Like Gravity(28)

“You’re okay, Bee. You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

I was still hyperventilating. With conscious effort I tried to slow my breathing.

“That’s good, Bee. You’re alright now.”

My hands were fisted in his t-shirt in a death-grip and I was shaking with repressed sobs. I wouldn’t cry. If I cried now I might never stop.

Time passed – it could have been minutes or hours. Finn didn’t seem like he was in any hurry to leave; he didn’t push me, or tell me to stop crying, as any other boy would have. He simply held me and let me breathe.

Eventually, I stopped shivering and felt the panic dissipating from my system. My voice was nearly unrecognizable when I tried to speak, a cracking, shaky whisper that surely belonged to someone else.

“What…” I cleared my throat before trying again. “What happened?”

“You had a panic attack,” Finn said simply, as if that explained everything.

“But…you were on stage?” My voice was unsure, seeking clarification.

“I saw that * gripping your arms and then I saw your face. I had to get him off you.”

“So you just leapt off the stage mid-song?” I said incredulously, my voice sounding more like my normal self. “Jeeze, do you have a flair for the dramatic or what?”

“You must be feeling better if you’re back to insulting me already,” Finn said. I could hear the smile in his voice and felt the tension drain from his arms.

“Thank you,” I whispered, not sure what else to say.

“Don’t thank me. Believe me, it was a pleasure to hit him. That guy is a total tool.”

Silence descended once more. I could’ve – should’ve – moved out of his embrace, but I didn’t. I felt safe here, cocooned in this warm pair of arms, somehow far removed from everything that had just happened. It was a good feeling – one I couldn't remember experiencing since I was a little girl.

I didn’t want to break the silence between us, but I felt I owed him an explanation of sorts. With anyone else, I would have brushed off what had happened, but Finn would see through any lie I spun. I was better off saving my breath and telling him at least a semblance of the truth.

I forced myself to move out of his embrace and sat on the seat beside him. Making sure no parts of our bodies were touching, I turned to face him. If his eyes had held any pity, I might have simply climbed out of the truck and walked away, but they were carefully guarded against any visible emotions. I took a deep breath and began.

“I’m sorry if you’re looking for some sort of explanation. I can’t really give one to you.” I swallowed nervously. “He grabbed me too tightly, and sometimes that triggers my panic attacks. I don’t like strangers touching me. I can’t handle being confined in a grip like that. That’s it.” I looked at him, waiting for some kind of reaction. “Thank you for helping me,” I added, almost as an afterthought.

He was quiet for a long time.

“Okay,” he said.

“That’s it?” I asked. “No questions? No demands that I explain?”

“Brooklyn, you’re not the kind of person who reveals anything she isn’t ready to. So I’ll wait. As long as it takes, I’ll wait. Because when you’re ready, you’ll tell me.” He sounded so confident, as if it were inevitable that I’d one day lay my soul bare to him.

“You might have to wait a long time,” I said doubtfully. “You might be waiting forever.”

He shrugged, as if the prospect didn’t bother him. “I’ve already been waiting my whole life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, my eyes narrowing in suspicion.

He just smiled a sad sort of smile, ignoring my question as he turned to put the key in the ignition. The engine flared to life and we began rolling out of the parking lot.

“What about Lexi?”

“She’s with Ty. Don’t worry.”

“And your set?”

“There’ll be other shows,” he shrugged.

With anyone else I might have demanded to know where we were going, but all my fight was used up. I was exhausted, emotionally drained and ready for this hellish day to finally be over.

“My mother died fourteen years ago, today.” Was that my voice, saying that? Out loud? To Finn, of all people? I was losing it.

He looked over at me, surprised. Of course he was. After all, hadn’t I just told him that I didn’t do explanations? That he’d have to wait forever?

“Death sucks,” he said. “It never really gets easier. People say bullshit clichés like ‘time heals all wounds’ to comfort themselves. But anyone who’s experienced real grief knows that it never goes away – you just get better at lying to yourself, at covering up the signs, at faking normal.”

He spoke from experience; he’d lost someone too. It was comforting, in a twisted way, to know that there was someone who’d felt the loss I did and was still standing. I wasn’t alone in my ceaseless battle with grief.

I didn’t say anything else as he drove me home – I don’t think he expected me to. When we pulled up outside my house, I hesitated before reaching for the door handle.

“Whose truck is this?” I asked, realizing that since we weren’t on his motorcycle, we must be in someone else’s car.