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| Panic Attack - Ch. 5 |
The tabloids were right there in front of me as I was walking down the street.
And I never look, EVER.
But I did this time. I immediately regretted my choice.
“Will and Amy are over.”
“Ashton tells all about Will and Amy’s Relationship.”
“Amy Heartbroken”
“Will, using the paparazzi and Amy.”
“What Will says about Amy.”
“Is there a future? Will and Amy.”
I couldn’t read anymore. Not because I did want to but because I couldn’t see. A foggy mist was blurring my vision. I wiped at my eyes with my fingers and a sudden intake of broken air made me realize I was crying.
I struggled for control of myself. People were already staring and I knew it would only take someone from the paparazzi several minutes to reach the scene. But the tears continued to stream down my face. I could feel the bystanders’ confusion surrounding by personal atmosphere of horror. My own personal nightmare was morphing into reality.
I knew it. I had known it from the start but I pushed it away. Hoping… hoping I was wrong; that he was better than that. He couldn’t have done this to me. Not my Will… not the Will in my head. But that was exactly right. The Will in my head was not William Martin. He was some imaginary, heart-wrenching actor I created for myself long before the accident.
There was a sharp ripping pain in my chest. The wound felt like ice inside my body, like the fresh laceration had frozen. I hunched over instinctively and wrapped my arms around my ribs. Squeezing, hard, to keep whatever tore inside together. But the pain continued and brought a fresh dose of tears. I didn’t have the strength to hold myself together, physically or mentally.
I had forgotten Natalie was with me until I felt her trying to shove me back towards the car. I couldn’t see her; I couldn’t hear her. My staggered breathing and sobbing prevented that.
How could he do this to me? Did he know all along what he was doing? Did he think about what it would do to me? Did he care for me at all? Even the slightest bit? How was he planning on telling me? Was he ever going to? How many people knew before me? Was this his plan all along? Was he too big a coward to tell me straight up? Did he think I would rip his head off? Cause I would. There was no doubt about in my mind. I wanted to slap him. Hard. Across his face. Multiple times. He deserved that. That would not be irrational on my part. Right?
The mental questions flowed effortlessly and tears streamed down my face as I barely noticed Natalie was buckling me in.
The gash continued ripping. It felt like I was being pulled in half but my right arm was touching the left side of my body and my left arm touching my right side. I was holding myself together, as tight as I could. So how could it still be ripping? Why wouldn’t it stop?
WILL! On the inside, I was screaming. WILL! How could you do this to me?
I could only see red and black blobs coming in and out of focus. I felt nauseous. Very nauseous. The sobs were preventing me from speaking. My stomach shifted violently, contracting and then propelling upward.
My hands stumbled across the trash can and I brought it to my face just in time.
The vomiting wouldn’t stop either. Every sob, every breath, made my stomach constrict again and hurled my lunch through my esophagus. I had only been sick like this once before.
The lesser part of my mind took in the panic around me. Natalie had been telling the limo driver, directions to the nearest hospital, frantically.
Didn’t she know what was going on? Did she know that the hospital could do nothing for me? That the vomiting was caused by my overreaction to something I should have known all along.
Why didn’t anyone warn me? My anger suddenly shifted to my friends and relatives. Didn’t they see it coming? Someone had to think it at least once. Why didn’t they warn me? Tell me anything? Wasn’t that their job? Did no one love me enough? Did no one care?
Why? Why me? What did I do? Please…
I couldn’t calm down. The vomiting kept coming in waves. Every time a question tore at my heart, my lunch was expelled. Although, at this point, it had to be lunch from at least three weeks ago.
The trash can was almost full and Natalie was emptying shopping bags to give me something else to throw up in. I made a mental note to thank her later. I couldn’t imagine what she felt like right now.
I was still heaving, more of a dry heave at this point, as we pulled up to the hospital. I couldn’t walk so they lifted me to a wheelchair and immediately took me to one the rooms.
How badly I didn’t want to be here. It brought back more memories which brought more hysterics and vomit. I had a trash can again, a new one.
I had to get out of here. Since the accident, I had become paranoid about hospitals, like as I was trying to leave, metal gates were going to seal off all the doors and metal shutters were going to close off all the windows so I could escape. It was my own personal form of torture, being stuck in this hospital.
I knew that the only way I was going to escape anytime soon was to stop my emotional breakdown. I focused on the breathing. Inhale… one, two, three. Exhale… one. I coughed, a little more vomit coming out. The breathing and focus wasn’t helping much.
The mummers and hands of the doctors on my body were just in the background. Very faint.
I began feeling faint as I worked some more on my breathing. I was tired… exhausted… and empty. It didn’t take me any longer than that. I leaned back across the bed and blacked out before my head hit the pillow.
***************
I woke up from my dream hyperventilating. I threw the black and white, fluffy comforter out of my eyes so I could see where I was. It was just my dream; something that happened almost six years ago. Ironically, I noticed my left ankle ached as I moved, reminding me farther more of the accident.
My husband laid next to me with his eyes open in surprise. He must have woken because of my thrashing. My eyes continued to flow around the room. I saw my beautiful, simple, black and white, monochrome bedroom, bringing with it the greatest comfort imaginable.
My gaze flashed to the pink bassinet in the corner that looked out of place. Well, actually it just was the color that made it look out of place. My beautiful baby girl lay sleeping with her blond, wispy hair adorned around her angelic porcelain face. When my eyes made it around to the clock, I noticed it was one in the morning, only an hour and a half after that beautiful girl, my second born, had woken hungry.
I looked back to my husband whose eyes burned of admiration, comfort and love, as always. He linked his hands tightly behind my back, pulling me up against his chest, and he kissed me on the forehead. I felt so safe and secure wrapped in his arms.
“The magazines and hospital again?” He whispered in my ear.
I nodded.
He knew immediately what my dream was about. It was the only nightmare I ever had. But it wasn’t a nightmare at all. It was the most wonderful dream anyone could ever imagine. I just had to finish through the horror and humiliation to get to the love and passion.
I kissed him gently on the lips and snuggled closer into the hollow beneath his shoulder. I quickly drifted back to end the nightmare and finish my dream, the story of my life.
Please note this is not my real life. This is simply a fictional story I wrote.
This is chapter 5 of a book I am currently writing titled "Unseasoned Precedent."
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Posted by caseywexler on 2009-01-16 17:34:57 | Rating: | Views: 64
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