Page 31 of Wandering Wild
I reopen my eyes and, seeing the steadiness in her expression, I nod again.
“We’ll go slowly,” she says. “Nice and easy.”
The moment we begin moving, it’s as if my body recalibrates. My mind, too. I’m suddenly overcome with embarrassment, not just for having what I assume was a panic attack—something I’ve never experienced before, though I’ve seen Summer hit by them too many times to count—but also that I had it at the worst possible time. I open my mouth to apologize, mortified that Charlie had to come and literally save me from myself, but she doesn’t give me the chance.
“Don’t,” she says, her voice soft but firm.
I look to my side, where she’s keeping pace with me as we descend together.
“Don’t what?” I croak.
“I used to have anxiety attacks all the time,” she says, instead of answering. “Especially when Ember first got sick. And then again more... recently.” She clears her throat. “There’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I bet you were never hanging hundreds of feet in the air when you had one.” My voice is full of all the embarrassment she told me not to feel.
“No,” she concedes. “But I did have one when I was merging onto a highway once, soon after I got my license. It was raining so hard I could barely see, and the other cars weren’t letting me in because there were two huge trucks taking up so much space. I remember numbness starting at my lips and spreading from there, along with a ringing in my ears as everything started to get hazy. I was sure I was going to die. It was—it was terrifying.”
I shudder as she shares her experience, having just felt most of those physical symptoms myself. “What did you do?”
“One of the cars finally made room for me, but the panic didn’t leave, so I knew I needed to pull over. Only, there wasn’t anywhere safe to stop,” she says as we continue lowering ourselves down the cliff. “So I turned my music up until it overwhelmed my senses, and I dug my fingernails into my palms until they hurt, and when that wasn’t enough, I visualized the lyrics of the songs as words streaming across my mind, seeing them appear letter by letter. Doing all of that took my attention off what was happening inside me for long enough to bring me back into the present.”
“Hearing, touch, sight,” I say, noting the senses she used for herself, and how they were the same ones that delivered me from my own mind.
“It’s the five-four-three-two-one grounding technique,” she explains. “Name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste.” She pauses. “I improvised with you and skipped a few steps, but the point is to bring you back to yourself by making you more mindful of what’s happening around you. As the name says, it grounds you, and helps distract you from whatever triggered the attack long enough for you to regain control.”
“I wish I’d known about it last year,” I say. “Summer has really bad panic attacks and I always feel so helpless when they happen to her, just holding her and saying everything will be all right.”
There’s a weighty silence, before Charlie says, somewhat hoarsely, “If it’s any consolation, I would have given anything to have someone do that for me. So don’t be too hard on yourself. That kind of comfort... there’s power in not being alone, especially when you feel like your world is crashing around you.”
I glance at her, alarmed by her admission, and wonder what happened to make her feel that way. I’m also painfully aware that her words echo the thoughts that triggered my attack in the first place—how my world had come crashing down, and in the process, I lost my best friend and greatest source of comfort. But before I can figure out how to ask about her own history, I realize with a start that we’ve reached the bottom of the mountain.
Relief slams into me—along with a wave of exhaustion, both physical and mental.
“That wasn’t as bad as I feared,” Charlie says, unclipping her carabiner and helmet, then shaking out her hands.
“Speak for yourself,” I mutter, causing her to grin at me. It’s the most lighthearted expression I’ve seen from her since we first met, offering a small but undeniable silver lining to what just happened.
Her smile fades as she tucks a strand of blue-purple hair behind her ear and asks, “Now that we’re safely on the ground, do you... want to talk about it?”
Warmth hits my chest, the feeling pleasant compared to the humiliation I anticipated. Even so, I’m aware that while Bentley may have only captured footage from above, the nano drones would have caught my entire panic attack in high definition, and I’d rather not share what was going oninsidemy mind as the whole world listens. Summer speaks openly about her mental health, otherwise I would have been more careful with what I said about her. But I’ve never experienced anything like that before, and even if I did want to reveal what prompted my attack, there are other factors to consider—namely, Maddox, and the secrets I won’t risk exposing, both his and mine. So I shake my head and say, “Thanks for the offer, but it’s still a bit fresh. Maybe later?”
She searches my expression, seeing more than I would like, before she drops her gaze and says, “I’m guessing Hawke and Bentley will be down in about two seconds flat, but while we wait, should we check out what goodies are in our backpacks? What’s the chance they packed us chocolate? Or toilet paper?”
A grateful smile touches my lips. “Pretty slim for both, I’d say.”
“Figures.” She sighs dramatically. “But a girl can dream.”
Even after Hawke and Bentley join us at the base of the mountain, I’m still trembling from what happened with Zander up on the cliff. I’ve been acting as nonchalant about it as possible, since I sense that’s what he needs, but inwardly, I’m baffled. He jumped out of a helicopter without blinking, for goodness’ sake. And he barely hesitated before backing out over the top of the ledge, so I doubt it was the four-hundred-foot drop that triggered his panic attack. All I know is, what happened could have had averydifferent ending if he’d lost control enough to release the rope. No matter how I feel toward him, the what-ifs of that are going to torment me for years.
On my end, I don’t know what I was thinking when Hawke was about to rush to Zander’s aid and I volunteered to go instead. I further don’t know why Hawkeletme. But regardless of how it came about, the important thing is that our whole group is now off the mountain and safe on the forest floor.
Physically, I amend. We’re safephysically. I feel like I’ve fought my way through a mental warzone, and that’swithoutme being the one who had the anxiety attack. I can only imagine how shattered Zander must feel, my empathy growing as I realize he won’t have a proper chance to recover until we make camp tonight—and that’s still at least half a day’s journey away.
God, this is the never-ending trip, and we’ve barely even started.
“I think we could all use a break after that bit of excitement,” Hawke says, slinging an arm around Zander’s shoulders. “Let’s go find that stream and we’ll have some lunch and a rest.”
I’m not eager for Hawke’s version of “lunch,” but I could certainly use a rest—as I’m sure Zander could—so I lift my backpack and follow as he leads us from the cliff base into the forest. It’s denser and greener than what we hiked through earlier, the air almost humid despite the cool spring temperature, making me think we must now be in one of the rainforest areas of the national park. Hawke confirms as much, then begins to point out different plants as we continue, most of them inedible.
