I Was Born for This(54)

I look back at the girl. She doesn’t look scary but I’m scared. God, please, don’t let her hurt me.

She suddenly crouches down so that she isn’t towering over me. I don’t want to look any more so I put my hands on my head and hide my face against my knees, curling myself into as small a space as possible. I try to think about Rowan and the way he tells me to breathe when I’m having panic attacks. Breathe in. Breathe out. I can’t. It’s not the same when he’s not here. I can’t do it on my own.

Someone will come. Someone will come to help me.

‘Jimmy … are you okay?’ she says. She’s got a loud, deep voice. Or maybe my brain is just making things up.

She shuffles a little more towards me. Closing in. I can’t breathe. She’s going to kill me.

I don’t know what to do.

Instinctively my hand goes to the back of my jeans to Grandad’s knife and I hold it tight and I say, ‘Please don’t.’





‘Please don’t,’ he says, holding something out. It takes a few moments for me to realise what it actually is.

It’s a knife.

Not a butter knife or even a kitchen knife. It’s a knife designed for cutting people. A dagger, to be honest. It’s even got an ornate handle.

I stand up faster than I thought I could and stagger backwards so that I’m as far away from Jimmy Kaga-Ricci and his dagger as I can possibly be. As soon as I do this, I realise my mistake. I can’t get to the door now. He’s right in front of it.

Wait. What? Jimmy Kaga-Ricci isn’t going to stab me. Is he?

He’s Jimmy. He’s sunshine. He’s the dreamlike centre of The Ark, a little aloof but always shining, always lovely. He’s been through hard times of course, but he’s surrounded by the love of his two best friends, and his fans, and he’s performing his music, his passion, to the world.

That’s Jimmy Kaga-Ricci. Isn’t it?

Not this. Whoever this is. Shaking and crying on the floor in front of me, waving a dagger around like he thinks I’m going to attack him, or something.

This can’t be him. It can’t. He can’t. This is wrong. This isn’t what I know. This is all wrong. I don’t understand.

This isn’t how we were supposed to meet.

‘What are you doing?’ I say. God, my voice is shaking. I’m scared. Why am I scared of Jimmy? My Jimmy? I love Jimmy. I’ve loved Jimmy for years.

His breathing sounds like he’s just surfaced from water. The hand holding the dagger is unsteady. He’s hidden himself behind his knees.

‘Just … stay away,’ he croaks at me, his voice scarily quiet.

He’s afraid of me.

Me. Me. The human embodiment of a caterpillar.

‘I could … I could leave?’ I suggest, pointing vaguely towards the door, but the sudden movement of my arm makes him flinch.

‘No,’ he snaps, raising his head. ‘You’re gonna – You’ll just bring more of them.’ His eyes are wide and fearful. The beauty that I’d admired there has gone.

‘Well … I … Can you tell me how to help you?’ I ask. Is he having some sort of … I don’t know … episode? Maybe he has a health condition that I don’t know about. Asthma? Epilepsy? I don’t know enough about either of those things to be able to do anything to help.

‘I –’ He chokes on his own sobs. His fear is contagious and I’m catching it fast.

I’ve never seen anyone this terrified.

He lowers the dagger a little. I dare myself to look at it a little closer. It looks like some sort of war antique and the actual blade is worn and … blunt? Could this thing even break skin? It looks barely sharper than a butter knife.

‘What do you want me to do?’ I say, not because I’m scared of him, but because he clearly needs help.

But he doesn’t even respond.





‘What do you want me to do?’ she asks quietly. God, I’m being weird and scary and I hate myself so, so much.

‘S-sorry,’ I say, holding up my free hand, trying to shield my face. Sorry for being weird and scared and a disappointment of a human being. ‘I’m not gonna – I won’t, I just –’ I can’t explain what I’m trying to say. That I know I’d never actually stab anyone. I can’t.

It just makes me feel like I’m really here. Holding this piece of me in my hand.

‘P-please–’ I say again, but she doesn’t move. Her face moves from fear to confusion, and then to pity.

‘What is wrong with you?’ she asks.

I need to tell her that I’m just having a panic attack, that this is something that happens, but all I say is, ‘Please help me.’

‘How can I help you?!’ she practically cries out. ‘Tell me what I need to do!’

The shouting just makes it worse and I can’t say anything.

‘I don’t understand,’ she says. ‘God, I don’t understand.’

I can’t let her leave. She’ll bring them all here. The fans. I can’t let any more of them see me like this.

Breathe in. Breathe out.





He starts trying to breathe in and out very slowly but can’t quite manage it, his breath breaking and stuttering mid-inhale.