Jillie Vincent

There's an odd race of anxiety through her as she makes her way to Paul's place for work. She's never done this before, for anyone, but Paul is . . . Paul is special. He's special to Jillie, and special in general, and so she wants to try new, somewhat scary things for him.

Like bringing lunch to her serious boyfriend in front of his coworkers. That's a nerve wracking thing. But it's for Paul. She's got this.

Jillie fiddles with her phone, tempted to text Paul. She's been tempted to text Paul since all but ditching him in that little cafe. She'd panicked. She couldn't help it, at the time. He'd admitted to losing someone and all she could think was what she'd done to herself. The scars on her arms. The scar on her neck.

She's not good for him, not as a friend and not as anything more than that.

So she'd panicked. Distanced herself a little it, and had felt like it was the right move when he'd done it right back.

But she misses talking to him. And looking at him. And listening to his voice.

God, she's pathetic.

She stares down at her phone and types out half a message before deleting it. Then she starts a different message. She deletes that, too. Then she shakes her head and finally types, How'd the job hunt go? Tell me over coffee? and sends it before she can change her mind.

Sometimes, Jillie really hates this place. It feels cramped, and crowded, and claustrophobic. She's started going for runs, sometimes with Jack, sometimes alone. Either way, she feels like she's running from something. When she's alone, it's worse. It feels like something is pressing in around her, and she runs harder, but it doesn't stop.

Those are the times she panics. She can't fight off the wave and she stumbles to a stop. Jack's not here to breathe her through it. She's alone, and the war in her brain is loud and unrelenting. Everything is too close, too fast. Her breath is harsh in her throat, making her tongue feel heavy and thick in her mouth.

Her legs and fingers feel numb. She knows, rationally, somewhere buried in her mind, what's happening. She knows it's a panic attack and that she needs to start her breathing exercises. But that's all knowledge buried deep beneath the frenetic surface.

She drops to her knees and then her ass. Her fingers clutch hard at her thighs, trying to find any sensation that could be grounding. She'll have bruises later, but that's still deeper knowledge.

She doesn't know how long it takes. When it does finally pass, her throat hurts, and she realizes distantly that she's been screaming. There are a few people standing around, watching her to make sure she's okay. She's too exhausted to care whether they're judging her or not, so instead she just sort of waves them off.

The leg she's been sitting on is half asleep, and takes a moment for the pins and needles to back off once she's got proper blood flow back into it. Once she's standing, she pulls out her phone and texts Jack to let him know what happened.

Panic! At the Park. Ok just tired coming home now hate everything.

She stares at that text after it's sent, then sends, Not you tho.

Her leg is still pins and needles, but she just wants to go home. She limps the first few steps until the feeling goes away.

She really needs to stop going for runs by herself.