sasha james ; d8 | cbd3 done

"Sasha's freaking out again!"

Pain radiates in the place my knees hit the tile, so I use the agony as a focal point. Hand over racing heart, squeezing at my chest like I can make it stop. There's blood in my mouth because I've clenched my teeth around my tongue. Laughter sounds far away, cut off by a sharp intake of breath.

"Owww. Whazzat for? I was just saying!"

"You're such a tool."

It's at this point I'm made painfully aware I'm having a panic attack over a baseball cap.

I've had it since I was a kid. Wore it even before I properly grew into it and cried like a baby if I ever lost track of it. 'Course that made all the others hide it every chance they got. Especially when they realized I'd tear the house apart until I found it. The kind of single-minded dependance that adults find adorable until it's a diagnosed panic disorder and you're a burden instead of a sideshow.

I've got a knack for watching, maybe cause I'm acutely aware of all the ways I don't want to be seen. Secrets are often laid bare without intention, the truth leaking out the corners of mouths stuffed full of pretty lies. I hope their burdens are made lighter since I've decided to keep them too.

More than a wallflower, I want to make a home in concrete foundation.

"The Caretaker said we're not supposed to make a thing of it when he's like this. Just leave him alone."

"What, and miss the sho- OW! GET OFF ME!"

Strange, that I feel the weight of their gazes when they speak like I'm not even in the room.

It's fuel to the fire, a vice grip around my throat that lasts long after I lose track of the their retreating footsteps.

I think I want to be better than this.

But I can't.