his voice as monotone as his expression.

Embarrassed, I quickly looked away, standing up and walking over to the balcony railing. Below, people were dancing and enjoying the party, while I was consumed by anxiety and unable to leave this place. I could call my brother, but I knew he would cause a scene. That was the difference between us-while he stood up for himself, everyone seemed to idolize him, whereas I felt like trash, constantly looked down upon by others. Letting out a sigh, I couldn't help but rant, voicing my frustrations aloud.

"I don't know what I do wrong. People always judge me based on my appearance," I began, my words trailing off as I tried to express my feelings. "Because I'm fa-"

"No," his deep voice cut in bluntly, rejecting the statement I hadn't even finished.

"Dude, look at me," I said, raising my arms in a futile attempt to prove my point.

His eyes slowly traveled down my body, and I felt my cheeks flush. His tongue darted across his bottom lip, and I quickly turned away, trying to compose myself.

Breathe.

I took another deep breath and continued staring down below. The door opened, and Blowjob guy reappeared, holding out a freshly opened bottle of alcohol to me. He handed something to the attractive guy before leaving. I glanced at the bottle before chugging its contents, ignoring the stares from others. Three bottles of this crap later, I found myself giggling alone in a corner, reminiscing about happier memories from my past when I was less self-conscious.

"So, what's your name?" I asked the attractive guy, but he paid no attention, focused on his phone.

Pursing my lips when he didn't respond, I went back to gazing up at the stars.

"Slim," he replied flatly, placing his phone on a nearby table.

"What's your real name?" I inquired, and he glanced over at me with his cold eyes.

"Hayden," he responded, taking a sip from his bottle before placing it back down.

"I'm Chloe, but my friends call me C," I started, but my intoxicated mind suddenly had a realization. "I guess nobody is going to call me C now." I laughed, too drunk to comprehend the words coming out of my mouth.

He didn't laugh, which oddly made me feel better. Sometimes, I made jokes about my situation as a way to reassure myself, but I hated it when people laughed along. I guess I'm just weird.

"Are you new?" I asked, hoping to strike up a conversation, but he kept his eyes fixed on the stars above.

"No," he replied.

I looked at him with a frown, wondering if he had always been here and I had just never noticed him. However, there was only one high school in this small town, so I would have likely seen his face before.

"So, how come I've never seen you around?" I pressed, and he finally looked over at me.

"Juvie," he responded casually, shrugging as if it didn't matter. I turned toward him, intrigued by this revelation.

"So you're a 'bad boy' then?" I asked, leaning against the cold balcony railing. A slight twitch appeared at the corner of his lip.

"Of course not," he answered with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and I giggled, hiccupping in the process.

"You're funny," I slurred, feeling the effects of the alcohol taking hold.

"I'm just going to take a small nap," I informed him before lying down on a nearby chair. Fatigue washed over me, and I quickly drifted into sleep.

Gradually regaining consciousness, I realized I had been asleep for a while. I felt tired and nauseous, longing to be in the comfort of my own bed. But then it hit me-I wasn't in my bed. Panic flooded my senses, and I shot up, watching as people gathered around me, taking photos and recording videos as I slept on the balcony. My eyes widened, and they all erupted into laughter, finding my vulnerable state amusing. It broke my heart that people could treat others this way. Anxiety surged within me, and I curled up, pulling my knees to my chest, burying my face in them as my body trembled uncontrollably.

The anxiety attack intensified, making it hard to breathe. My face turned red, and I gasped for air, desperate to find relief. Yet they continued laughing and making cruel jokes, shattering my self-esteem even further. Just as I was about to give in and let the attack consume me, I heard a throat clearing. Despite the chaos, it cut through the noise, and everyone looked up.

"Fuck, it's Slim," someone mumbled, and Hayden leaned against the doorway, his imposing figure towering over them.

Raising an eyebrow in question, he wordlessly demanded an explanation.

"Slim, man, want to join?" one of them asked, and I sighed quietly, still trembling as I expected him to join in the mockery.

He glanced at them briefly before turning his gaze to me, rolling his eyes.

"Come on," he said, gesturing toward the door. I gave him a puzzled look, unsure if he was speaking to me or if I was merely imagining things. But his blank expression confirmed it. Everyone cleared a path for me to walk, not uttering a single word.

Who was this guy?

I walked over to him, and he started walking. I understood that he wanted me to follow, and that's what I did, trailing behind him through the house. His long strides made it nearly impossible to keep up, and once we were outside, I let out a breath.

"Thanks," I said, my voice still shaking from the anxiety attack that seemed relentless. It showed no signs of subsiding, and tonight, of all nights, I had left my medication at home.

He looked at me emotionlessly as I continued to tremble, desperately holding my arms to steady myself. My heart pounded rapidly in my chest, and I struggled to regain control.

"Stop," he said nonchalantly, but I shook my head, trying to convey that it was beyond my control.

Letting out a sigh, he stepped forward slightly and placed a hand on my back. At first, I was confused, but then his hand started moving in a circular motion. He stood there, rubbing my back for a while longer, and to my surprise, it actually helped a bit. I began to breathe normally again, and he stepped away, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Better?" he asked emotionlessly, and I gave him a small smile.

"Yes. Thanks, Hayden," I answered. He paused for a second, then nodded and wordlessly walked away. I stood there, uncertain if he wanted me to follow, so I stayed put.

I fumbled with my shaking hands to retrieve my phone and struggled to click on my brother's contact name. When I finally managed it, the phone slipped from my hands and crashed onto the paved driveway. The screen was badly cracked, and I didn't even want to look at it. So I shut my eyes, leaned down, quickly picked it up, and slid it into my pocket. I groaned aloud, cursing the universe under my breath, as I looked around for anyone I might know. The chances of that were one in a million because, frankly, I had no friends. It was a sad life to live, and if only people knew how we felt on the inside.

Sighing, I walked onto the pavement and began strolling, not in a rush to get back home since that place never seemed to bring me joy. At home, I always felt dull. It was just my brother, my stepfather, and me. My mother was hospitalized as her condition had worsened, and my stepfather had developed a drinking habit. He would usually fall asleep at bars, so we didn't have much to worry about. Kicking a pebble, I watched it roll into the grass. Suddenly, I heard the sound of an engine pulling up beside me. I looked over to find a sleek black car, one of the newest models, as far as I knew. Reality hit me, and a thought crossed my mind-what if this was the moment when I got kidnapped and shipped to another country? Even then, they'd have to figure out how to lift me.

"They might need a wheelbarrow," as my brother would always say. He wasn't a bad person, just unaware of how his jokes sliced at my heart like knives through soft butter.

But it wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. I blamed myself for letting it come to this. I had never felt so weak and helpless before, and I didn't even recognize myself anymore. The window rolled down, and Hayden rolled his eyes.

"Are you ever going to get in?" he asked bluntly. I held back a blush as I stopped and turned toward him.

"It's fine. I live nearby," I tried to assure him before continuing my walk.

"I never asked," he responded, and I sighed, looking up the street before walking over and getting into the car.

As I shut the door, his masculine scent, mixed with the smell of the new car, filled my nostrils. It was heavenly. I leaned back in the leather seat and fastened my seatbelt.

"Thanks," I told him before staring out of the window and zoning out.

He pulled away from the curb and sped down the street, making skillful turns around each corner. I glanced over, noticing his expertise in driving.

"Address?" he asked, and I pursed my lips, wondering if I should give him my actual address. For some reason, I felt apprehensive about sharing that information, fearing judgment from everyone. This situation was a mess. This guy had just helped me out of a terrible situation, yet here I was fabricating a lie about where I lived.

"Misedeo Street," I finally replied, opting for honesty.