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A lot of my childhood was spent clinging to my father. No matter where we were, or what he was doing. He gave me a sense of comfort my mother couldn't bring. When I was younger the Nightmares scared me more than they do now. Now that I'm used to them, I've grown out of my habit of going to him. But that didn't mean it didn't happen. On the rare nights, I was able to fall asleep, even for a short while, but no matter what it would end up with me waking up in a cold sweat and shaking. Tonight was one of those nights. It was around 2 a.m., and the house was dead silent, only the air conditioner was heard. The sweat clung to me, causing me to shiver. I never remembered the nightmares once I woke up, but the feeling was always the same. It was like a pit of dread, the feeling you get when you know something bad is about to happen.
I sat on my bed, sweat dripping from my body. I swallowed hard, trying to overcome the feeling of dread that was looming above me. My hands were shaking vigorously. The a.c. sent a bitter chill throughout the room, only adding to the shaking. It was cold. It was always cold in Sweet Jazz, but I was a hot sleeper. I crossed my arms trying to conserve at least some of my body heat. I stood up, my feet touching the cold hardwood of the house. I slowly stepped to my door, quietly opening it. Stepping out into the hallway I saw light. The light was coming from my father's office. He had a knack for staying up late to work. I knew that. I stood in the hallway for a moment, trying to decide what to do. I had three options. Go back to bed, and forget this happened, go to the bathroom, or go to my father, who could be doing anything right now. I stood there for a good moment, before walking to the bathroom.
I figured this was the best course of action. I didn't have to go to the bathroom, but I could solve this on my own. I'm fifteen, not some helpless child in need of constant comfort. I walked into the bathroom, slowly and quietly shutting the door behind me. The room smelt like soap, it smelt clean. I stood for a moment, before resting my elbows against the counter and holding my head in my hands. I rubbed my face, notably rubbing my eyes more than anything. The mirror showed my reflection, my every move, my insecurities, everything. I hated looking at myself, it reminded me of my impurities and imperfections. I looked away for a moment, before looking back. I didn't feel like me, I felt like someone else, something else. Maybe I was just tired? No, I'm always tired. I was still in a cold sweat. I was pale, paler than normal. I'm fine. Did I take my meds? Everything was blurring together. This was new. I felt terrible, sick even. I don't like being sick, the thought of being sick makes me sick. I swallowed hard, trying to keep myself from gagging. Were these side effects? I didn't know. Everything was spinning, I was dizzy, I couldn't see straight. I gripped the counter harder, my breathing turning into soft pants as I tried to not panic. My legs felt like collapsing under me.
I slowly lowered myself to the ground, leaning my back against the counter, and trying to figure out what was happening. Moments blurred together as I tried regulating myself. I felt clammy, my hands were jittery and sweaty, and I could barely make fists. I gagged. I moved my hand up to my mouth and shifted my position to be in front of the toilet. Soon, what was merely my dry heaving turned into me throwing up whatever was in me. I felt terrible. Sick. I should've expected this, it happened often, mostly on days worse than this. I sat there, breathing heavily as tears threatened to spill from my eyes. My mouth felt dry, my face felt clammy, and my body was trembling. I sat there, just in pain. This was worse than usual. I felt worse and looked worse. In my state of panic and sickness, I didn't hear the door open or my brother come in. His voice came as a surprise when I heard it.
“Sabrina?” His voice was a mixture of rare worry and slight disgust. He looked down at me from where he was standing, still fumbling to get his glasses on right. I sat there silent, shocked he was checking on me. He must've heard my retching and soft sobbing from his room, most times I forgot it was right next to the bathroom. “Sabrina? Hey..” He cautiously waved a hand in front of my face, as I looked up to him in the pitiful state I was in.
I couldn’t form words. My mouth was so dry, and my body ached to the point I froze in place. Everything was still spinning, the tingling sensation in my hands grew, and everything was growing more blurry. Sylvie seemed to have noticed this. He crouched down to my level and placed the back of his hand on my forehead, before quickly yanking his hand away. “Jeez… why are you so warm?” He put his hand back on my forehead, before looking at my eyes. He moved my face side to side quickly, forgetting I could easily get sick. This was the first time in what seemed like forever that he was caring about me. “Did this just happen? How long have you been in here?” He asked with a surprising state of concern.
I opened my mouth to speak, slowly the words came out. “Half an hour…?” He continued to speak to me and ask questions, but I couldnt retain anything he was saying. His mouth was moving but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. “...What…?” I asked, growing more confused as I tried to focus on my brother in front of me. He was blurry in my vision and a double. This confused me more. I was having difficulty staying awake, which was weird for me. I felt so dizzy and dazed. I blinked, and the next thing I knew, I was out cold.
Sylvie caught me. He gently placed me on the ground, before dashing out of the bathroom and bolting it to our father's office. He opened the door and grabbed Dad’s hands confusing him as he wasn't expecting Sylvie to grab him so suddenly. “Sylvie, what the hell’s going on!” He shouted as he stumbled out of his office and down the hallway.
“I don’t know!” His voice was high-pitched, and freaking out. He led our father to the bathroom, opening the door and letting our father see my unconscious body for himself. “She- She passed out! I- I don't know what happened!” My father stood there in horror for a moment, before picking me up and placing me in his arms. Something was wrong, deeply wrong, both my brother and our father knew that. He could feel the warmth emitting from my body, he felt my discomfort.
My father was always a stoic, monotonous man, I can only imagine his face of pure horror when he saw me lying unconscious on the bathroom tile.
I was in and out of consciousness the whole ride to the hospital. Sylvie was trying his best to keep me awake, trying to make conversation, or just make sure I was okay. But no matter how hard I tried, I stayed in the state of passing in and out. Time seemed to be going by slower and slower. I felt the same as I did earlier, still nauseous, still dizzy, still unwell.
Hours blurred together as I was rushed in, and out of the emergency room, in, and out of various rooms of the hospital. The hospital was a familiar place. I was there a lot when I was younger, and tonight was no exception. They knew me by heart, the new nurses and the old ones. It was like my second home, a place I knew, and one I wasn’t scared of. But that didn't change my position. It was early in the morning before they left me alone, and told me to at least try to rest, or regulate myself accordingly. The clock on the wall said:
6:18
Four hours. I didn't know what was wrong. Was it the fact I fell asleep? Maybe I was so in shock from the nightmare that my body couldnt handle it. Maybe I was dying? Death. Did I want to die? Was that what I was hoping for? Was I clinging on to some fictitious fantasy that I wanted to be alive? Maybe. Maybe I wouldn't mind dying. It never scared me, so why was I so focused on it? The feeling was back, the dizziness, the panic, the-
“Sabrina.” My panic was interrupted by my father who walked in, holding a clipboard. He was reading the contents. No. The clipboard was only used if the doctors needed to run tests, or suspected you needed a diagnosis for something. He sighed as he walked over to the side of the hospital bed and sat down, the clipboard in his right hand. He looked at me and swept one of my bangs out of my face. “What happened?” He asked his eyes holding a level of concern from him that I hadn't seen in a while.
I stayed silent and shrugged. “I’m not sure. One minute I'm asleep, the other I wake up in the hospital.”
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Asleep?” I nodded. He thought for a moment. I could see the gears turning in his head, he was putting the pieces together. “How bad was it?”
“Bad,” I said.
“Scale of one to ten.” He requested.
I looked around, before looking at him. “Nine?”
He let out a ‘hmm’ sound as he looked down and pushed up his glasses. He sighed again. “Sabrina, that scared the shit out of me, I hope you know.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, as he looked at me. I nodded in response. “How long did you manage?”
“Hour and a half,” I said, my head looking down. I could hear the smile on my father's face as he spoke.
“That’s better than last time.” He smiled softly as he pat me on the shoulder, his signature sign of affection. His smile quickly faltered as he looked at the clipboard in his hands. He slapped it in his palm a couple of times, before looking at me. He had a look of understanding on his face as he handed it to me. “Read this.” He said as I took it from him.
I began to read through the contents of the clipboard, taking in most of what it was saying. The corporate font and paragraphs of words seemed to bounce off of me, and back onto the page. I was slightly shocked by the contents, but I should've expected what it said. “A panic disorder?” I asked as I placed the clipboard down next to me. He nodded and sighed.
“Thats what they're suspecting. They want to run a few more tests and ask you more questions.” He placed his hand on his knee and pat it a couple of times, a movement he did when he was thinking. “This is the third time it's happened, so I guess it was time to get some form of diagnosis.” My dad ran a shaky hand through his messy hair and exhaled deeply. He looked at me, his eyes full of deep concern. “You knew you were on the verge of a panic attack, why didn't you come get me or your mother?”
I shrugged. “I wasn't expecting it. It was sudden. I thought it was just another nightmare.” My voice was soft and tired. He placed a caring hand on my arm as he looked me in the eye.
“You know to expect the unexpected.” He said knowing that he’d told me that many times before. “I'm not mad, just concerned.”
“Thats all you are,” I responded.
“Concerned? Yeah, I'm aware Sabs.” He exhaled again, this time one of worry. “I’m your father. I've been concerned my whole life.” He placed his head in his hands as he spoke. “So much for a lawyer, huh?” He made a self-deprecating joke, supposedly to try and get my mind off the fact I was in the hospital. He looked at his watch and smiled a bit. “Good news though, you don't have to go to school. Bad news, your mother.” He visibly cringed at the thought of telling Mom I was in the hospital. She would go crazy.
I gave a breathy chuckle to humor him, he was trying. “Might as well go make that call then.” He chuckled back.
“Might as well.” He walked out of the room, pulling out his phone on the way out. There I was alone. Again. I sat there for a moment. Then it dawned on me, where was the shithead I called my brother? He was in the car on the ride here, thats one of the only things I remember in my state of in and out. It was strange. Maybe he went home? In my period of thinking, I wasn't aware he walked into the room. I was snapped out of my trance when a popsicle was thrown onto my lap. Orange flavor, my favorite.
“You’re an idiot.” Was the first thing Sylvie said to me as he took a bite of his own popsicle. “Seriously, it surprises me.”
“Wow. Thanks for the warm welcome.” I said sarcastically as I opened the clear package around the popsicle. “Where’d you even get these?” He made a noise, one that conveyed he didn't want to talk about it.
“I don't wanna talk about it… ” He said as he looked away for a moment. “Anyways, that was a real stupid move, Sabrina.” His embarrassment quickly faded as he spoke to me with his snarky attitude. “You knew what was gonna happen, and yet you tried to handle it yourself?” He sighed as he hung his head and pinched his nose bridge. “You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days.”
“Okay? And? Not like I'm scared of it or anything.” I openly admitted as I took a bite of my popsicle. “Hell, maybe then I’ll be able to sleep.” Sylvie looked at me for a moment, a mixture of concern, frustration, and sympathy on his face. My face remained the same, it was in a constant state of ‘resting bitch mode’ and he was trying to gauge my thoughts.
“What are you insinuating?”
“What does it sound like I’m insinuating?” I responded with popsicle in my mouth. “Look, take it as you will, but just know I'm used to it at this point.”
“You’re used to wanting to die?” His concern was evident through the way he spoke. “Thats not healthy…”
“No shit, Captain Obvious.” At this point, I had finished my popsicle and was chewing on the stick. “Look, I may want to die, but I'm not suicidal,” I added. “I’m not stupid.”
“Well, you sure do act like it.” Sylvie sighed. “Is that why you didn't get anyone in the midst of the attack? Were you hoping you’d die?” He looked at me with his sympathetic eyes filled with some sort of pity for me. I didn't want his pity or anyone else's.
“Why does it matter? At least it would’ve been natural.” I mumbled in response to his question. Sylvie's eyes seemed to have been burning into my skin after I answered his question.
“‘Why does it matter’? Do you know how stupid you sound right now?” Sylvie's voice raised slightly as he realized just how I thought. “I'll give you a list of reasons. One, us, your family, you are the one who holds us together, and the reason Mom and Dad are still together. Two, your friends? Need I remind you of Bonnie, Parker, Dalia, and the rest of the color guard? And lastly, Me!” Sylvie went down the list of reasons why I shouldn't want to die, but that didn't stop the pain, although it did make me feel bad. I wasn't trying to die, I didn't even know the panic attack was happening until it became obvious. I tensed up my shoulders as I played with the hem of the thin hospital blanket.
“I didn't say I wanted to die, I don't, but I'm so used to the pain my Epithet brings, that I thought I was dying because this pain was different,” I spoke softly. “Sorry…” When I thought about the effect it would have on people who depended on me, and people who loved me, it scared me. Bonnies already lost so much, Dalia would blame herself, Parker would long for closure, and Dad would never sleep again. And Sylvie… he would be broken. Sure we acted like we hated
each other, but it was all in good fashion. He was a Psychologist, he would've noticed the signs sooner if I were to… go that far. He sighed as he walked closer to the bed, sitting down and reaching over to hug me.
“I’m always available, you can talk to me y’know?” He said his voice full of care, as his arms wrapped around me. “I know im more used to Epithet-related problems, but Im available for different means too.” He pulled away from the hug and gave me a soft smile.
“I know, but you’re my brother. I don't want to dump my insecurities and problems on you.” I told him with honesty.
“Thats what siblings are for, we help each other.” He reasoned back, as he pulled out his business card from his pants pocket. His sweatpants, now mind you, we were in the hospital in our pajamas. And he had his business card, in his pajama pocket. And handed it to me.
“For one, I don't need this, I know all the information. For two, you carry these around?” I held the card in between my index and middle fingers.
“You never know when I may need to give it to someone.” He said with a shrug.
“You carry it in your pajamas?”
“Yeah… and?” He responded. I said no more, I simply put it on the table next to the bed. The sound of the door opening, and our father stepping into the room was heard. We both in unison moved to look at him. Dad looked exhausted, mentally. He just got off the phone with our mom, the woman who he couldnt stand at this point, and now he was dealing with my whole problem of being in the hospital.
As he was walking in, he was rubbing his hands together, I could visibly see his hairs graying and his eyebags forming. He probably hadn't slept in the last 20-ish hours and was visibly trying to not fall asleep. “I explained the situation, and your mother will not speak to me. She thinks it's my fault.” This was common with them. After something happened to one child, one of them would blame the other, and then they wouldn't talk for days. My father took off his glasses and cleaned them. “Sylvester, come help me out and put me to sleep.” This was also common when
Dad wasn't able to fall asleep but he needed to, he would ask my brother to put him to sleep, because his Epithet didn't work on himself. Sylvie, reluctantly, yet wanting to help out, sent out a cloud of his weird dandruff while Dad passed out almost instantly. He was out-cold in the uncomfy hospital chair next to the door.
Me and Sylvie gave each other a glance as we watched Dad pass out. “So much for a Lawyer.” He said.