As the panic tightened, each breath felt like drawing air through a narrow straw, laborious and insufficient. The pain around my chest intensified a vice-like constriction that seemed to squeeze tighter with every shallow breath. My surroundings blurred into a hazy, indistinct landscape as my eyes, heavy with tears, failed to focus. The tears weren’t just physical but were laden with a mix of fear and confusion, spilling unchecked down my face.
Jeremiah’s sharp voice, laden with concern, cut through the fog of my mind. "Jesus Christ, Bells! What’s going on? Talk to me." I wanted to answer, to explain the terror overwhelming me, but my lips were numb, unresponsive as if they belonged to someone else. A chilling fear surged through me, cold and stark—was this the end for me? My heart pounded against the tightening cage of my chest, echoing my escalating panic.
"Belly, breathe. I think you’re having a panic attack. – hold on, okay? I’m pulling over." His voice tried to soothe me, but the words 'panic attack' only spiraled my fear further. I remembered then—Conrad had suffered a panic attack once right after the funeral. He had understood it, survived it.
Clutching at the frayed edges of that memory, my hands formed into fists. "C-call Conrad." I managed to choke out, my voice a whisper of desperation. Despite the heartbreak he'd caused, somewhere deep down, I trusted he'd know how to pull me back from this abyss.
"Wha – Belly, no. Hold on." Jeremiah’s response was tinged with hesitation, and his immediate refusal to call Conrad added another layer of desperation to my plea. He maneuvered the car to the roadside, the vehicle jerking slightly as it came to a halt, emphasizing the surreal nature of the moment.
As I sat there, the car idling softly beside the road, the external world seemed distant, a backdrop to the tumultuous storm raging within me. The coldness of the door handle beneath my fingertips, the soft murmur of the car engine, the distant whoosh of passing vehicles—all felt detached as if I were observing them from afar. The focus of my reality honed in on the crushing weight in my chest and the relentless, chaotic thoughts that scrambled for dominance in my mind.
As Jere maneuvered the car to the shoulder of the road, gravel crunched loudly under the tires, mirroring my heart's harsh, erratic pounding. His movements were quick, but his body language spoke volumes of his internal conflict—shoulders tensed, hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly before finally pulling the key from the ignition.
As the car settled, I felt every bump and jostle, and my senses were heightened by the panic flooding my system. The world outside the vehicle seemed distant, a vague backdrop to the intense drama unfolding within its confines. Traffic hummed by, a reminder of the normalcy that eluded me then. Jere’s breath was audible, heavy with concern, as he turned to face me, his eyes searching mine for any sign of improvement.
His hands reached out to mine, intended to comfort me but feeling more like constraints. I jerked away, my voice barely a whisper but laced with urgency: "J-Jere. Call him. Now." My plea filled the cramped space, my anxiety palpable.
Jere looked at me, his eyes filled with worry and hesitation. After a moment that felt stretched by my anxiety, he finally reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His fingers hesitated over the screen before he dialed, and I could hear every shuffle and sigh as he put the phone to his ear.
"Hey, Con, it’s Jere. Listen, something’s really off with Belly. She's freaking out here, man—I think it's a panic attack or something," Jere's voice cracked slightly, his usual calm demeanor slipping in the face of urgency. "No, I’m not sure, she just... She’s not herself. She kept asking for you and insisted I call."
There was a pause, and I could almost hear Conrad's concern through the silence that followed.
"Yeah, I did what I could, but she’s barely breathing right," Jere continued, his words rushed. "She’s crying, and she can’t even see me here. Yes, I told her to breathe and focus, but nothing worked. She asked for you, man. She thinks you can help, but she’s asking for you, and honestly, it isn’t good. Maybe you should come," Jere added, glancing at me with a complex mix of support and sorrow. His voice lowered almost into a whisper, betraying his own vulnerability, "She needs you, man."
He handed the phone to me, his touch lighter now, careful, as if he understood the fragility of the moment. Conrad’s voice came through, a solid, familiar presence in the chaos. "Belly, I’m here, alright? You’re okay, I promise."
As I clung to the phone, the rest of the world—the passing cars, the whisper of wind through the trees beside the road, the distant hum of everyday life—faded into a blur. Conrad’s voice anchored me but also brought a flood of emotions: relief, regret, longing.
Jere sat back slightly, giving me space, but his concern was palpable. He watched, perhaps realizing the depth of the connection Conrad and I shared, something unspoken but clearly understood between us. His jaw clenched slightly, and he looked away, out the window, giving us privacy but remaining close, a silent guardian amid the storm of my breakdown.
As Conrad's voice shifted over the phone, demanding to switch to FaceTime, I sensed Jere’s body stiffen beside me. It was a subtle reaction, but having known him for so long, I could pick up on the slightest change. His jaw tightened, and his eyes momentarily clouded with a mix of hurt and concern—a clear indicator that my crisis was affecting him deeply.
"Jere, this isn’t working. FaceTime me," Conrad's voice had an edge of urgency that seemed to slice through the tense air inside the car. Jere fumbled with his phone, his fingers momentarily clumsy as he switched the call to video. His usual composure was slipping under the weight of the situation.
"Belly, hey, hey, look at me," Conrad coaxed through the phone, his voice starkly contrasting to his earlier command. I shook my head, unable to meet his gaze, overwhelmed by guilt and confusion. Under Jere's watchful eye, I felt utterly undeserving of help, paralyzed by my tumultuous feelings.
"Isabel. Look at me. Now." This time, Conrad’s tone was firmer, a command that brooked no refusal. Reluctantly, my eyes lifted to meet his on the screen, his face filled with concern and a trace of frustration at the chaos unfolding from afar.
"Hey, Jere? Can you give me and Belly a few minutes?" Conrad’s request was soft, almost apologetic, acknowledging Jere's discomfort. Jere nodded slowly, a silent acknowledgment of the need for privacy. He handed me the phone, gently contrasting his earlier tenseness, and stepped away, his movements heavy and reluctant. As he moved to the front of the car, his posture was a stark image of resignation and suppressed pain, his shoulders hunched as if bearing a silent burden.
Meanwhile, in the call's background, I could see Conrad hastily grabbing his keys and jacket, his movements hurried and chaotic as he prepared to leave cousin's house. "I’m coming over; just hang tight, okay?" he told me, his voice a mix of determination and worry. He briefly disappeared from the screen, likely slipping on his shoes, and when he reappeared, his face was set, his eyes unwavering. The background blurred as he moved through his home, the familiar setting a stark contrast to the urgency of his actions. He prioritized getting to me as quickly as possible, the usual calm of his environment disrupted by the need to act.
Outside, the world continued, unaware of the crisis inside the car. Cars passed by in a steady stream, their sounds a dull backdrop to the intense drama unfolding within our small, stationary sanctuary. The wind rustled through the trees lining the road, adding a natural soundtrack to the tense scene. Despite the turmoil, life outside moved on, indifferent, and the normalcy of it all sharply contrasted with the acute distress I felt inside.
As I choked out a faint apology through my tears, hoping our bond would carry the weight of my words to Jere, Conrad's response was swift and focused. "I know you’re worried about him, but he’s alright. Let’s focus on you, okay?" His voice, firm yet caring, was trying to redirect my scattered thoughts.
Outside the car's safety, the world seemed oddly detached and impersonal. Traffic continued to pass, each vehicle a fleeting blur, their presence an unnoticed murmur against the storm of emotions inside me. The trees along the roadside swayed gently in the breeze, starkly contrasting the turmoil within the confined car space.
Inside, my hands trembled, clasping the phone tightly as I poured out my fears and doubts. "My life feels out of control. I thought I had made my decision, but I was wrong. I feel awful—what's wrong with my head?" The words spilled out, raw and unfiltered.
Conrad’s face on the screen tightened, his brows furrowing as he processed my distress. "I – I don’t want to talk about that right now. We need to get you calmed down." His tone was gentle yet firm, trying to steer the conversation towards immediate relief.
"No, no!" I protested, the desperation evident in my voice. "You – you don’t understand." My heart raced, the feeling of being misunderstood intensifying my panic.
"Make me understand, then, Belly." Conrad’s intense eyes pierced through the digital divide, urging me to articulate the chaos within.
Words failed me as my emotional state teetered on the edge. "What’s wrong with me, Connie?" It was a plea for help and understanding more than a question. The cousin's door shut with a thud, a solid sound that was strangely comforting, knowing he was coming to me.
The phone camera jostled as Conrad moved, the view tilting as he entered his car. The ignition clicked, and the engine hummed to life, a soft but steady sound that filled the background as he set the phone in the car mount. "I'm on my way; just try to breathe and talk to me, okay?" His voice was steady and calming as the car pulled away, the faint sound of traffic blending with his words.
Outside, the natural light faded as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the road. The changing light reflected the shift in the day and my emotional state. Now, at a distance, Jere remained visible through the windshield, his figure a constant reminder of the complicated web of relationships and emotions at play.
As Conrad drove, his focus was clear. His eyes occasionally glanced at the phone, and he ensured I was still connected. The road ahead was bathed in the glow of the streetlights now flickering to life, each mile closing the distance between us, each moment filled with anticipation and a desperate hope for resolution.
As Conrad continued to navigate the darkening roads toward me, his voice remained a lifeline through the speaker. The steady hum of his car's engine provided a soothing backdrop to our conversation; each word he spoke was deliberately chosen to help calm me.
"Alright, Belly, you're doing well with observing your surroundings. Now, let's try to focus on your breathing. Can you take a deep breath for me and hold it for a second?" Conrad’s instructions were gentle and coaxing.
I tried to obey, inhaling slowly. The air felt cool and heavy as it filled my lungs. "Okay," I whispered, releasing the breath shakily.
"Good, do it again. Breathe in, hold, and out," he continued, his voice rhythmic and soothing. "Each time you exhale, imagine letting go of a little bit of the anxiety. Picture it leaving your body with each breath."
As I followed his guidance, my breaths became less jagged and more controlled. I almost imagined the stress evaporating into the air, carried away by my exhales.
"How are you feeling now?" Conrad's tone was hopeful but cautious, aware of the ebbs and flows of my emotional state.
"A bit better," I admitted, feeling the tightness in my chest ease incrementally. "The breathing helps."
"I'm glad to hear that, Belly. Keep focusing on that. I’m just a few minutes away now," he reassured me. I could hear the faint sound of his turn signal in the background as he likely took a turn, each action bringing him closer to me.
"Conrad, why does this help? Why do I feel like everything’s falling apart one minute and not so terrible the next?" I asked, seeking not just comfort but also understanding.
"It’s about control, Belly. When you're having a panic attack, it feels like you're losing grip on everything. You're taking back some of that control by focusing on your breathing and what’s around you. You're grounding yourself in the present, where things are manageable," he explained, his voice a mixture of warmth and clinical precision, honed perhaps by his own experiences.
"That makes sense," I murmured, feeling a glimmer of clarity amidst the confusion.
"Just hang on, Belly. I’m almost there," Conrad said, his voice softening further. I heard another signal blink, and then the low murmur of the car engine seemed to grow a bit quieter as he must have slowed down.
"Can you see anything else from the window? Maybe something you didn’t notice before?" he asked, keeping me engaged to help me stay grounded as he navigated the final stretch of the road to where I was.
I turned my gaze back to the window, searching the dimly lit roadside. "There’s a small cat, I think, under that streetlight," I noted, watching a shadowy figure slink quietly across the street.
"Good eye, Belly. Keep watching the world go by. It’s all normal out there, and it will be normal for you too, soon," Conrad’s assurance was comforting, wrapping me in a sense of safety as his car engine grew louder, signaling his approach.
Our conversation continued, a delicate balance of distraction and reassurance, until his car lights cut through the darkness, a tangible sign of his promise made real as he pulled up beside us.
When Conrad's car finally pulled up, the headlights cut through the evening's gloom, illuminating the area with a soft, steady glow. He killed the engine swiftly, the sudden silence marking his arrival. In the stillness, he was out of the car almost before I fully realized he was there, moving with a purpose that spoke volumes about his urgency and concern.
Jere, who had been standing a few feet away, watching with a mix of concern and helplessness, turned as Conrad approached. His body language was tense, yet there was a visible relief in his posture as he stepped aside, his role as protector momentarily handed over to someone else.
As I watched Conrad approach Jeremiah, I could barely keep my emotions in check. My heart was pounding, and every word they exchanged echoed loudly in my chest.
Conrad's voice was firm, but there was an underlying gentleness when he spoke to Jeremiah. "Jeremiah, I think it might be best if I take it from here," he said, looking directly at him. "She’s pretty shaken up, and right now, familiarity might be what she needs to calm down."
Jeremiah's face was a mixture of conflict and resignation. He rubbed the back of his neck—a sign of his frustration and helplessness. "I get that," he replied, his voice strained. He glanced over at me, his eyes full of worry. "I just want what’s best for her, and if you think that’s you right now, I won’t stand in the way. I just... I feel like I’m out of my depth here, Conrad."
I felt a pang of guilt watching Jeremiah struggle with his feelings. He wanted to help me but didn’t know how, and it hurt to see him so torn.
Conrad placed a reassuring hand on Jeremiah's shoulder, his gesture bridging the tension between them. "You’ve done a lot, Jeremiah. No one’s questioning that. It’s just... this is something I’ve seen before with her, something we’ve been through. It doesn’t mean you’re not important to her or that you’ve failed somehow. It’s just a tough situation for everyone."
Jeremiah slowly nodded, his face showing reluctant acceptance. His voice was heavy when he spoke. "Thanks, man. I just... I hate feeling useless in moments like these. I want to be there for her but don’t know how to make things better."
Conrad's response was soft but filled with conviction. "That’s just it, though. Being there for someone isn’t always about fixing their problems. Sometimes, it’s about being there to support them while they fix it themselves or with someone else who knows how to help in that moment. You’re not useless, Jere. Just being willing to stand by her means more than you know."
Jeremiah sighed, a sound that mixed relief and lingering sadness. "Okay. If you think you can calm her down, go ahead. ... take care of her, alright? She means a lot to me."
Conrad nodded solemnly. "I know she does, and I promise I'm here for her," he assured Jeremiah before walking towards me.
I felt overwhelmed by their conversation, touched by their concern, and conflicted by the emotions it stirred within me. They cared deeply, each in their own way, and I knew I had to address my feelings soon. But for now, Conrad's familiar presence was a comfort as he approached, ready to help me navigate through the storm inside me.
Conrad opened the car door where I was seated. The light from the open door spilled over us, and without a word, I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around him in a desperate embrace. My actions were instinctual, driven by an overwhelming need for safety and comfort. His arms closed around me firmly, a solid presence that immediately began to siphon off the panic that had enveloped me. I clung to him, my hands gripping the fabric of his jacket, as if holding on to him might anchor me firmly in reality, away from the swirling chaos of my mind.
"Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable," Conrad murmured softly into my hair, his voice low and soothing. He helped me out of the car with careful, supportive gestures and led me back to his vehicle. Jere watched us go, a complex look on his face—a blend of worry, relief, and a faint trace of exclusion from the intimate scene before him.
Once we were settled in his car, Conrad didn't waste time. He drove us back to his place, the ride smooth and uneventful, a quiet space where he occasionally reached over to squeeze my hand, each touch a reassuring affirmation of his presence.
Arriving at the cousin's house, the familiarity of the environment felt strangely comforting. Conrad led me inside, his hand gently guiding me. Without any need for words, he took me straight to his bedroom, an unspoken understanding between us that I needed a place to rest, away from the world’s eyes.
Noticing my shivering, Conrad quickly went to his dresser, pulling out a soft, oversized cousin's t-shirt and some comfortable sweatpants. "Here, put these on. They’ll be more comfortable," he offered, his tone gentle as he handed me the clothes, providing both physical and emotional warmth.
He helped me into bed, the sheets cool and welcoming against my skin. Then, without hesitation, Conrad joined me, lying down beside me and drawing me close into his embrace. His body was warm, contrasting to the room's cool air, and as I nestled against him, his steady heartbeat was a calming rhythm against the lingering tremors of my distress.
As we lay there, Conrad spoke in hushed tones, a soothing monologue that blended into the soft rustling of the bedding as we shifted to find comfort. "Just rest, Belly. I've got you," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. His words were simple but profound in their sincerity and the safety they promised.
Gradually, the tension began to melt away from my body, the earlier chaos receding like a tide going out. His presence, the secure circle of his arms, and the gentle cadence of his voice coaxed me toward relaxation, and eventually, sleep began to pull at the edges of my consciousness.
I drifted off, knowing that Conrad was there and would watch over me through the night. His promise of safety, this time, felt unbreakable.
As the first light of dawn seeped through the curtains, I stirred from the depths of a peaceful sleep, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. The gentle rise and fall of Conrad's chest against my back and his arm draped protectively over me grounded my reality. The previous night's events began to filter back through the haze of rest, each memory laden with the intensity of my feelings and the calm Conrad's presence ultimately brought.
The room was quiet except for the soft sounds of Conrad's even breathing and the distant chirp of morning birds outside the window. I lay there for a few moments, basking in the safe cocoon Conrad had created for me, allowing the morning's tranquility to help mend the remnants of last night's turmoil.
Slowly, I turned to face him, careful not to wake him. His features were relaxed in sleep, the usual furrows of worry smoothed away, giving him an almost boyish appearance. Watching him, gratitude welled inside me for the sanctuary he had provided without hesitation. It was a testament to the enduring bond between us, unspoken but as palpable as the weight of his arm around me.
The silence of the morning was a stark contrast to the cacophony of the previous day. It allowed me time to think, to breathe freely without the weight of panic pressing down on me. The memory of how effortlessly Conrad had navigated my crisis, his voice a steady beacon through the fog of my panic, made me realize how much I had leaned on him despite the complexities of our past.
After a while, Conrad stirred, his eyes fluttering open to meet mine. "Morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep. His first instinct was to tighten his embrace, pulling me closer. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," I replied, managing a small smile. "Thanks to you."
He studied my face for a moment as if searching for signs of the distress that had overwhelmed me last night. "Good," he said finally, a relieved sigh accompanying his words. "You scared me, Belly. I hate seeing you like that."
"I know, I’m sorry. It was just so much all at once," I said, my voice soft, the vulnerability of last night still lingering between us.
"There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad I could be here for you." His tone was sincere and reassuring. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"
He reached out, his fingers softly tracing through my hair, a familiar and affectionate gesture that eased the tension between us.
The simple act of playing with my hair, twirling strands lightly around his fingers, bridged the distance our recent troubles had imposed. It was a reminder of the tenderness that had always been a part of our connection, a silent communication of care and comfort.
His touch prompted me to lean into him, the proximity a quiet reassurance. "It feels like it's been forever since things were this simple," I murmured, allowing myself to relax fully against him.
Conrad smiled, his gaze softening as he gently sifted through my hair. "Sometimes, it's these quiet moments that remind us of what's important. It's easy to get lost in the noise."
I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. It was true—amidst the chaos of emotions and the complexities of our situations, it was easy to forget the foundational simplicity of our connection. His touching my hair with such care and familiarity spoke volumes of his enduring affection and the comfort we found in each other's presence.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I turned to face him fully. "About us, about everything that happened. And about Jeremiah."
Conrad's gaze was steady, his presence grounding as if ready to absorb the storm of my confessions. "It’s been a lot," he stated, encouraging me to continue.
"When I saw Jeremiah holding that breakfast bag outside the motel, something was in me. Reacted," I confessed, the weight of my decision heavy in my chest. "It was a moment driven. And that kiss wasn’t fair to him, you, or me."
Conrad nodded, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed my words. "It’s hard, Belly. Knowing how I felt about you, seeing you with him tore me up. But I think what hurt the most was not knowing where you stood or if you ever felt the same way."
"I do, Conrad. I always have," I admitted, my heart pounding with the truth of my words. "But I was scared. Scared of what feeling so deeply for you meant, especially with everything being so uncertain."
He reached out, taking my hand, his touch warm and reassuring. "And now?" he asked, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.
"Now, I know that ignoring these feelings doesn’t make them go away. It just makes everything more complicated. And Jeremiah—he deserves someone who loves him fully, not someone who's looking back over their shoulder at what might have been," I said, feeling a clarity that had eluded me for so long.
