Page 161 of The Fall Classic

“For what?”

“For your body to finish what it’s doing.”

I stare at him.

“One of the worst parts of a panic attack is how it feels like it will last forever. You already know that.”

“I’m not sure I know anything anymore.”

“But you’re still here.”

I swallow.

He studies me but doesn’t say anything else. He watches me with his fingers steepled while I sit there hunched over, my hands shaking, feeling like everything in me is being compressed, run over by a bulldozer, squeezed within an inch of my life⁠—

But I don’t die.

The pain is awful, but it doesn’t kill me. It’s burning me from the inside, but I’m not scorched.

And soon, it stops climbing and starts to pass. My hands are still cold, and I’m weak and raw and jittery.

But the worst happened, and I’m still here.

I’ve never done that before—ridden one out instead of fighting it. I usually white-knuckle it or try to distract myself through it. I’ve never simply … felt it.

It was still crappy. But it didn’t stretch out forever the way it typically does. It was crappy and then it was over.

“There,” Chang says quietly. “How do you feel now?”

“I’m still here,” I say, wringing my hands. Shaking them out.

He nods to them. “Where have you felt that before?”

“Cold hands?”

“Not the cold. Then panic you get when you feel the cold.”

“When Georgie passed out.”

“Before Georgie.”

I frown, and my eyes move around as I try to think, try to cast my mind back⁠—

They stop at the same spot as always.

And this time, holding my own cold hands, I remember.

“My mom. In the hospital.” I shake my head. “I was holding her hand when she … when she …”

“When she died.”

I can’t even nod. He knows already.

Her hand had a hint of warmth, an ounce of strength, and then …

I slam my eyes closed, hating every second of the memory, of the feeling of her being there one moment and the next …

Gone.