TW: Panic attack
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To Ryan, the days seem longer and more brutal ever since he has gotten home from the devil's maw. Every time he sees a shadow lurking beneath the line of trees, or some noise that his mind spun him into thinking of it as a low growl, he loses his mind. He hates being on high alert all the time as it messes with his ability to concentrate on a given task at hand, which may cause him a great deal of trouble at work.

"Hey! Shut that thing if you've done puttin' all the things in there! Electricity ain't gonna pay for itself!" Lewis, the old shop owner rebukes. Ryan flinches and looks back at the old man who stares him down with a scowl. The man's red checkered shirt barely holds onto his paunch when he coughs. His wrinkly face says the time he has been through in his life. But sadly, it hasn't made him any less grumpy than he already was.

"Oh, sorry," Ryan mutters indifferently as he snaps back to reality. Then, with a frown, he immediately starts to put the remaining bottled beverages inside the refrigerator before carefully shutting the door. Lewis's watchful eyes never leave the troubled boy's frame who then picks up the -now empty- carton and makes a beeline to the back alley of the shop to throw it away in the dumpster, disappearing from the man's view.

The old man tuts disappointingly and goes back to sit at his roller chair behind the counter, which creaks loudly under his weight. His hooded eyes look up at the aged TV to watch some news. Then, he stumbles upon a channel whose headline confirms the grim incident that took place about a month ago in the kid's summer camp, Hackett's, per se. The screen shows blurred pictures of the victims, all bloody and covered with a white sheet while the anchor lady reads the statement given by the locals who live in that small town.

"Huh, what a damn world we're livin' in..." Lewis scoffs with a shake of his head but continues watching, intrigued about wanting to know who has dared to commit such a sin.

Outside, Ryan throws the carton over the dumpster, irked because he feels helpless. The on-and-off tremors in his hands have been annoying the heck out of him for the last few weeks, but he cannot do anything to stop them. Neither can he put an end to his racing mind, and as a result, he has been warned countless times at work for slacking. "Lord, this is bad," Ryan mumbles with a shake of his head, sorrow planting its roots deep inside his heart to clutch it when he thinks about Dylan.

The day was coming to an end with the setting sun, the clouds portraying fascinating colours of orange and blue. But for some reason, Ryan feels awful about it. He would rather have the light of the day shining upon him than the eerie darkness of the night surrounding him.

The back of his neck suddenly crawls with goosebumps as he looks at the darkening sky. Dread starts to settle in the pit of his stomach, slowly as if his body could foresee what was going to happen; something bad was going to happen.

"Ryan! Get your ass in here!" Lewis yells in his atrocious gravelly voice. The boy winces at the loud noise but having no other choice, he complies with one last wary look at the sky.

He absentmindedly goes inside and sees the man beckoning him over. "Look," Lewis then points over to the screen with a crooked sneer. Uncertain about Lewis's intention, Ryan sceptically moves through aisle four and makes his way over to him. He lifts his gaze to the screen like he had been told to. But once he does, his eyes widen in startle when he sees a very familiar face on it.

Dylan.

"They got bears runnin' round there, can you believe it? Poor boy got mauled by one of those," Lewis spats insensitively and gestures with his hands. He then turns his face to Ryan and fixes him with an amused stare. "Not a fan of gore?" The man chuckles and lazily leans back to rest his palms on the counter, noticing the boy's uneasiness.

But Ryan doesn't answer. He stands still like a statue as he keeps on staring at Dylan's smiling picture with a horrid expression that the news person was showing. It was shown that whatever had happened to him, was an animal blitz that Dylan was unfortunate to avoid.

"Hey!" Lewis snaps at the boy, making him jerk back in scare. "Ho ho ho, is little Ryan gonna cry to his mommy now? Is he?" The old man taunts in a funny tone, clearly enjoying himself.

"I... I need to go," Ryan suddenly declares as he ignores the old man's previous remark and rushes straight for the exit. Lewis calls out after him for him to get back this instant but Ryan simply couldn't care less at the moment as he speeds out of the shop.

The night had already fallen when he walked the shadowy streets of his town, the street lights flickering now and then. His breathing quickens as he picks up his pace, now scurrying in hopes of getting back home quickly. Distorted words swirl around in his head, and the distorted voice of the one person he cared for mocks him for his cowardice again and again and again until it starts to have an impact.

"Stop it," Ryan grunts under his breath just when he reaches the worn steps of his house. The voice inside his head grows louder and louder as he fumbles for the keyring in the pocket of his black pants. He shakily takes it out and clutches the one key that shall unlock the door. But because his palm is sweaty, his grip on the metallic thing keeps losing.

"Oh my God, c'mon!" Ryan mutters incoherently in misery when he is not able to insert it in.

But when he finally does, he forces the door wide open with a loud bang when it then goes colliding with the opposite wall. In a hurry, Ryan shuts the door behind him and then darts through his desolate house and up the stairs to his room. He stumbles inside the enclosed space, gasping and heaving for air as if he had someone's hands clasped around his throat.

To him, the world now feels like a tremendous menace ready to pounce on him. His shallow breathing echoes all around as he falls to his knees, exhausted and scared. "I'm sorry, I said I'm fucking sorry!" Ryan woefully pleads for the torment to end. But it does nothing and only makes him repent for all the things he has done wrong, the things he could have done differently but did not.

Tears start to dribble down his flushed face and onto the floor when he lets out a strangled sob. His one hand clutches his chest, the fabric of his tee shirt crumpling from the tight hold. He knows that this shall not change a thing, and it only proves the point of the voice, that he is a coward.

"Ryan, son, stop being a wuss and do it already!" Ryan's father chides as he beckons for him to pet the neighbour's dog. But to his father's dismay, the little boy shakes his head a no, fear evident in his glossy eyes as he slowly steps back.

"That's quite alright, Mr Erzahler, it's a common reaction Lucy gets every now and then!" The neighbour, Miss Amy chuckles heartily. Ryan's father forces a laugh too as he looks over at the boy disapprovingly.

That day, Ryan felt like a letdown for not obeying his father.

"Ryan! Why aren't you getting ready for school? You're gonna be late," Ryan's mother asks dubiously as she goes over to the boy sitting on the edge of his bed, looking forlorn.

Ryan glances up at her with furrowed brows, "Mom, I'm scared."

"Of what? The teachers?" She taunts, overlooking his worries.

"No! But, there are some... kids... They scare me and call me names." Ryan confesses quietly.

But the mother scoffs, "Oh my God, look at you being scared of your own friends!"

The boy's eyes widen in perplexity. "N-No, they're not my friends! And they bully others too!" He argues desperately, trying to make her understand. But the sneer on her face dims, replaced with a scowl that Ryan knew all too well.

"Maybe if you'd stop acting like a pushover, perhaps then they wouldn't have had to bully you. Ever thought about that?"

Those words stung like hell and had always stayed with Ryan, nevertheless over the years that have gone by. All he ever wanted was to make his parents believe that he wasn't a coward. That he wasn't a pushover for someone to bully around and can stand his ground against those cruel monsters.

But it was not something that Ryan did when Dylan jumped in front of him to save him. He could have jumped in to save Dylan instead, he could have been fast enough to lure that nightmare away. Yet on that frightful day, Ryan stood frozen when the wounded boy stumbled back into his arms.

"You're a disappointment to us, Ryan! A fucking disappointment!"

He is a disappointment to his father.

"Ryan, you shouldn't blame others for your weakness. You should try and change that."

The people around him are not at fault, but he is. It has always been his fault for even trying and asking for help.

"Grow up, Ryan. You're not a kid anymore, stop crying."

Yet here he is, on the floor, bawling his eyes out despite being told not to show any emotions. But what was so wrong with it? Why should a person be judged for his actions, for his preference to show emotions?

Because the people who tell him not to, are the ones who are scared of change. They tell you to act in a certain manner like you're a pawn with no feelings. But a person could only quell the hurt they've gone through until they cannot. Until the vessel starts to crack and fall, irreversible to heal.

Curled up on the floor in a fetal position, Ryan stays like that until the dawn comes up, too tired and troubled to move. The soft glow rises on the horizon while Ryan stares at it through the window from across the room. Now a dullness or rather, guilt persisting in his chest.

A low sigh leaves his mouth as he shuts his eyes close. He was being pathetic, he thought. But then again, what could he do to change it all? To change that night, the choices he had made. Nothing, he could do nothing except loath his existence.

But the boy flinches awake at the strident breebreeing of his phone. He pulls his head up with a grunt. His exhausted eyes skim through the softly illuminated room until they land on his unmade bed. Where he sees his phone going berserk with endless calls from someone.

Contemplating whether he should answer it or not, he eyes it for a second. Until he grumbles and reluctantly heaves himself up, the sudden change in his stance rendering him dizzy. But once it subsides, he trudges toward the bed and clambers on it with a grunt.

Nervous, he grabs his phone.

"Laura?" Ryan shockingly mumbles, bewildered to see the name flashing across the screen of his phone. That girl was the only one whom Ryan trusted enough to share his phone number with. As it seemed, he was anxious to lend it to anybody else, especially any of the counsellors in hopes to stay away from all the resentment that he'd be receiving.

Hesitatingly, he picks up the call.

"Hey, is everything okay? Why didn't you answer any of my calls yesterday?" Laura sounded worried, which surprised Ryan who was ready to be berated for ignoring her all day.

"Uh, yeah, sorry. I had silenced it for work..." Ryan lies, not feeling good enough to tell her the truth.

Laura sighs, feeling uncertain about his answer but continues, "Sure, if you say so. But know that I'm always here for you when you need me, Ryan."

Ryan sneers, feeling like an obligation to her since she had witnessed the unfortunate incident and must pity him. "I appreciate the thought but why did you call?" He jumped straight to the issue, not wanting to run around the bush.

The other side remains silent for a few seconds until Laura decides to drop the bomb. "It's Dylan, he's awake now," she informs calmy but cautiously.

A sickening feeling erupts inside Ryan when he hears the news. All this time, he had been worried sick for Dylan who had been unresponsive for weeks now. But the thought of meeting him again dismayed Ryan, making his legs go weak.

His grip on the phone tightens, "Oh, I-I mean that's a huge relief... But listen, I'll get back to you later, I kinda have to go somewhere. Sorry."

And before Laura could say something else, Ryan disconnected the call. Repentant about all his past doings, he miserably sighs and tosses his phone beside him. Thinking about the worst possible outcome of when he might come face to face with Dylan, he looks down at his hands woefully.

"I'm sorry..." With sadness in his voice, he murmurs the words he wishes to whisper to Dylan. But for that, he needed courage, which is something he seeks at the moment. Resting his head in his hands, he continues to dwell on the past, and future too.

♢

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