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The first time it happened it was because you had draped a grocery bag around his wrist. The two of you were on your way to the car and there was one bag that was a bit too heavy. Jason held out his hand, and you, too thankful for the help to notice, put the bag around his wrist. You did, however, notice that he wasn't beside you when you took a few steps forward. You turned around and the sight made your breath hitch. Jason stood frozen on the sidewalk, his head bowed, the bag on the ground. His chest rose and fell as though he'd just dropped 20 men.
"Jason?" You were almost afraid to say anything. You'd only heard him mention his panic attacks a few times and you knew, if they were anything like your own, that words could make it worse. "Jason, there's a bench over there. Do you want to sit down?"
He shook his head.
"Jason, he's not here. You're safe."
The reminder seemed to ease his breathing. He remained glued to the pavement, his body trembling. So you set down a few of the heavier bags and stood before him, waiting silently and patiently for the symptoms of his attack to ease. You wanted to hug him but you knew better than to touch him. You repeated your previous statement about his safety to him whenever it seemed that he was getting worked up again. It took about fifteen minutes before Jason freed himself from the attack and lifted his head.
"Jay?"
He wrapped his arms around your shoulders. "I'm sorry. I...the handcuffs....Baby, I—"
"It's not your fault."
You were in bed when it reared its head again. Jason was asleep beside you, or so you thought. You woke up at three in the morning needing to go to the bathroom. Upon returning to bed, you noticed that Jason was in fact wide awake. This marked the fourth night in a row where you discovered that he wasn't sleeping.
"How long have you been up?" you asked.
"Not long."
"Liar."
Jason kisses your shoulder. "I can't fall asleep. Must be all those years with the old man. Patrol habits really stay with you."
He knows you know that's not entirely the truth, but you allow him to think you believe him. You shrug. "If you say so."
"I do say so. Go back to sleep. I'll be snoring soon."
"You'd tell me if it was something more, right?"
Jason flashes you that smile. "You worry too much."
The next time it interrupted the plans Jason made for the two of you. He'd wanted to do something romantic for your anniversary. However, he didn't have the energy to get out of bed. Jason stayed curled up beneath the blankets, his eyes staring off into the space around him. You said his name.
He hummed once, signifying that he'd heard you, but didn't move.
You didn't ask him if he was okay. You knew better than that when he was like this. The two of you had been through this before with your own depression. That time, Jason practically had to pry you off the couch. Ultimately, he did, if you recalled correctly. You'd been there for a day and a half, barely ate, and slept most of the time. He left you alone then, until he realized you hadn't gone to the bathroom in hours and that you were dehydrated. He took care of you when you didn't care to take care of yourself. You'd do the same for him now.
You crawled into bed beside him and curled up against his back.
When he was ready, he'd come back to you. If not, you'd be there to help.
Several nights later, Jason managed to fall asleep with you after sex. You thought nothing of it until his gasps woke you. You shook his shoulder. The shirtless mass of a man curled into himself, occasionally whimpering and twitching as he slept. You shook him harder.
"Jason."
He grabbed your wrist and rolled you onto your back. Jason's free hand gripped your neck. You gasped. His eyes were half open, but you knew that he was still very much asleep. You struggled against him, trying to free yourself, trying to breathe. Bending your knees, you barely managed to curl your legs up in the space between the two of you. You felt lightheaded. His grip tightened. You slammed your foot into his groin, as you planted your fist firmly into his solar plexus.
Jason nearly collapsed on top of you when he finally let go. You coughed. That was close. He was beside you now, one hand between his legs, the other in the middle of that Y-shaped scar. You touched your neck. How were you going to explain the bruises around your wrist and throat?
"Hey..." Jason groaned. "What the hell?"
"Don't what the hell me." The rasp of your voice was so foreign to you. You cleared your throat. "You almost killed me."
He stared at you. It bothered you seeing him speechless.
"I'm sorry, babe. Sandra Bullock taught me where to hit and you kinda didn't give me a choice."
Your comedic approach seemed to help because Jason gave you a bitter smile. "The old man would recruit you for that swing. He'd be against you going below the belt though. No fighting dirty."
"You'll have to let me meet him one day." You knew he'd taken more than what you'd just dealt him in both his first and second lives, but you still had to ask, "Did I hurt you?"
"No." Shame flooded Jason's face. "It was a nightmare. I was...I thought it was...I'm...I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry. I just didn't want you to keep dreaming when it was obviously about something really scary."
"I choke you, and you're the one apologizing. Some boyfriend you've got, huh?"
"Jason..."
It all came to a head when Jason was with you in the kitchen two weeks later. You were cutting cucumbers for the salad, while he finished setting the table. Dick and Kori would be over soon, and you wanted things to be nice. But then the phone rang. You took the call and learned that your guests would be running a bit late. Once you hung up, you couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief because things weren't quite ready anyway.
"Dick says they'll be late," you said with a smile as you rinsed the knife. "I think we might have time to—"
"Are you kidding me?" shouted Jason. "Dick can't show up on time?! He's the one who's Mr. Perfect punctuality!"
While you were used to his unexpected outbursts of anger, he'd taken you off guard this time. You recovered just as well. "Jason, it's fine."
"No, it's not! He's an asshole! How inconsiderate! Dick is such a....fuck! I can't even remember the word I was going to use."
"Jason."
"Really?" He directed his irritation toward you. "How can you defend him?"
You held up your hands, "Honey, I'm not—"
"You've always liked Grayson better than me. Just say it, you wanted to be with him instead of me."
"Jason!"
He picked up a glass and threw it at the wall. You noted a slight tremor in your hands. Jason was both thoroughly scaring you and pissing you off now. Dark moons framed the fury in his eyes. You'd never seen him look so tired. He picked up another glass but stopped when he realized how distraught he'd made you. You folded your arms. You'd had enough.
"We need to get you sleep, and then we need to call your therapist."
He clenched his jaw. "I'm getting better."
"For a while, you were. But now, for whatever reason, you're not. You can't keep living like this. This...this not sleeping, lashing out. Jay, having symptoms get the best of you sometimes might be okay, but you've been having a hard time for a month."
Jason left the kitchen and stormed out of the apartment. He missed the first half of the meal. When he took his place beside you, he whispered an apology. You didn't accept it until later that night.
Jason was regularly seeing a therapist when you got worse. He'd mentioned visiting a gym across town and wanted to know if you'd go with him. You decided to join him. After changing, you donned your helmet and jumped on the back of his motorcycle. The location didn't even cross your mind until you started to recognize the area around the gym. Then the street of the gym. Then the gym itself.
No. Not here.
When the two of you arrived, you were glued to the seat of his bike, your hands digging into his sides. Your heart raced once he dropped the kickstand and that fight or flight response made your chest ache. Jason took off his helmet. He tried to move to dismount the bike but you failed to loosen your grip.
"Ouch! Babes, what gives?" He craned his neck to look at you. "Are you okay?"
You couldn't go in. Your ex frequented this gym. To call him an ass and say he'd made a negative impact was an understatement. Your break up left you in a bad way to put it mildly. You closed your eyes. God, your heart was beating so fast. You wondered for a minute if you were going to die.
"What's wrong?"
You tried to practice what you'd learned in therapy. Those deep belly breaths were bullshit. Your therapist told you to notify someone you trust about how you're feeling. Your worse case scenario plan had been that your trustworthy person would physically move you away from the stressor. This plan worked well in the past, and would likely work in this case.
Except Jason didn't know the plan.
That thought was enough to make matters worse. Your helmet made you feel as though you were suffocating. Jason didn't know the plan because Jason didn't know the level of trauma your last relationship caused because you'd been hiding it from him on purpose. Jason slid the visor of your helmet up and said your name. Although you couldn't reply, you were thankful for the fresh air. Maybe you wouldn't suffocate after all. Maybe you'd just have a heart attack.
"Did he go here or something?"
You nod. Jason was smart enough to know that your ex was a source of anxiety for you. You wondered what he was thinking now.
"Hold on."
He slipped on his helmet and started the bike. Within minutes, the two of you were accelerating down the street toward the apartment. The heaviness in your chest subsided, but you still needed to control your breathing and the shaking spreading through your limbs. You started to cry. At a stoplight, Jason placed his hands over yours and gave them a squeeze. You held on, hoping that your heart would calm down. Nausea swept over you. He pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later. You'd made it home faster than you realized, that or you'd zoned out. You managed to peel your hands away from Jason and remove your helmet. You didn't have to look in a mirror to know your cheeks were flushed. You stumbled to a patch of nearby grass and emptied your stomach as you braced yourself on the wire fence in front of you. It'd been years and he'd still managed to affect you this way. You swore and wiped your mouth.
Jason stood a few steps away, his helmet cradled between his hip and wrist. He watched you with a mixture of curiosity and concern etched on his features. You trudged toward him. Without a word, he tossed an arm across your shoulder and pulled you closer to his side. You leaned against him. Tired didn't even begin to cover how you felt.
"You okay?" Jason asked.
"Yeah," you sniffed. "Great."
"Well, that's obviously a lie. Want to tell me what that was about back there?"
"The vomiting or the other thing?"
"Either, but both is preferable."
"If I tell you, you have to promise you won't kill him."
Jason let out a short laugh. "If he caused you to react that way, I promise I will kill him."