Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow it back down. The burning pain in my chest stealing my breath. My voice hard and broken as I ask, “Does Scotty know?”
Blake jolts at the sound of my words, slicing through the silence in the room. “Yep. Will spoke to him.”
My heart is pounding rapidly, a trickle of sweat is running from my brow down my cheek. Suddenly it's so damn hot in here, as I feel the walls close in around me.
I jump up from my desk, pushing my chair back with such force it hits the wall behind me. “I’m out of here. I need to get out of here.” Desperation laces my words.
Blake stands, grabbing my arm as I stride past. “Are you okay?”
I shrug his hold off forcefully and, without responding, walk out of the office. Out of my office building, along one block, then another and another.
I don’t think about where I am going. I’m just going. I need space to breathe. I need air to fill my lungs again. I’m scared I’m going to pass out through lack of oxygen.
Walking into Central Park, I head to the park bench by the lake.
I know this feeling. It’s all too familiar to me now. The first time I had a panic attack like this was when my dad died. It’s happened each time since when I've lost a friend. The worst was when I was in hospital in Germany recovering, and they told me about my two teammates who'd been killed.
I need to get my breathing back under control before the dizziness overwhelms me. My stomach is churning, and my hands are shaking.
I close my eyes. Remembering now, brings me back to Johno.
Fuck, if it wasn’t for him hearing Blake’s call, I wouldn’t be here now. If Johno and Scotty hadn’t returned for us that night when they did, none of us would have survived. They risked their lives for us, but that’s what those guys were like. They couldn’t leave a buddy behind in danger. It was the brotherhood of self-sacrifice and courage on full display.
Why do we lose the good guys to war? It’s not fair.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, automatically reaching in, I pull it out and see it’s a text from Cassie.
I can’t text her right now, not when I’m barely holding it together. I turn my phone off. I don’t want contact with anyone. I know I need to call Scotty, but I can’t even text him yet.
Sitting on the bench, I focus on my mantras to calm my breathing. This is one of the skills I’ve learned through transcendental meditation.
Slowly my breathing returns to normal, the shaking stops, my heart is no longer pounding, trying to escape my chest cavity. I’m slowly taking back control as the panic attack recedes.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting here, but I’m guessing it’s been a while as the shadows from the trees have deepened across the gravel path. Wiping my hands across my face to remove the last of the perspiration from my brow, I stand up to walk the rest of the way home.
I need to get home where I feel safe. The fear of another wave of panic overwhelming me making my feet move faster along the winding paths.
Relief at being inside my apartment temporarily eases the fear of impending doom which still flows through my body. I kickoff my shoes and socks, then walking down the hall to my bedroom, I strip off my clothes, dropping each item as I go. Finally removing my boxer briefs in my bathroom to step under the shower.
The panic attack, as usual, has left me emotionally drained and physically exhausted. The water falling over me is cleansing, but I’m too tired, so I turn off the tap, dry off and back in my room, drop naked onto my bed.
Sleep comes quickly.
Everything glows alien green through the night vision goggles.
My heart is pounding in fear. I’m on high alert.
Maybe I will die tonight!
I’m running across open land toward the enemy. Rounds of gunfire chasing me. I need to find cover. There are no ditches or dried up riverbeds to hide in. It’s too open. Only sparse undergrowth.
I hear Blake’s voice through my headset, “Take cover, Take cover.” I need to find cover somewhere. I need to find a firing point.
The air explodes around me. More gunfire spraying over my head. Rocks tumbling.The smell of burning flesh. Shouting, screaming, moaning.
I’m being carried. The pain is unbearable. Grenades, gunfire, and shouting. Parker is saying my name and something else to me, but I can’t hear him properly. I try to tell him, but no words are coming out. I can’t tell him about the pain.
The sound of a helicopter, getting louder. The sand whipped up into my face. Stinging. More shouting. There is Scotty and Johno. I can hear Blake’s voice fading in and out. They’ve got us. We are airborne. Safe.
