I need her, and I think maybe that’s okay.
“Hey,” she says softly. “It’s okay.”
It’s not, but I let her say it anyway.
I squeeze my eyes shut, chest still heaving. My fingers dig into the wall behind me, knuckles tight and white.
Quinn’s hand slides down my arm, and then she laces her fingers with mine.
“You’re alright, baby. You’re okay.”
I shake my head. “I can’t—” I gulp a breath. “I can’t get enough air.”
“You can. I’m right here.”
I can feel her now, her knee brushing against mine, her words anchoring me. She lifts my hand, presses my palm flat against my chest, grounding me with her touch. Steady. Solid.
“Breathe with me,” she says. “You can do it.”
I try. It’s shaky at first, but she keeps her hand over mine, and I follow her lead. My heart’s still racing, but not as bad. My ribs don’t feel like they’re caving in anymore.
We slide down the wall together, legs stretched out on the cold tile. Quinn doesn’t say anything for a while, just stays close, her arm pressed to mine. I lean my head back, eyes closed, trying to gather what’s left of myself.
“Was that a panic attack?” she asks eventually.
I swallow, my throat still tight. “More of an . . . anxious spiral.”
“Right,” she says dryly. “A panic attack, then?”
I half smile, breath still uneven. “Now’s not the time to piss me off, Quinn.”
“It might be exactly the time,” she says. Her thumb brushes the side of my hand. “You’re still here, though. That’s what matters.”
I don’t answer right away. My thoughts are still tangled, too sharp around the edges.
“Has this been happening a lot?” she asks.
“Last one was the night after we broke up.”
“I knew you had anxiety,” she says, fingers curling gently against mine. “And depression. But you never had panic attacks when we were together. Not that I knew of.”
“Didn’t have many before that,” I tell her. “Had a few when I was younger, but ... not like this.” I shake my head, staring at a scuff mark on the tile. “Then, after we ended things, I guess.”
“That’s heavy.”
“My meds keep me steady most of the time,” I say, like that’s enough to fix it. “And I was good for a while.”
“Yeah, and you will be again. Do you want to finish the meet, or should I go talk to Voss for you?”
“No,” I say. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
I drag in another breath—slower this time, steadier. “I just want to swim. I’ll figure out the rest later.”
“Alright.” She reaches out a hand, helping me to my feet. “We can talk more about your dad later. Maybe we could even go to Oakview together.”
“You’d come with me?”
