I don't know what I'm doing - Samuel J Elliot - Written Winter 2014 (Jan 9th)
Pull the panic chord.
Literally. Sam was sat in the middle of his classroom and all of a sudden he was having another encroaching panic attack. The walls closing in, the door slamming shut and he swore it locked. All eyes were on him as his own green orbs strained wide open, his breaths at first laboured and low, slowly building higher and faster until he was audibly forcing the air into his lungs and out again, barely enough time to absorb the oxygen. Was someone playing a drum, or was his heart really that loud? For a brief moment he wondered if everyone else could hear it, they were all looking at him after all. Maybe his heart was making such loud and unusual noises that they could hear it as he swore it was going to burst through his rib cage.
He suddenly screamed and tumbled out of his chair, curling up into a foetal position, hands reaching up into short, dirty blond hair and gripping tightly, almost pulling the strands out from his head. He could feel the pain, and in some sick way, that was relaxing, it was something other than the crippling tightness in his chest and the thoughts whirring in his head. His eyes snapped shut as he tried to focus on something else, no one was talking to him so there wasn't that to notice, he heard a few people say something about getting the nurse, a couple freaking out themselves about not know just what the hell he was doing on the floor, twitching and spasming like some invalid. He wasn't having a ****ing seizure, he only had aspergers for crying out loud. It was a panic attack, they'd seen it once or twice in the last few weeks at least.
Someone finally mentioned his family troubles. Great. His home troubles were common knowledge, mother and father dearest yelling at each other. Sure, every family had that once or twice, but he knew it was about him. Every kid going through their parents divorce thought that of course, but this had only happened since he'd been going to counselling. This was solely about him and he knew it. Ever since he'd been going there he'd started being more open at home as well, his mother apparently didn't like her son explaining that he felt pressured by his school to push past his best. B's were still hard to get recently, and a whole lot better than the pregnant, slurring, teenage burn outs that were populating a lot of the school. She must not have appreciated the fact that unlike his sister Mallory, he still had no idea what he was going to do for college, if he even wanted to go in fact. Mal certainly wasn't a prodigy by any stretch, but she was still in the top percent, though of course nowhere near the best as Joey's ***ing Ratata, he got it, it was in the top percent, the bastard needed to stop calling him about that, it was the whole reason he'd stopped playing Soul Silver.
His mother also probably didn't appreciate the fact that her precious boy might be gay. Apparently that was the straw that broke the camels back. Not the constant need to meet with doctors and counsellors. Not the consideration of medication. No, the fact that he had a dream about kissing James Bradley from Mallory's study group. Sam was upset about that because ever since he'd told them that, his sister's group hadn't come over to their house. During breaks he'd have James and one of the other guys come join him in his bedroom, playing Mario Kart or Super Smash Bros. or something. He'd found a short cut in the former and really wanted to show James, hoping maybe the older guy would be proud of him or something, congratulate him or something, maybe ruffle his hair in that way that made him smile.
James. He focused on that for a while, the guy's smile, his pretty green eyes, the small part of his fringe that would be dyed a different colour every two months or so. The last time he saw him it was a neon blue, Sam's idea actually, he loved the colour, it was the same as his bedroom wall. The light stubble that dusted over his facial features, Sam wanted to look that good with stubble, but his kept growing out in what Laura had told him was 'hobo style'. He had a while to get it right though, he was only 17. He also admired James' fashion sense. Everything the guy wore seemed to look just perfect, everything matched and was colourful or stylish.
His eyes snapped open as his breathing finally began to subside and he found himself in the medical room...
Sam made a face as he looked at the clock in the private room that his counsellor had pulled him into, they'd been silent for a good 10 minutes, there was no pressure he understood, but there hadn't even been any questions in that time period, nothing about the panic attack this week which he knew his father had told Dr. Harold about because dad always told the man everything. These sessions had deteriorated into the opposite of what they were supposed to be though, ever since his parents had begun fighting more, he'd become more distant in these sessions, and now he was just silent for long periods, staring at the clock and willing it to go faster so he could head back down and hang out with Laura who was always there to save him after a session like this with a strawberry milkshake, the one with actual strawberry pieces in, his favourite, she knew him so well. They'd hang out, look at some shops, try on clothes at River Island and stuff.
He gulped a dry lump forming in his throat, not from nerves, but from boredom and with a sigh, he looked from the clock back to Dr. Harold. "When can I stop wasting your time?" He asked