good time with his friends and I’m going to make him leave early.
“Sorry, sorry.” I push through the dancing and the tight crowds, muttering apologies as I go along. I hope I can find my way back outside.
“Ben, wait.” Nathan grabs my hand again, but I pull it back.
“Listen, go have a good time, okay? I’ll just wait by the car.”
“Ben!” he says again, more desperate than I’ve ever heard him sound. I charge back down the hallway, pushing past the crowds.
“Hey!” someone yells.
“Sorry, sorry,” I say, trying to get to the door. God, it’s fucking burning up in here. The hallways feel like they’re closing in on me. I just need to get outside. Just get outside, and it will all be fine.
“Ben!” Nathan shouts, sounding miles away this time.
My hands finally find a door handle and I push through, almost collapsing into the cool night air. I catch myself against the railing; more people stare at me as I pass by them. I still can’t tell if I’m at the front of the house, or at the back, but I don’t care.
I’m not inside anymore; that’s what’s important.
“You gonna be sick, man?” someone asks me. “If you’ve gotta barf, at least do it in the bushes.”
“I’m not a man,” I whisper under my breath, rounding the corner. This side of the porch is deserted, thankfully. I retch, hanging myself over the railing. There’s nothing in my stomach but that disgusting tequila, but it threatens to come up anyway. It wasn’t even that much, was it? But that’s not it.
No, this feels like something else, like that night I saw their car. Fuck.
Not now.
Dr. Taylor confirmed it was a panic attack and tried to teach me ways of coping. Get to a quiet spot if I can, close my eyes, try to breathe. I try my best to remember Dr. Taylor’s advice, but everything’s so crowded and foggy.
Just breathe.
“Just breathe,” I say out loud. “Breathe.” I take in the night air through my nose and hold it for ten seconds before exhaling through my mouth. “Come on, Ben, don’t freak out, please. Not now,” I tell myself.
“Ben, are you okay?” It’s Nathan.
“Just, please.” I don’t even know what I’m trying to ask him. I run a hand through my hair, my palms sweaty. Christ, I probably look like death.
“Ben?” He puts his hand to my back, and I swear, I almost get sick right there.
“Please don’t touch me right now, okay?” It comes out like more of a growl than I want it to.
Nathan pulls his hand back, going to the empty spot on the railing beside me. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I just …” Just can’t get a complete thought from my brain to my mouth.
“Was it the stuff you drank? Do you need some water?”
I shake my head way too fast. “Wasn’t the drinks.” My chest heaves for a second. I’m fighting a losing battle here.
“Are you sure? Can you move?”
“Just give me a minute, please?”
“Sure, yeah.” He backs away.
Fucking breathe, just breathe. I close my eyes, pressing my hands to my forehead. Don’t cry, don’t cry. I feel that familiar heat behind my eyes, and that ache in my jaw.
I finally manage to spit out something. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, just take your time.”
“Can we go?”
“Yeah, of course.” He reaches for me again but stops short. “Can I touch you?”
I nod. “Sorry, I just—”
“No, it’s all right. Come on.”
The hand on my back doesn’t make me want to gag anymore. In fact, I’m certain that Nathan is doing most of the work as he walks me back to his car, even going so far as to open the door for me.
“Thanks,” I say, hoping he won’t try to buckle my seat belt for me. I can only stand so much humiliation in one night.
He climbs into the driver’s seat, totally silent, the car roaring to life as he turns the ignition and slides it into reverse.
“Mel and Sophie?” I ask.
“They’re staying a little longer. I told them I’d get you home.” He braces his hand against the back of my headrest so he can see behind us.
“Oh.” Goddammit. I fucked up. Big-time. Nathan speeds down the dirt road wordlessly, not even the radio to fill the void between us. One of us has to talk, someone has to say something, and I know it won’t be me.
I’m not that brave right now.
I sneak glances at him out of the corner of my eye. He doesn’t look mad,