TW: Eating disorder/depression/panic attack

I knew I was going to cry. It was one of those times when no amount of effort could keep it from happening, and believe me, I put in a lot of fucking effort. 

"Fuck, sorry," I apologised when the wetness of my eyes spilled over onto my cheeks.

I should have left before it happened, should have told him I couldn't stay long, should have done anything other than allow myself to cry in front of him. It was fucking pathetic. 

It's all so fucking pathetic. 

Beside me, I heard him move, heard him put his cup down on the windowsill. He said, "No, it's okay. Art can do that to you." 

I think he knew it wasn't primarily the art that was the cause, but I was grateful that he said it anyway. 

Nothing seemed like the right thing to say, so I gave no response other than bringing my hands to my face and wiping under my eyes with my fingers. God, why wouldn't they stop shaking? There was no way Ambrose hadn't noticed them shaking. 

It was such a piss take. He had asked me over to look at some sketches, and there I was, crying. I would have apologised forever if my voice hadn't have left me. 

"Do you want a hug?" 

I looked at him; I thought, there is no way he's serious. 

What sort of person offers to hug someone they barely fucking know? 

I thought, he's probably just fucking nice, Andy, ever thought of that? He's probably just a nice fucking person. 

I shook my head. It's not that I didn't want a hug, but I was barely holding myself together as it was, and a hug would only have made it more difficult. 

Besides, I was far too conscious and aware of my body to feel comfortable having someone else touch it. There was so much I didn't know about him. About what he would say if he knew. What he would think. How he would look at me. 

All I could do was continue to wipe at my eyes and hope the tears would subside, but they didn't. They got more difficult to control the more I tried, and the frustration of that made me want to scream. 

Without speaking, he stood, and I watched him leave the room. I thought, fucking fantastic, Andy. Well done. 

Should I have known better than to attempt to get to my feet in such a state? Yes. Did I attempt to get to my feet anyway? Also yes. 

Again, fucking fantastic, Andy. Well done. 

Catching the wall with the palm of my hand, I told myself to just breathe. Just fucking breathe, it couldn't be that bad. Surely it couldn't be that bad. I was standing, so it couldn't be that bad. 

I leant forwards into the wall. Had the air always been that thick? I wasn't sure whether I was having some sort of panic attack or if my body was finally packing in, and I wasn't sure which one was worse. Somehow, a panic attack felt more embarrassing. 

God, I was fucking mortified. 

Even more so when I heard, somewhere between the fuzziness of my hunger, "Are you alright?"

What the fuck do you say to that when you so clearly are not alright? 

How the fuck do you tell a man you barely know that you're not alright? 

Whatever I might have said, I couldn't find the words or the ability to form them in my mouth, and dropping my hand from the wall, I straightened, thought, if I fucking collapse now, I swear to god-

Ambrose put something on the windowsill. I found the wall with my hand again. It was definitely a panic attack, which was fantastic.

Just what I needed. 

"Hey," he said. God, why did his voice have to be so goddamn fucking soft? "Andy, hey, what's wrong?" 

Turning around so that my back was against the wall, I shook my head. The action did little more than contributing to the dizziness, and I bent forwards, hands on my knees like a runner catching their breath. 

"What's happening? Are you...is this a panic attack?" 

I nodded. There was no use in denying it or pretending nothing was wrong. He wasn't a fucking idiot. 

Seriously, I should stop swearing so much. 

"Shit, okay. Uh, do you wanna sit down? I don't, um, know an awful lot about, uh, about panic attacks. I've never-fuck, man, I think you should sit down. You're really pale." 

I thought, I'm just gonna have to tell him what's going on because there's no way I can have a full blown panic attack in his house and not tell him. 

I thought, god, it would be such a monumental fucking relief to tell him. 

I slid down the wall and sat on the floor. The worst thing about all this was that I hadn't even stopped crying. Do you know how messy it is to have a panic attack while being unable to stop crying? 

Not pretty. 

"I, uh, got you a glass of water if you want it. I'm sorry, I don't know what to do. Are you-do you need me to do anything?" 

I thought, fucking hell, he's sweet. 

I thought, I should have accepted the hug. 

He knelt on the ground nearby with the glass of water, and I would have taken it but my hands were practically useless with how much they were shaking.

"Do you - would it help for me to breathe with you?" He asked quietly. "I'm so sorry, I really have no experience dealing with panic attacks." 

At the offer to breathe with me, I nodded and tipped my head back so it hit the wall. I listened to him take in an exaggerated breath and release it slowly. I closed my eyes and made myself do the same on his next inhale. 

I thought, there is no way I'm getting up off this floor. 

I thought, ask the man for some food. 

I thought, don't be a fucking stupid cunt. 

I thought, ask the man for some fucking food. 

I thought, it's pathetic to be doing this right now. 

I thought, ask the man for some fucking food, for the love of god. 

I thought, he's basically a stranger, I can't ask him for food. 

I thought, I'm not incapable, I can ask him for food. 

My eyes were still closed, but tears kept leaking from them. I didn't know how to make it stop. 

Ambrose kept breathing slowly and I kept following. How long it had been, I don't know, but at some point he said, "Okay?" 

Lifting my head away from the wall, I opened my eyes, wiped my knuckles over them, looked at him. The genuine concern in his face was a surprise. The deep furrow of his brows.

"Thanks," I mumbled. I didn't trust myself to take the water from him. "Sorry." 

"No, that's alright. Don't be sorry. Uh, can I get you anything?" 

I thought, ask the man for some fucking food, for the love of god.