Brennan whirled around, eyes flashing, nausea forgotten for a few seconds as she faced Jonas. “I do not have an anxiety disorder!” she snapped. “I don’t! I told you, I just—I just get nervous. Sometimes.” Saying it made it real. Real meant scary. Even with her doctor she’d only referred to it as an anxiety problem. Disorder meant there was something wrong with her. A label. She tried not to think about the fact that, if she looked in her chart, her doctor had probably entered those very words in her problem list, right before she’d prescribed Brennan the solazepram. She pictured them. Anxiety. Disorder. Right next to each other.
Jonas looked surprised at her defensive reaction. Why shouldn’t he be? He’d only made a statement. He was worried about her. This is why you have the WALLS! her brain was admonishing her. Why was she so angry at him? Because it was true. It was true and saying it would make it real. So she couldn’t say it. Maybe she should take her medicine. Even if it made her feel sick, maybe it would make her normal. She wanted normal. She wanted herself to be normal.
Jonas was frowning more than usual, but not in an angry way. He looked concerned. His eyes still frowned, his brow still furrowed, but there was a certain downturn to his expression that wasn’t normally there. “Brennan, I’m sorry,” he began, at last. “I didn’t mean anything by suggesting—”
She turned around again, so he wouldn’t see the tears that she was trying to hold back. “Please don’t, Jonas,” she said quietly. “I don’t … I can’t … I’m sorry.” She stumbled over her own words. She tried to remember the breathing GIF, the one with the circle. In. Out. Slowly. But in her head, the circle expanded and contracted faster and faster. You can’t breathe! her brain was shouting. Check your pulse! She couldn’t do this, not in front of Jonas. Crazy Brennan was fighting to get control over normal Brennan, and it was only a matter of time before she was in full-on anxiety-attack mode. She whirled around and began walking more quickly, back toward her own house. If she could just get ahead of Jonas, get a few deep breaths, gain control of her thoughts, maybe she could salvage this.
“Brennan, wait,” she heard Jonas call to her. He sounded far away through the pounding in her ears. She glanced back, surprised to see him picking up his own pace, attempting an awkward crutch-walk-limp that didn’t look very comfortable. She didn’t stop, couldn’t. The tears pressed harder, pressure building in her sinuses. You’ve embarrassed yourself. You’ve done it this time.
This always had to come up with people eventually. Her stupid anxiety. Dumb nerves. She had thought she would have been able to control this situation better, but it turned out that she couldn’t. Not with Jonas, because she wanted to tell him. That was the difference; she wanted him to know.
But she was too afraid that telling him would ruin everything. BEAT, BEAT, BEAT, her pulse thudded in her ears and her throat. You disgust me, her brain scoffed. She slammed her Walls back up, because they had started to come down, which wasn’t right. They needed to stay up—needed to protect her, needed to …
“Brennan!” Jonas sounded slightly irritated now. Angry with her. She hadn’t meant to make him angry. She kept her head down and continued on. Now he hates you, her brain pitched in. Hates you, hates you, hates you. Sing-songy. Mocking.
“Brennan, will you hold on a min—” Jonas’s voice cut off jerkily, and she turned around just in time to see him fall.
“Jonas!”
He looked flustered and embarrassed. She saw the reason; he’d tripped over a large crack in the sidewalk. His face had turned bright red, and now he really looked angry.
“So now you turn around!” he snapped, trying to work out how best to get up. She offered a hand to help him but he ignored her, pulling himself up on his crutches.
“Are you—are you okay?” she asked him, horrified. You made him fall.
He continued past her, limping more now, ignoring her concerned questions.
“Jonas, please just—”
He turned around and faced her. “Just what exactly, Brennan?” he said angrily. “I tried to, you know, be there for you. Help. Whatever. I was not trying to insult you when I said you might have an anxiety disorder. I was just showing concern. Trying to help you. I have my own issues. Why do you think I got dropped off? Why do you think I rear-ended you in the first place? The other day when I came to see you—my brother had to drive me, because I basically have a breakdown every time I try to drive. Because I can’t handle cars, Brennan! Which”—he laughed, sounding a little unhinged—“is so stupid, considering I wasn’t even the one driving when the accident happened!”
“Jonas, I didn’t—”
“You know, this is stupid. My leg is sore today. I shouldn’t have even come out. But, you know, I thought it would be nice to go on a walk together to the library. To chat with my friend.” He said friend like they weren’t anymore. He shook his head, turning around. “Clearly I was wrong. I’ll see you some other time.”
Jonas started to pull out his phone to call his ride to come get him. Brennan wanted to yell You’re right. Two words. All she wanted to say. And yet she couldn’t get them out because her throat kept constricting around them, boxing them in.
“Jonas, come on! Please!” She felt desperate. Like this was her last chance to stop herself from losing him. “You have to come. You have to get the third Harry Potter book, remember?”
“I’ll buy the eBook,” he said, not turning around.
“But you’re getting so much better at walking!”
“Yes,” he said, finally turning around, only to glare at her. “So much better. Because that’s what this was about all along, wasn’t it? Some challenge for you, getting the bitter cripple to walk again. Maybe it made you feel better about your own issues?” He laughed shortly. Issues. Her throat constricted a bit more. “Well, you can stop trying now. You’re not going to succeed at fixing me, Brennan.” He spit the words out like they tasted bad. “You can’t fix me!” He shook his head, frowning.
He met her gaze then, finally. She wondered if that—that moment and the way he was looking at her now—might be the thing that killed her.
“So stop trying,” he said flatly. His eyes held hurt and frustration, whether at her or at himself, Brennan couldn’t tell. Had he always felt this way? Had he always felt that that’s what she was trying to do? Fix him? He was looking at his phone again, getting ready to dial.
“I’m not trying to fix you!” Brennan blurted impulsively. What are you doing?
Jonas stopped, his finger inches away from hitting dial. He didn’t turn around but he seemed like he was listening.
“I’m not trying to fix you,” she said again, clearing her throat to get past the lump that was choking her. “Because there’s nothing to fix,” she finally said. “You’re not broken, Jonas. You’re fine. You’ve always been fine. More than fine. I was just—I guess I was just trying to help you see that.”
He stood still for a moment more, then called Rhys. They stood silently until his brother pulled up. Jonas didn’t look at her again as he got into the van and shut the door. They pulled away, leaving her standing in the middle of the sidewalk, like an idiot.