Chapter Text
Anxiety – Chapter One
In the cold enveloping darkness, Yasmina can scarcely see Sammy as she walks away from her. The bright floral print of her blouse, the beacon Yasmina had been racing towards fading into the mire. Yasmina struggles to catch up to her, suddenly she's hobbling, but still going as fast as she can. She slams into an unseen obstacle and goes down.
"Sammy, wait, I just want to talk!" she wails desperately, reaching out towards her wife as the darkness threatens to swallow her whole.
Sammy, or the vague shape of her silhouette turns around to face Yasmina. Her body shrouded in a veil of shadows, only her sclera visible.
"I wanted to talk too. But you didn't want to hear me. You have no idea how much that hurts." Sammy's voice carries a hollow echo as she speaks, before turning back around.
Yasmina gets to her feet, feeling blindly for the object she had crashed into moments before. Whatever it was, it is not there now. Frantically Yasmina hops forward and reaches for Sammy's hand, prompting the other woman to yank it away.
"Don't touch me!" Sammy snarls, turning around again, this time not even the whites of her eyes are visible. "Just go away."
Feeling her chest tighten painfully, Yasmina whimpers, her breath shallow and wheezing.
– –
– –
244am
NorthTown
Yasmina awakens from her dream, not violently, but still shaken. Entangled in the comforter and sheets that have twisted 'round her limbs like condemning chains, sin from the past weighing her down the woman's heart flutters off beat. Yasmina panics, vying for freedom, the terror of her dream still clawing at the edges of her mind, she is soon panting for breath. Finally she sits, unencumbered and is able to take her first clear breath of air. As the room about her seems at rest she turns to their wedding photo on the nightstand. Illuminated by the moonlight, silver frame glinting, Yasmina reaches out slowly to touch it. She is so beautiful, she thinks, tracing her fingers across the glass as if she is touching her amazing wife, she lets the tears fall.
Her airway catches in a sudden hitch of lingering anxiety as she searches for her phone. Her eyes clouded with tears as she finds it and it wakes up to give her the time.
< Thursday November 19, 2026 - 2:45am >
She frantically searches through her contacts for the Depression Hotline. Her breath shaky and unsteady, she waits for a representative to pick up the phone.
<Hello, you've reached the Samaritans Depression Hotline. How may I help you?>
Yasmina clears her throat, and then tries to find her regular voice behind the sleep. "I, um … can I just have somebody to talk to? Please?"
<Of course. My name is Anne, and I would be glad to listen to whatever you feel like sharing with me,> says the representative.
Yasmina pauses trying to find words to adequately describe how she feels.
"My wife and I started off on the wrong foot when we first met. I had been hurt before, and I didn't trust her very much, or, at all really ... I warmed up to her quickly and then I found out she'd hidden something from me, something trivial," Yasmina's voice broke. "And I rejected her harshly. Um, I forgave her pretty quickly too, and she doesn't talk about it anymore because she's gotten over it. But I feel like deep down she's still holding onto -"
Yasmina chokes down a sob. "Me being so mean to her, when I should have just been understanding of her situation. And she goes on business trips a lot, so whenever she leaves, I have nightmares. Just horrible nightmares of me in her shoes during that incident. And I can't stand the thought of living without her. And I hate myself for what I must have put her through!"
Sobs wrack her body now. The representative stays silent as she waits for Yasmina to continue.
"She's everything to me. I can't live without her and during our first moments together, I was just so cruel. But now, she goes on these massive business meetings every couple weeks, and I'm the happiest person on the planet when she's with me, but when she isn't, I fall apart, and I can't help thinking that I'm too clingy, and that she just resents me for that one incident, and even if she does, I deserve it, right?"
Yasmina hears representative Anne take a breath before she asks, <If she resented you, she wouldn't have agreed to be by your side until death do you part, would she?>
Yasmina perks up a bit at this. "I guess you're right." Looking at the photo, two white dresses cascading in a waterfall of silk and lace, Sammy dipping her low as they kiss happily, she takes deep breaths to calm down.
"Thank you ma'am. I feel better now." Yasmina announces as she wipes at the lingering tears on her cheek.
<You're welcome, sweety. I hope the rest of your day goes well.>
Yasmina smiles through her tears and hangs up, staring at her phone for a while before deciding to call Sammy, who answers immediately.
<Yaz! I miss you so much, how are you?!>
Sammy's cheerful voice sends Yasmina into a second, more intense wave of sobs. She was too good for her, oh god Yasmina doesn't deserve someone like Sammy! Yet all she wants is to feel the other woman in bed beside her, to know she is there, to know she is safe, to know that they are going to be alright.
Sammy listens in quiet sorrow, knowing that Yasmina has had another nightmare, all the while cursing herself for having accepted the promotion.
Yasmina manages to croak, "Sammy, I love you so much, and I'm so sorry, for everything I've ever done to hurt you! I promise, I'll never leave you again!"
She can vaguely hear her wife shushing her softly over the phone. <Oh Yaz, I know you won't. And I'll always be here for you.>
Yasmina catches her breath. "When are you coming home?"
<Later today. My flight leaves in a few hours, I'll be in your arms soon enough.>
Yasmina pulls up FlightRadar to check for the departure. Southwest Airlines Flight 640 departs Dallas in three hours, arriving later in the morning. She stares hard at the phone screen.
No, not soon enough.
"Please hurry. I need you." Yasmina hears herself whisper in sorrow.
- -
720am
Wandermere
Furiously searching for the brochures, Darius drops his phone on the linoleum floor, hearing the dreaded audible crack of impact. The cold jolt of initial panic is replaced by a dull, angry fire of frustration and anger.
"Aw damn, you gotta be -" the man mutters, eyes squeezed closed in disbelief. He won't hear the end of this one anytime soon.
Then as he has prophesied, Brooklynn runs past him, trying to put on her hoodie, gasping at the sight of the device on the floor. "Darius, you just got that phone!"
Darius reaches down to pick it up, fearing the worst.
After a quick inspection, he sees no identifiable cracks, though in his head he can't keep from wondering about the glass' future stability and resistance to impact. But that is a problem for another day, there are much more important things at hand.
"Whew, okay, we're good!" he sighs, another crisis averted on an already stressful day. Letting a breath out through his teeth Darius tries to compose himself as he reflects on the significance of this day.
Two months ago, a young, mentally ill Black woman in Milwaukee had suffered a massive panic attack on her own property. Fearing for her health and safety her family had called the police for help. Instead of arriving in the company of social workers, rendering any type of aid, or offering crisis response, the responding officers declared the woman "combative" when they could not get her to calm down. After all five officers had pinned her to the ground, she slowly suffocated to death while onlookers begged for relief on her behalf. The officers were never charged with any wrongdoing. Planet-wide protests have been erupting in her support ever since, demanding accountability for the officers and their corrupt brethren across the globe.
Darius and Brooklynn are leading a protest this morning in Downtown Spokane. Today must go perfectly. He has been planning this protest for weeks, and had taken the day off so he could put the Spokane movement into action.
"Do you have the signs?" Brooklynn yells from the bedroom.
"They should all be in the car! I know because I put them in there last night!" Darius calls back with playful sarcasm as he swallows hard past the nervous lump in his throat.
Darius pats himself down, feeling for his pepper spray and keychain. "Got 'em," he tells himself. He slowly backpedals, trying to remember everything. He bumps into the dining table, hearing an odd scratching sound. He whirls around, noticing a hand-crafted sign, with big block letters.
<JUSTICE FOR DENASIA REDDINGTON! #BLM>
Brooklynn appears behind him. "Looks like you missed one!" she winks.
Darius grabs the sign, turns around and smiles, leaning against the edge of the table. "Yeah, whoops. Too much going on upstairs," he replies, pointing to his head. His smile drops, and Brooklynn closes in on him, arms draping around his neck.
"Hey. It'll be fine. You got this." She gives him a reassuring smile.
"It has to be. I don't know what I'm gonna do if it doesn't go well." Darius closes his eyes, and Brooklynn leans her forehead against his chest. Even though Brooklynn is one year older than Darius, with the blessings of genetics he is much taller. Pulling her head away, she stands up on her tippy toes, puckering up her lips for a kiss, and Darius happily obliges.
"I love you."
"I love you. "
"Let's go."
- -
755am
Division Street Bridge
Still shaken by her nightmare, Yasmina sits in silence, listening to the November rain on her windshield.
All three lanes towards Downtown are chugging along slowly, while the fourth lane turning left and the fifth lane turning right are both completely empty. Typical. She always gets caught in traffic at this junction no matter what time she leaves. Subconsciously she notes the pain in her ankle, shifting slightly to help alleviate it.
Yasmina had spent her entire life longing for friends, but the road to glory was paved in hard work and dedication, not slumber parties and pinky promises. Aiming for the stars the former Olympic hopeful had led an athletic life that prevented her from forming any lasting relationships when she was younger. Then, after the accident she had been forced to put her track career off indefinitely.
Her mind wanders to Sammy.
Her dear, sweet Sammy.
Yasmina had fallen head over heels for her. Asked her to marry her. Become the happiest woman on Earth. They moved into an apartment tower near the NorthTown Mall, and then Yasmina settled into a housekeeping job at the Davenport Grand. Everything was perfect, domestic bliss reigned, and then, Sammy got the promotion and started traveling more and more frequently. That was when the nightmares began. At first she had not wanted to classify them as such, and for a long time she had kept them to herself. But Sammy had eventually caught on, and wearing her down over time eventually convinced Yasmina to get a therapist.
The therapist seemed okay at first, but then he started to get creepy. Uncomfortable sessions lasting what felt like hours. He asked her questions about her love life, questions about terrorism, questions that had no bearing on her reasons for being there. He had started to get too close to her, literally. It made her skin crawl and set alarm bells ringing in her head.
She had not been to another therapist since.
As a result of both his behavior and the void left in her mental health care needs, her anxiety levels skyrocketed. Sammy was trustworthy and understanding, but there was only so much she could do to help, and only so much she wanted to burden her wife with. Yasmina longed for somebody else to talk to. Her boss could be that person sometimes, but she was always on a mission and usually had no time to talk.
Feeling her anxiety clawing at her, she turns on the radio. She starts flipping through channels, trying to find something she likes.
<The Big 99-9! Coyote Country!>
Ugh, skip.
<Shout, shout, let it all out. These are the things I could do without. Come on! I'm talkin' to you, come on!>
Nope, skip.
<It feels like I don't know you anymore! I don't understand why you're so cold to me, with every breath you breathe - >
"Jeez." Skip.
<Those church bells, ringin' ringin', and up in the loft that whole choir singin' singin'!>
"The hell!"
Usually she likes "Cold" by Maroon Five, but today is not a good day for that song. "Church Bells" by Carrie Underwood gives her abuse vibes, as it should, which makes it a good song by an even better artist, but also not a wise choice. She has no idea what that old song she first heard is even called, nor is she a big fan of country music. Sighing, she turns the radio off, opting for the rain instead. At least its sound calms her down.
The light she is waiting for turns green at last, allowing traffic to move. Looking to her right, she can see the Spokane River, and Riverfront Park a short distance away.
"If somebody hasn't parked in my spot again, I can make it to work just in time," she says to herself. She makes a left turn into the Davenport Grand Hotel parking garage, hoping for the best.
- -
810am
Division Street and Hastings Road
Brooklynn is driving this time, much to Darius's displeasure.
After being trapped at a traffic light for ten minutes straight, Brooklynn had decided to pull around the platoon, using the right-only lane to turn left. A highly illegal move that had almost gotten them flattened by a Kenworth with a load of petroleum.
"I'm just saying we made it relatively safely!"
Darius shakes his head. "You know, there's a reason why the cars in that lane are only allowed to turn right!"
"I got tired of waiting for them. If I hadn't made that decision we'd still be over there!"
"Yeah I know, but it was a stupid-ass decision."
Brooklynn laughs at Darius's angry cursing, something she always finds hilarious, even in stressful times.
"It ain't that funny, Giggles. You know, I don't usually wake up in the mornings and choose death, but that's just me."
Brooklynn pulls herself together, seeing Darius's stern expression. "I know. I'm sorry. I'll let you drive next time."
The traffic platoon they are in pulls up to the light at Hastings Road. The rain sounds over the soft engine of their 2009 Malibu.
"In other news, the city approved our request to close northern Downtown for our protest!" Brooklynn says cheerfully.
Darius glances at her. "I thought they figured that out last week. What happened?"
"They revoked it due to complaints, but then decided to allow us to close the area anyways. We have a permit to hold the protest today and tomorrow."
"We aren't even gonna be there tomorrow," Darius deadpans.
Brooklynn looks at him dejectedly. "Well, I just thought if it goes well … you know."
"Honey we only planned for one day of protest."
Brooklynn looks at him as she speaks. "I know. I got too ahead of myself. I'm so sorry -"
Suddenly she sees an articulated city bus parked a short distance away. She gasps and yells "City bus!"
Darius glances at it and says, "Park-and-Ride."
Brooklynn lets loose with another houl of laughter. "I'm sorry, I always forget!"
Darius cannot help smiling despite his stress. Brooklynn sees the smile creeping up on him, and takes advantage of the opportunity to say cutely, "Do I still get one-hundred points?"
"No, that's a Park-and-Ride, Park-and-Rides are off-limits!"
"Dammit!" Brooklynn pounds the steering wheel in playful frustration. "Worth a shot."
Darius sits back with a shit-eating grin.
Music in this chapter
"Church Bells" by Carrie Underwood
- - - -