Don't Fall For The Hockey Captain

Briar's POV "Miss Jensen, are you okay?" The numbers on the geometry exam swam together like ants crawling over each other. I blinked, but they wouldn't stay still. My hands were shaking. I tried to grip the pencil tighter, but it slipped between my fingers and rolled off the desk. The sound echoed in the silent classroom like a gunshot. Everyone looked at me like they always did whenever something like this happened. I wasn't new to any of these anymore, not after everything I've been through. "Briar?" Mr. Thompson's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater—far away and distorted. My chest felt tight. Too tight. Like someone wrapped rubber bands around my ribs and kept pulling them tighter and tighter. I couldn't breathe, and I could feel the world fading away like the stars of the morning. This can't be the end. I told myself. I have been fighting this since I was eight, and I couldn't have fought this long only to end it here now. "I can't," I whispered, but no sound came out. The classroom tilted sideways. Desks slid into each other. Faces blurred into one massive judging eye. I stood up too fast, and my chair scraped against the floor. That horrible screeching sound made my skin crawl. "Briar, sit down," Mr. Thompson said, but I was already moving toward the door. My legs felt like jelly. I stumbled against Jessica Martin's desk, and her geometry set crashed to the floor. "Watch it," Jessica hissed. I didn't care. I needed air. I needed to get out of here before I died in front of everyone. The hallway was cooler, but it didn't help. My vision narrowed to a tiny pinpoint of light at the end of a long dark tunnel. "Someone get the nurse," I heard Mr. Thompson shout behind me. That was all I heard as I ran towards the bathroom door and slammed it open under my hands. I locked myself in the last stall and slid down against the cold tile wall. My heart was trying to break out of my chest. I pressed my palm against it, but it wouldn't slow down. This was it. I was dying. Fifteen years old, and I was dying in a high school bathroom during a geometry exam. "Breathe," I told myself. "Just breathe." But I couldn't remember how. Time stretched and bent. I didn't know if I sat there for five minutes or five hours. Eventually, the panic faded like a wave pulling back from the shore. I was left shaking, cold, and so tired I could sleep for a week. My phone buzzed in my pocket. Cole's name lit up the screen. For a second, I considered not answering, but he would just keep calling. "Hey," I said. My voice sounded scratchy and wrong. "Bri, what's wrong?" He always knew. Just that he was never around. It leaves me wondering if he actually loves me like he claims or if he was just trying to act like he did. "Nothing. I'm fine." I replied. "You sound like you've been crying." "Bad day. That's all." And then, there was a pause as I could hear music in the background. Laughter. The sound of a normal college life happening around him. "Mom again?" he asked quietly. "When isn't it Mom?" There was another pause, and it was longer this time. "I'm sorry I'm not there," he said, but he didn't sound sorry enough. I wished he was here with me. I wished he hadn't left like our father left. But what could I have done to stop him? He needed to get his life together, and mom wasn't helping at all. "It's fine. You have class." "Briar." "Really, Cole. I'm good. I have to go." I hung up before he could argue, before I couldn't tell him about the panic attack or beg him to come home. He had his own life now. I wouldn't be the anchor dragging him down. *** The final bell rang, and I waited until the hallways emptied before I left the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror looked like a ghost—pale skin and hollow eyes. I looked exactly like Mom. The walk home took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to prepare myself for whatever I would find when I opened that door. Some days she was passed out on the couch. Other days she was angry and looking for someone to blame. Today she was passed out. Empty bottles littered the coffee table like soldiers standing guard. Cheap vodka and cheaper wine. The house smelled like stale alcohol and something rotting in the kitchen sink. "Mom," I said, but she didn't move. I checked to make sure she was breathing. Her chest rose and fell in shallow movements. There was drool on her chin. I grabbed a blanket from the closet and threw it over her. Not because I cared, but because it was what you were supposed to do. The kitchen was worse. Dishes piled high. Takeout containers growing things that shouldn't exist in nature. I started cleaning because if I didn't do something, I would scream. My phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn't Cole. It was an email notification. I almost deleted it without reading, but something made me open it. The words blurred together at first. Then they snapped into focus with horrible clarity. "Dear Briar, this is to inform you that I've accepted a transfer to Portland State University, effective next semester." Portland. That wasn't just far—that was across the country. "I know this is sudden," the email continued, "but it's a great opportunity for my major. Mom and Dad understand." Mom and Dad. He meant his parents. Not ours. Because our mother was currently unconscious on the couch, and our father left when I was seven. "I'll call you soon to explain everything. Take care of yourself. — Cole" Take care of yourself. Like it was that easy. Like I hadn't been taking care of myself since he left for college two years ago. My hands started shaking again. That familiar tightness crept back into my chest. Not again. Please not again. I dropped my phone and ran to my room. Locked the door and slid down against it just like I did in the bathroom. But this time the panic didn't fade. It built and built until I was sobbing into my knees, until I couldn't tell where the panic ended and the grief began. Cole was the only person who understood. The only person who knew what it was like growing up in this house. Now he was leaving me here alone. I cried until there was nothing left. Until my eyes were swollen and my throat was raw. The house was silent except for Mom's snoring from the living room. This was my life now. This was all it would ever be. Me and Mom and this rotting house in this dead-end town. No escape. No hope. Nothing but panic attacks and geometry exams I would never finish. My phone screen glowed in the darkness. Cole's email still open. "Take care of yourself." I laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. How was I supposed to take care of myself when I couldn't even breathe?