No one’s ever done this for me before…

  I have screamed a countless time before in here before but not a single person came to check on me or at least ask what’s wrong and honestly? I don’t expect it because lost causes like me don’t get sympathy—we don’t deserve it.

  But she looks at me like I do…like I am a person worthy of all the care, of all the concern, of all the sympathy she gives. Never ever have I been looked in a way that’s not disgusted or scared. Hers was neither. She looked at me like I was worth being seen.

  I don’t deserve any of it. None of the sympathy or the care or the concern…But I’m selfish enough to take all of it because I never had it from anyone else in the first place—not even Elara…

  I see her tense up at my last comment. I shouldn’t have had told her in the first place but, I had to…How could I not?

  It takes Inez a moment to compose herself, to act like my words didn’t scare the shit out of her.

  “It was just a dream Riven. None of it was real,” she repeats with a sigh. And there’s that calm psychiatrist I know. “It felt real,” I say, averting my gaze.

  “But it wasn’t.”

  “Right. It wasn’t— And I hope it never is.”

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Riven what the hell are you saying? Gosh Inez what are you doing to me? How is she clawing at my walls, bringing them down one by one without even trying?

  I’m lucky that she doesn’t question further, instead settling on a quiet “hmm.”

  “Aren’t you scared?” I ask. My tone isn’t harsh, it’s rather cautious, as if I don’t want to scare her away. Because I don’t want her to go.

  “Of what?” Our gazes lock and I know she damn well knows the answer to her question. She just wants to hear it from me. Stubborn ass shrink.

  “I’m talking about myself dumbass.” Averting my gaze from her, I look down fiddling with the sheets because I’m scared of what I will see in her eyes. Probably disgust, fear, disappointment. That’s what people like me get anyways.

  “Someone who’s afraid of themself doesn’t fear anyone else.” She replies back with a casual shrug. That catches me off guard. Isn’t she supposed to be the goddamn psychiatrist? Then why did that sentence sound like something a lost soul such as myself would say?

  Something ugly stirs in my gut, curling up my spine until my shoulders tense.

  My breath catches—not enough to notice at first, but enough for my body to know.

  And once my body knows, my mind starts tearing itself apart.

  I feel lightheaded… dizzy…

  What if she hates me for what I dreamt about?

  My hands fist in the sheets but I try not to make it noticeable. Not now—not in front of her.

  What if I actually kill her one day?

  No, Riven! Get a hang of yourself.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  What if I’m the cause of that smile never coming back to her face?

  My breath comes out in ragged gasps.

  What if she pushes me away?

  What if I never get to hear her voice again?

  What if I lose her?

  I can’t breathe…

  Amidst all the doubt, I hear her voice. “Riven!” A pause. “Riven, what’s wrong?” She scoots closer. I don’t know when her fingers intertwined with mine, but I grip them as she’s my only anchor in a sea of darkness. Because she is.

  Being the psychiatrist she is, it doesn’t take her long to figure out I’m having a panic attack. Panic attack from the fear of losing her—how pathetic of me. I feel myself trembling, swallowing air in big gulps as my throat burns.

  “Riven, look at me!” she says with urgency, but I’m far too consumed by panic and fear to listen. Next thing I know, my face is being roughly turned to look right at her. I see concern in her eyes—a luxury I could never afford but got from her, nonetheless.

  “Quick, five things you can see!” she almost shouts.

  “What?” I gasp out.

  “Name five things you can see, Riven.” She shakes me slightly.

  Even in my trembling, panicked state, I force myself to look around.

  “You, water bottle, bed, chair, table.”

  “Good, now four things you can hear.” I feel her wrap an encouraging arm around my shoulder and it helps a lot.

  “The AC, the machines, my breath, your voice.”

  “Perfect. Next, three things you can touch.” She runs her fingers through my hair, gently wiping the sweat on my forehead.

  “Your hands, the bed, the sheets.”

  My breath’s start evening out a bit but I’m still a shaking mess.

  “Almost there, Riven. Two things you can smell.”

  “Your body lotion, the air freshener.”

  I loosen my grip on her hand as my body eases up, trembling just a bit, but it’s manageable.

  “Finally, one thing you can taste.”

  “Wish I could say a ‘you’ in this one too,” I reply back with a chuckle, my voice holding a slight tremor to it. She releases a sigh of relief. “Thank god.”

  “How’d you do that?” I ask with bewilderment because honestly, I’m dumbfounded. How did

  she calm a panic attack down within ten minutes? Mine usually last for around thirty whole minutes.

  With a smile on her face and mirth in her eyes she answers, “knowledge and brains—out of which you have neither.”

  I could reply back in a snarky comment but I’m too tired to. So do what I do best…deflect, distract. The entire night we talk about the most…normal things ever. I don’t know how else to describe it. She didn’t mention anything about killing, about the mess I am. She just—talked, and let me talk. Reminds me of the time when you could just say your name, shake hands and then call yourself friends.

  No one in the asylum has ever talked to me like that.

  It felt…nice

  Too nice. Nice enough to make me forget who I am. And that’s dangerous.