“That’s why I started school so late. I was incarcerated in a mental institution for eight years,” he explained. “Just got released on parole in September.”
But before the silence could drag out again, loud footsteps stomped through the nearby brush, making them both jump at the sound.
“Jennaaa,” a woman slurred in a whiny voice. “Are you out here? I wanna go homeee.”
Jenna sat up, turning toward the voice. “Anna? Where’s Marcus?”
“Marcus is an asshole,” she yelled the last word over her shoulder toward where the fire had been burning, presumably for Marcus’ benefit. “I don’t feel good. I wanna go home,” she moaned, dragging her feet begrudgingly forward like a child.
“Okay, fine,” Jenna answered, grabbing her jacket from the ground and standing up.
Jacob stood, too. After slipping on her jacket and zipping it up, Jenna finally looked at him.
They stared at each other for a moment, and there was no denying the distance in her eyes.
“Um,” she began, gesturing to her roommate. “I gotta go. So….”
He waited for an end to that sentence, but it didn’t come, so he simply nodded and said, “Yeah, of course.”
Jenna paused, still staring at him. The way she looked at him, like he was someone she didn’t recognize, cut deeper than any words could have.
After a moment, prompted by more whining from Anna, Jenna turned around without another word and they scuffled toward the dorm buildings.
Jacob stood in the darkness for a long while, giving them a head start. He stared forward at nothing, and the silence that was once peaceful had now turned ominous. In all his rough years, he had never felt more alone.
He waited a few more minutes, making sure there was enough distance that he wouldn’t cross their path again, and then he started toward their building.
He tried to keep his mind blank as he walked, because numbness was surely better than any of the other emotions that were pounding on his carefully constructed walls, struggling to burst forth. He successfully thought of nothing at all as he walked through the field, onto the sidewalk, and into the building, but the minute he stepped into his room, it all came crashing down on him. The panic, the fear, the anger with himself for being so stupid as to think anyone could ever hear the truth about his past and not run away, screaming.
The second he was through the doorway, he slumped to the floor, back against the wall, in a full-fledged panic attack. His hands were shaking, and his body had broken out into a cold sweat under his clothes that were now sticking to his skin. The room started spinning, even though he was already seated firmly on the floor, and it made his stomach turn. He started to crawl toward the bathroom, but the shaking and the vertigo made the task too difficult, so he simply turned onto his back and lay on the hard floor.
His breath was coming in short, quick bursts, and the lack of oxygen in his brain clouded his vision, so he closed his eyes and tried to get a handle on his breathing. Once the initial fear of the attack had subsided enough for him to realize he was having one, he remembered the breathing method Doctor Yang had taught him.
In for four, hold for four, out for four.
After a few minutes of repeating that mantra to himself and following its instructions, he was able to breathe semi-normally. He could open his eyes without feeling dizzy, but his body still let out involuntary tremors every few seconds, and he could already feel a headache coming on from the stress of it all.
After breathing intentionally for another minute, he cautiously pulled himself to his feet, using the bed beside him to steady his shaking frame, and stumbled to the bathroom. He quickly took his regular medication, along with an over-the-counter painkiller to stave off the headache, and climbed into bed.
Staring at the ceiling and feeling the emptiness in his gut, he started to worry that the pills would make him sick if he didn’t eat anything, so with great effort, he forced himself out of bed again, stumbled over to his backpack for a leftover granola bar, and fell back into bed. He took a bite of the tasteless bar, chewing mechanically, and forced it down his throat, groaning against the nausea that fought back.
It felt like he had been lying on that floor for an hour, but with a glance at the clock, he realized it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. He forced himself to finish the whole bar, to give himself a better chance of not spending the rest of the night on the bathroom floor, and once it was finished, he dropped the wrapper on the floor shut his eyes.
The panic attack left him so physically exhausted, he didn’t have enough mental energy to worry about anything, which was almost worth the horrid experience, given his current situation. He quickly started to drift off, but a loud ding-ing brought him back to consciousness. It was a familiar sound, but in his current mental state, it took him a full minute to realize it was his cell phone. Once he did, he reluctantly pulled himself out of bed again to grab it from his backpack.
He looked at the clock on his bedside table again, wondering who would possibly be trying to talk to him at this late hour. For a brief moment, he wondered if his therapist had some kind of telepathic sixth sense and could tell that he needed her. But when he opened the phone, the mystery was replaced with anxious anticipation.
Text from Jenna
HE STARED AT HIS phone screen, stepping back to sit on the edge of the bed. He took in a deep breath of preparation and opened the message.
Was it self-defense?
His heart raced. He hated himself for the answer he had to give, but at least she was still talking to him. That had to be a good sign, right? He typed out a quick “no” and hit send. All of his grogginess had faded as he waited for a response, tapping his foot impatiently against the floor. With the action, he realized he was still wearing his shoes, so he kicked them off.
His phone vibrated in his hand with a loud DING and he quickly opened the new message.
Were they bad people?
That question was more complicated than the last. Clearly, the man who killed his sister was a bad person. Of that, he could be certain. There was a good argument to be made for his father, as well. But the other two… well, that’s where things got complicated. Too complicated to explain through text, so he simply replied:
Some of them.
He found himself holding his breath as he waited for a reply, but he had to let it out eventually. This pause was longer than the previous one, and he wondered if that was it. If the knowledge that his crimes were not self-defense and that not all of the men whose lives he took were bad people was enough for her to decide he wasn’t worth speaking to anymore.
Before he could get too depressed about that thought, his phone vibrated again, this time ringing out an electronic tune.
Jenna Calling…
His finger hesitated over the “accept call” button, as his breathing started to speed up again and the pounding in his chest returned. He closed his eyes for a brief moment to center himself. Now was not the time for another panic attack.
In for four, hold for four, out for four.
He cleared his throat and pressed the button.
With the phone pressed to his ear, he listened to her quiet breath. He couldn’t find his voice, but he didn’t need to. She spoke first.