*In this emotional roller coaster of a chapter, our boy Stevie has a panic attack. Panic Attacks happen to many people, including myself. It is hard to put them in words so I will do my best. I tried to make the episode more personal to Steve, rather than how my panic attacks commence, to add an element of EdGYNesS. If this triggers anything for you, I do not expect you to read this. It can be difficult, and this does not make you 'weak'. Realizing that you are affected by something is not being 'weak'. It's being emotionally intelligent. Take care of yourselves. I love all of you even though I don't even know you and also no one is going to read my crappy writing. Have a good day/night lovelies.*

1340 Words!!!

(Steve's POV)

He saw my drawings.

No one has ever seen my drawings.

Not even my own mother has seen my drawings.

I draw for me, not for anyone else. It helps me release my emotions in a positive way.

I think.

I draw things like motorcycles, people, and Mickey Mouse. I also like to draw landscapes and all sorts of other things. It all depends on my surroundings.

I drew him on the swing set because the lighting was good. I have been working a lot with shadows lately and wanted some extra practice. His dark hair and bright blue eyes made a nice contrast to the green trees in the background. He just looked so graceful. I had to draw him.

Anyway:

I honestly don't know why it bothers me so much that anyone sees my drawings. I guess just because people make fun of me for everything I do. I don't need more reasons to get beat up.

But Barnes.

Everyone loves him. He is so popular. He walks around with his head held high and his shoulders back. His family is super wealthy and he dresses in the nicest outfits. He has such a strong build too for a 6th grader.

And........he looked at my drawings.

What if he hated them? What if he thought they were bad? What if he will tell the whole school I am an artsy freak?

What if I get beat up again?

My breathing gets heavier.

Blood rushes to my ears and I start to tear up. My already blurred vision starts to worsen, and I see nothing but darkness.

"What is....What is, h-happening to, to me?" I burst out as I fall to the hard, wooden floor. I landed on my right foot wrong and pain rushes to the area. My heart beats a million miles per minute.

I think I am having a heart attack. Oh gosh.

I try to open my mouth to yell for my mother, but instead a bubble forms in my throat and I am unable to make sound.

I have hives, as if thousands of blisters on my skin. As they begin to form, I itch them to stop the sensation of burning they create.

I am going to die.

If I am going to have a heart attack and die, I at least want my mom to be here.

But I can't talk, gosh I'm so weak.

I slam my head against the floor to gain her attention, since I am not able to move to my mother.

I hear a ringing noise in my left ear and fast footsteps in the right.

A sharp throb enters my brain when I move over to my side and throw up next to my dresser.

"What is happening Stevie?!" My mother yells, tears flowing down her face. I have also started crying, sometime during this.

I try to answer her, but I can't seem to talk.

I hate myself. If I could just die, I would spare everyone.

I just lay there on the floor, shaking and dry heaving.

Gosh, I am so stupid.

I can't do anything right.

I told myself not to care what others think about me but how can I not? It's all I know how to do. I can't fight like the other boys, I can't wear cool clothes like James. I can never be anything other than a weak little boy.

"Stevie? Stevie? STEVE?!"

I feel my mother's tears fall on my face as she picks me up and sits me up against my bed.

All I see is darkness.

"It's okay Stevie. I got you," She runs her hand up and down my back, "Just breathe in and out. In and out. There you go see!" She says as my chest moves up and down. It feels like a heavy weight is preventing me from doing it though. I gasp for air and my mom sets me up straight and rubs my back again.

I feel my breathing start to gain a normal pace. Light starts to come back in bursts. My sense of feeling comes back. My fingers feel tingly and my ankle is throbbing.

I open my mouth to talk, "Mom?"

"Yes! Yes! Oh I'm so glad you're okay Stevie!"

"Mom? Mom?" I ask, grabbing her on her arms.

"Yes, son? What is it?"

"Am I a disappointment to you?" I look down at my chest and heavy sigh.

"No! Of course not Stevie! Panic Attacks don't define you. It's okay that you have anxiety. I have it too sweetie."

"Wait, wait, WHAT. Panic Attacks? I thought I just had a heart attack! I thought that was another one of my stupid health problems attacking me again!" I push back the tears, trying to be a man. I cannot seem to fight them. Just like everything.

"Stevie, come here," She pulls me into a tight hug. I feel her breath run down my back and it reassures me that everything might just be okay. She smells of medical supplies and yet that is weirdly comforting. "IS this about the fight?"

"Yeah," I queily answer, feeling disappointed in myself.

"You can't let anything bring you down. You are a strong, amazing young man and no one can tell you otherwise."

I nod my head into her neck and let out one last sob.

"I'll go get some ice for your foot sweetie." As she leaves, I see that she had an open cut on her hand. Must be from working hard all day. If anyone has shown me strength, it has been Sarah Rogers. My mother.

She has done what no one has ever been able to do.

Deal with me.

She comes back with an ice pack and an orange.

"For me? Mom, where did you get this?" I sputter out, in shock she could find something so rare in these troubling times.

"Well, with the whole economic downfall things have been changing in the Tuberculosis Ward. We don't get paid as much and The Depression has struck our family hard. But, I still find ways to manage. I saw this is a cart downtown and it reminded me of you. I had saved up some extra money and though this was the perfect occasion. It was so small and may look weak to the others, but I know that it will be the sweetest one out of that whole batch. Enjoy sweetheart. I love you. Have a good night!" She kisses my forehead and walks out of the room, coughing.

I love my mother more than anything in the world. Nothing can ever compare.

Yeah, I looked up to Joseph, my father. Just not as much. He was an alcoholic and despite my mom and me trying to help him, he refused and abused us both. He would scream and yell until his voice couldn't be heard anymore. I still flinch at loud screaming to this day.

Yet I still have compassion for him. He went through so much and couldn't handle his own pain. He had to go to alcohol to make him forget his troubles. That must be horrible for anyone, to have that as the only option you see. When there is so much more out there.

He gave his life in service of The United States of America, and for that I am eternally grateful.

I look at the image of my father and mother on my nightstand. Although he died when I was six, I still remember good things about him too. His smile, his love, his uniform.

I may not come from the best background, I may not be the strongest and most able-bodied man; but I got through today. I made it without having an actual heart attack.

And if Barnes saw my drawings, so what? He saved me from possible injuries today, maybe he'll save me from emotional injuries too.

I am just glad my mother helped me through today, and hey: whatever comes next, let it come.