BREATHE

I’m on the edge. That place where I can no longer hear anything around me, even if someone were to scream it to my face. Where the nerve pain kicks in and nausea rolls over my body like waves. When flight mode kicks on without any voluntary action of my own. There is no fight left.

Tears were inevitable and my eyes are burning from dehydration. My lips, tongue, mouth - everything is parched. I’m desperate for water, anything, but I cannot will myself to move.

It’s draining me. My stomach - my whole body - aches for food. But the idea of eating, of consuming anything sends a whole new wave of nausea over me.

Voices. I can tell people are here. Someone must be talking, but I can’t comprehend anything that is being said. There are cars driving around me but I don’t even know they are here. I may not be able to hear, but my ears are filled with a deafening ringing that makes me want to scratch it out.

It’s winter. I’m bundled in layers and should be cold. Especially since I am damp from the tears. But my body is overtaken by heat that seems to be coming from within.

The nervous tics have kicked in. My hands grasped in a tight fist, the nail beds of my fingers are screaming out in pain. I bit them off again already. Just when I was proud they had grown to the ends of my fingers thinking maybe I had kicked the habit. I was wrong.

Wrong. So wrong. Everything I do feels wrong. Everything I say. The way I breathe. How I work. How I dress. How I eat. Everything I do feels wrong. Even in the middle of this - whatever this is - I am self conscious. I must be crazy. They must think I’m crazy. Why can’t I stop?

I’m at the edge. And dangerously close at grasping on to some desperate attempt at release. Everything around me has slowed down as if waiting for me to. The snow is falling but at what seems to be a glacial pace. I’m hyperventilating but the breaths feel excruciatingly slow - like I can’t breathe at all. All movement around me appears like a slow blur, nothing in focus. Nothing around me registers in my brain.

Not the cold air. Not the damp snow falling on me. Not the cars driving by nor the people walking, witnessing what little self control I had falling apart. Not the tears falling in streams. Nor the hair now caked to my face. Not the pain in my chest as I struggle for air. Not the way my legs are now shaking and my fingers are screaming in pain, caught in a clenched fist.

Nothing registers.

Except those eyes. All I can see are those eyes staring back at me. I’ve locked in to them and I can’t let go.

Something in the depth of them is what set this off. It wasn’t words, perceptive questions worded in just the way needed to unlock whatever this is. It wasn’t a kind gesture or hurtful act. He just looked at me and I broke.

We weren’t planning to meet. There wasn’t a set date or planned “coincidence” of bumping into each other. I don’t even know what time it is. I hadn’t called him, crying out for help. I don’t have his number and he’s not someone I would have even thought to call. I don’t even know his name.

But it isn’t that surprising that we would meet. We both take this path often to our destinations, going opposite directions. Neither of us noticing the other. Our presences not significant enough for the other to even know we passed by on the path. I don’t know where he is going or where he came from. I don’t know if his day just started or is ending. I don’t know if he’s alone or has someone to meet. But our eyes locked at some point, and what I saw in his is what started this whole scene.

And here I am. Unable to feel the relief of the breaths flooding into my lungs, now raw and in pain. Unable to hear anything but the ringing in my ears. My heart beating so hard it hurts. The nerve pain coming in waves, burning me. The tears caked on my raw skin, drying from the cold air. Every instinct from within me screaming to run, to find a way to stop it, to just let go.

But for some reason the gaze that trapped me here seems to register the call for help within me. And he has decided. He’s gone from a spectator to a participant. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t make careful movements. He doesn’t slowly approach. Doesn’t rub my arms and tell me it’s going to be okay. He doesn’t call out to me or shake me. He doesn’t ask me what’s wrong.

He pulled me into an embrace. Quickly grabbing me so that I slam against his chest. And somewhere inside of me I broke open.

Desperation takes over. I don’t process what is happening. I don’t analyze what I’m doing or if I should do it. I make what could be a fatal mistake, I cling to someone who is just as broken.

There’s no guarantee he will protect me. No guarantee he won’t break what is already broken. No guarantee I can trust him. Not with my being, not with my reputation, not with my emotions. I don’t know him. I don’t trust him. But I need him.

My face is buried into his shirt. My hands gripping his jacket. As if synchronized, his hand goes to the back of my head as I pull him closer. I’m sobbing into him now, my knees going weak. He can feel it and pulls his arm tighter around my waist. I can hear the strong pulse of his heartbeat and the soothing rhythm provides a release. I can breathe. As if I had used my inhaler and suddenly my lungs feel open. A low buzz rushes through me like the after effects of albuterol.

But then his hand grips my hair tighter and suddenly something in me wakes up.

Neither of us have spoken. No words were said. No prelude to this scene. I was walking down the path. I saw him. And that was all. Just standing there. His hands in his pockets. His jacket bulky over the T-shirt. His hair a subtle mess. And his eyes... staring right at me.

That’s what led me here. Those eyes. Like they knew. They saw. And they understood. There wasn’t any particular sympathy or warmth in them. His brows didn’t furrow with concern. He didn’t purse his lips or tilt his head. There was no form of communication, whether verbal or non verbal. He just looked at me. And I knew he understood.

So when he tilted my head back, I didn’t hesitate. When he moved his hand to my neck and ran his thumb across my jawline, I just stared up to him. He still didn’t give me a consoling smile. His eye brows didn’t move. He didn’t move his gaze from my eyes to my lips. He didn’t speak. He just stared.

There could have been a pause. This was the perfect moment for one. It would have been the ideal setup for a romantic gaze into each other’s eyes. There wasn’t though. It was seconds. I stood on my toes and kissed him.

I kissed him. He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t resist it either. I didn’t kiss him quickly and then pause out of embarrassment. I didn’t really register that there was anything to be embarrassed about. I ran my fingers into his hair. He kissed me deeper. And then I was lost. Again.

I needed him. In a desperate attempt to survive I apparently chose him as my savior. With each movement of our lips, tilt of our head, tightening of our hold of one another, I was fighting for my life. Or at the very least begging for help to survive. To be pulled out of this mire.

I can breathe. The adrenaline kicking in and life rebuilding within me. The desperate tears drying and making my face feel crusty and dirty. Honestly I felt gross all over but I didn’t have time to worry about that right now. I suddenly felt I could live. I suddenly could breath. The ringing in my head stopped. My racing heart beats calmed. My breathing settled.

I was caught in a different kind of solitude. The snow around me still seemed to fall slowly. The cars and people still not registering. I still didn’t hear what was going on around me. But instead of the ringing I could hear his breaths. Instead of the nerve pain I felt a balm pour through me. Instead of the sharp quick breaths, they had slowed, basically holding my breath until I had a chance to breathe, but it didn’t hurt. It felt oddly calming, relaxing.

I had melted into him. I didn’t know where he started or where I ended. I didn’t register that we were way too close, way too “affectionate” for public.

But this wasn’t affection. We didn’t have affection for the other. This was a need. I needed him. It might kill me. It might be the final straw that sends me over the edge. He might push me away at any moment, shocked. He could mock me. Use me. Mislead me. But I didn’t care.

I was a broken person. Begging another broken person to save me.