“What’s going on?” My dad’s voice is sharp and angry. Everyone’s attention turns to him. Lauren immediately slips off my lap.
“Chris had some sort of panic attack” my mom explains.
“I thought I was having a heart attack,” I explain, missing the warmth of Lauren’s body. My dad frowns.
Lauren brings me a glass of water.
“Thank you,” I say gratefully.
“No problem,” she says simply, a small smile on her face.
She’s looking at me again.
“I really thought he was dying,” my mom says, her voice choking. Lauren takes Caylen from my mom, who immediately rushes over and hugs me.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say. She looks more afraid than I felt.
“Don’t do that again,” she says sternly, and I laugh after she kisses me on the head like I’m five.
“Thank you, Lauren,” she says, then goes over to her and squeezes her tightly.
“I was so scared, William,” she says, relieved, then swats my dad on the shoulder.
“What took you so long?” she asks him angrily.
“I came as fast as I could,” he says defensively.
First DID and now panic attacks? What a great catch I am, but at least it was better than a blackout.
“What happened?” my dad asks gruffly.
“It just came out of nowhere. We were talking and he went pale. He was shaking and then saying he couldn’t breathe,” my mom answers for me.
Lauren looks at me a little suspiciously.
“What were you talking about?” my dad asks.
“Nothing in particular,” my mom answers again.
“Thank God Lauren was here. That would have been another medical bill that we don’t need,” I say, stretching my limbs.
“Yeah, thank God,” my dad mumbles before leaving the room. Now I feel heat on my face and everything around me starts to blur. I’m no longer in my parents’ house but in a small apartment with boxes all stacked up.
“Thank God that’s the last box. I didn’t think that many clothes could fit in this apartment,” Lauren says, flopping onto a small white couch in a little apartment. Her hair’s up in a ponytail and she’s wearing a tiny white t-shirt, revealing her stomach as her sweatpants sit low on her waist.
“Well everyone’s closet can’t be big as a freakin’ living room, Mr. Scott,” she quips, walking towards him. He pulls her by the hand to sit on his lap.
“Yours will be now,” he retorts as he kisses her neck.
“It will.” She giggles, wiggling on his lap.
“Don’t wake up the monster unless you want him to come out to play,” he says in her ear.
“Maybe I want him to come out to play,” she says seductively, her hands rubbing against his crotch. In a second, he’s rolled on top of her on the couch.
“I was kidding!” She laughs and he tickles her until she turns red.
“Stop. Cal. Please,” she says between fits of laughter. He stop and kisses her on the neck and she wraps her arms around his neck.
“Is it always going to be this great?” she asks sincerely.
“It’ll be even better,” he says confidently, and she bites her lip and sighs.
“I can’t believe we’ll be married next month,” she squeals, and then her expression falls. “Are you sure you really want to marry me? To be with me and just me for the rest of your entire life? When I’m old, wrinkly, gray, and my boobs sag down to the floor?” she asks, her eyes sparkling.
“I didn’t sign up for saggy boobs,” he says with a grimace, shaking his head. She frowns at him and then he cracks a smile. She pushes him away.
“I haven’t second-guessed us since the moment you said yes,” he says with certainty.
“You see something good in me. You look at me like I’m not a problem or a villain,” he says, rubbing the skin on her back, and she looks troubled.
“Who would see you that way? The people who work for you?” she guesses.
“No, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you don’t,” he says with a shrug.
“I could never see you that way,” she promises with a smile so wide that both her dimples are visible. “What do you see when you look at me?” she asks quietly.
“Someone kind, loyal, and affectionate. Someone who wants to give as much love as she gets,” he says, looking her in the eye.
“So my looks don’t matter at all?” she jokes.
“Oh no, they do. You’re hot has hell,” he replies, giving her butt a squeeze, and she laughs.
“I’ll never see you that way,” she says quietly. “You’ll never be a villain. You’ll always be my prince charming,” she says reassuringly, sitting on his lap exactly the same way as she was during my panic attack.
“You promise?” he asks her, his tone almost vulnerable.
“I promise,” she says, before kissing him.
They say near-death experiences tend to wake you up and make you see things in a different light. I wouldn’t necessarily call a panic attack a near-death experience, but it woke me up. I felt like I had been sleepwalking for the past week and a half, breathing but not living, hearing but not listening. Now I want to live; I want to listen; I want to feel.
I never would want a panic attack but I’ll take that over a blackout any day. I wonder where he is, if Cal has given up. I’d think a panic attack or any sign of trouble would be his opening to slip through. But he didn’t. My body nearly shut down because he didn’t but I’m ignoring that fact. I came back from it. I came back from it because of Lauren. Her smile brought me out of the emotional dessert I was in. Her touch brought me back. Her calming voice let me know everything would be okay. She was what was missing, not the shell of her, but the real her.
I missed her and missing her made me feel like a part of me was missing. The only thing is, the part of me that was missing could be the part of me that I want gone. The moment I felt her open up to me again, I had another memory come full force. I know now that she is a trigger. That’s one thing my dad is right about but I’m not so sure that it’s a bad thing. What I need to know now is what to do about it.
She’s strong, but fragile. She puts up a hard shell around herself but she’s vulnerable and I know my actions affect her more than anyone else's. Well, almost anyone, and that’s the problem. What scares me more than anything is that the memories that make me feel closer to her make me seem closer to him. This bond that I see is between them. Between her and Cal.
Besides Caylen, I think she loves him more than anyone. How can I compete with that? How could she ever look at me and not wish that I were him? But I’m not going to worry about that today. If they had memories, then we need to make our own. That’s what I’ve been telling myself as I stand outside her door with this box in my hand. I feel like a creep. I set the box down, my nerves getting the best of me. If she shoots me down, it’s going to take me a few days to recover, but then again, maybe I need to be shot down. I haven’t talked to Jenna today and I know that I need to. Right now, I’m trying to take one thing at a time. I decide to just do it. I knock on her door. Then I wonder why I didn’t just send her a text. It’s quiet in her room, no music or talking. It’s 9:30 so she could be asleep. Before I can overanalyze any further, she opens the door and looks at me curiously. The funny thing is, she's wearing a white tank and sweats just like in the last memory I had of her, but this time a white sweater is covering most of her body.