Between the Lines

by Jane Charles

  But at least she’s sound asleep now.

  I can hear Mateo moving around in the kitchen and I slip out of the bed, careful not to disturb Ellen and leave the room, leaving the door slightly cracked so I can hear her if she wakes. Mateo is standing at the counter, reading the prescription bottles. I left them there after I brought her into the apartment and locked the door. I wanted them close in case she needed to take them again.

  He looks up, lifting a questioning eyebrow. I put a finger to my lips so he knows to stay quiet.

  “Is Ellen in there?” he whispers.

  I push my fingers through my hair and nod before going to the coffee pot and grabbing a cup.

  “She has an anxiety disorder?”

  I nod and take a seat on one of the stools and tell Mateo what happened last night and why we are down here. “I almost called you, but she wouldn’t let me use the phone. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “There’s not much you can do, unless you get her to the hospital for something for the attack specifically, and still, that takes time.”

  “She wouldn’t go.”

  “That sucks.” He takes a sip of his coffee. I know Mateo would understand. He deals with this kind of thing all the time. “She should probably get something to take in case this ever happens again.”

  “I’ll suggest she call her doctor today, after she wakes up.”

  “She’ll probably sleep a good portion of the day if her attack lasted as long as you say. They can really drain a person.”

  “I am drained.”

  I turn to find Ellen standing in the doorway. Her hair is mussed and there are circles beneath her eyes. Shit! I shouldn’t have left her.

  She looks at the prescription bottles and then up at Mateo and grimaces before hanging her head. “I’ll just get my blanket and go upstairs.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” I insist.

  “Thanks for helping me last night, but I’m sure you don’t want to deal with my emotional issues.”

  Mateo meets my eyes. “You have nothing to be concerned about.” He feels sorry for her, and is concerned. I can read it in his eyes.

  “It was a panic attack, Ellen. Hell for you, I’m sure, but this one has passed.” I pour her a cup of coffee and set it on the counter.

  Mateo shakes his head, but I’m already pouring.

  “Do you take anything in it?” I ask her.

  “Just black,” she answers and slides onto another stool. This is the first time I’ve ever seen her slouch. It’s as if all energy has been drained from her. She shouldn’t be out of bed yet, but I don’t know if I should or could make her do anything. I know I’m a bit skittish, afraid I’ll do or say something that sends her into another downward spiral. I don’t have nearly the experience with this as Mateo and last night I was just going with my gut and what little training I got at Baxter.

  Mateo grabs his phone off of the counter and goes to his room, closing the door. Is he calling someone?

  Ellen pushes her cup of coffee aside. “I shouldn’t drink this. Not yet at least.”

  “Is there something else I can get you?”

  “I have a special chamomile blended tea that I usually drink.”

  “That’s certainly better than coffee, right now,” Mateo says as he’s coming out of his room.

  “Do you have some upstairs?” I ask.

  “In the cupboard, above the sink.”

  Her keys are on the counter and I grab them. “Be right back.”

  She stands. “No. I’ll go. I don’t want to intrude on you guys any longer.”

  Her hands are starting to shake again. She isn’t totally out of it yet? Or, are these just lingering symptoms? Damn, I wish Mateo didn’t have to go to work. He’s the one she should be with. He can help her. Not me.

  “Stay.” Mateo grins. “I’m not going in until later and you’re a sight prettier to look at than his mug.”

  I don’t question why Mateo isn’t going into work right now and duck out the door before Ellen can argue further.

  Ellen

  Mateo fills at tea kettle with water and sets it on the stove before turning it on. Is he staying here because of me? Is he afraid I’ll do something to Gabe? Just because I have panic attacks doesn’t make me dangerous.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally say.

  “For what?” There’s a slight quirk to his lips.

  “For intruding on your morning.”

  He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re a very pleasant intrusion.”

  “I’m a fucking mess.” It’s best to admit out loud what they are probably thinking.

  “I’m sure you may feel that way right now, but you aren’t.”

  What does he mean by that? How can he know? It’s almost like he accepts this condition without thought. Just like Gabe did last night. He didn’t back away, but stayed with me, helping me through the crisis.

  “Here you go,” Gabe says as he comes in the door, carrying my jar of herbal tea.

  “Thank you.” I should have been drinking more of this, but hadn’t gotten out of the cupboard since I put it there. A blend is always with me, I had just stopped drinking it. That’s the first thing I should have started drinking the minute Scott called. I’m not sure if it really helps, but the herbalist assured me that the combination helps with calming and my doctor said it couldn’t hurt and possibly could help with some of the symptoms.

  Five years ago, I took my meds and drank my tea without fail. Even after I stopped the meds, I still drank the tea, and then that stopped. Life was normal. I wasn’t in danger and feared nothing. I should have realized it was just a lull and everything would come back to haunt me. Had I stayed on the treatment course laid out for me years ago I may not have gone through hell last night.

  “Do you have anything to help with the attacks or only these for the condition?” Mateo gestures to the prescription bottles.

  He knows what the meds are for? Gabe seemed to know last night too, though he didn’t say anything. “You know what those are?” I ask, wanting to make sure for some reason.

  “My degree is in psychology,” he points out.

  That’s right. I knew that already because of the Baxter website. “I don’t have a current script for the attacks. I haven’t needed it for years.”

  He nods. “You should probably call your doc and get that renewed, just in case.”

  Is he analyzing me right now? Shit, I’ve had enough of psychiatrists and psychologists. Not that I saw them for long. Just in the beginning. A therapist to help me deal, and that’s when I learned that dancing is a coping mechanism. He told me that he usually tells people to walk and that exercise is good for anxiety. It releases endorphins, which are supposed to make you happy, just like the movie said. For me, it is dancing and the ballet. When I can listen to a ballet and dance, I always feel better. Even when I can’t move, like last night, the music soothes me. The psychiatrist was needed to prescribe the meds because I didn’t have a family doctor at the time. At least not one I could go to when I was hiding.

  Mateo’s right though. I’ve got a general doctor now who monitors the meds and I probably should give her a call. This could easily happen again. At least until I’ve been taking my other meds for a good three weeks or so.

  Gabe grabs a cup from the cupboard and sits it next to the stove. He’s still limping, a little more today than yesterday. Probably because we walked so much and he had to have run up the stairs to be back so quickly. “I’ll call my doctor when Gabe calls his.”

  He shoots me a look and Mateo laughs. “Dude, she’s got you there. Now I won’t have to ride his sorry ass about getting that knee checked. I’m tired of hounding him about it.”

  Gabe frowns. “I’ll call as soon as the office opens.” He pins me a look. “And so will you.”

  I was going to anyway, but he needs to see a doctor as much as me and if I can make him go by using my panic attack, then I will. At least something good came from last nigh
t.

  Gabe – 33

  Mateo grabs the keys and grins at us. Ellen and I haven’t really moved from the couch most of the day, until she had to go upstairs and get ready. I went with her and waited, not wanting to leave her alone for a second.

  My doctor was able to schedule me for a late appointment, but Ellen’s is in New York. She won’t be able to see her until next week, but a prescription was called into the same pharmacy I use in Poughkeepsie. She dozed most of the day, her head on my lap, while I watched television and iced my knee. A fine pair we make, I chuckle to myself.

  My roommate ended up calling Mag, telling her he wouldn’t be in so he could take care of a friend and then take me to the doctor. I’m sure he’ll explain in more detail, if he hasn’t already, though I doubt he used Ellen’s name. I wasn’t able to hear the conversation because he called from the privacy of his room, but I’m sure if he explained Ellen’s situation, Mag would have insisted he stay with her. There are others who can see to Mateo’s clients, if there are issues, but she would have only him. And, more than anyone, Mag does not take anxiety, panic, depression or any other emotional disturbances lightly. Even if Mateo would have suggested coming in for a short time, she would have insisted he remain with his friend. Baxter is in the mental health field, after all, and they don’t limit their concern to the students, but everyone their employees care about. It’s one of the things I love about the school.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Driving you, of course.”

  “I can drive,” I ground out.

  “Me too,” Ellen insists.

  He’s just shaking his head. “You aren’t driving with that knee.”

  “It’s my left leg, not my right. I can drive.”

  He ignores me. “And, Ellen doesn’t need the stress of traffic right now.”

  She bites her lip and shrugs. Even though she’s somewhat recovered, she’s still tired and a little shaky. Ellen doesn’t need to be driving, but I can get her to where she needs to be.

  “I’ll drop you at your appointment then take Ellen to get more tea and her prescription, and come back and get you.”

  “What if I need a prescription?” I point out.

  “We’ll just go back to the pharmacy.”

  Without another word, he turns and walks out the door.

  Ellen

  My prescriptions are lined up on the counter, next to a new jar of tea. Mateo stopped by an herbalist and she made a mixture of what I required. Gabe’s ortho didn’t do anything but schedule him for an MRI. They gave him another prescription for an anti-inflammatory, which he did take, and one for pain, which he hasn’t even opened. They want to see what’s going on inside before offering an injection or further surgery.

  My doc renewed my prescription and gave me one for the attacks. I won’t skip them again and know I’ll need them until the judge finally makes a ruling.

  Even though I know it’s safe, and nobody is up in my apartment, I’m not ready to stay up there yet. Before we left earlier, I took the quickest shower of my life and got out of there. For some reason I don’t feel safe there. It’s on the second floor and the only way out is the door or a window, which is a two story drop with no ledge to get out on. It’s irrational, I know, but I feel trapped when I’m there. Gabe and Mateo’s apartment is on the first floor and I can escape a hell of a lot easier.

  Again, I know it’s irrational, but I feel safer here and they are letting me stay.

  Mateo ran out for Chinese food and Gabe’s in the kitchen, brewing more tea, and he’s singing quietly. “I know you, I danced with you once upon a dream.”

  I bite back a giggle.

  He turns and finds me smiling at him. His face turns red. “That song’s stuck in my head,” he admits.

  “You remember the lyrics.”

  He’s shaking his head as he brings me a cup of tea. “I can’t believe it either. I don’t think I’ve seen Sleeping Beauty since I was a kid.”

  He sits down next to me and plops the ice bag on his knee. I snuggle close and sigh. I don’t want to be anywhere else. It’s not just the apartment, but being with Gabe. It’s almost too good to be true and a part of me is afraid he’s only being nice because I wigged out earlier. “I get it if you want to distance yourself, after what happened.” I need to know he isn’t here just out of sympathy. God, I hope that isn’t it.

  “Because of a panic attack?”

  “They can kind of push people away. I get that. Most people don’t want to deal with them.”

  His arm tightens around me and he kisses my forehead. “I hate that you have them, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. I just wish I could make them go away.”

  Tears spring to my eyes and I quickly blink them away. I’m an emotional mess right now, but his understanding is so comforting. “When they first started, my mom told me to get over it. Then she accused me of trying to draw attention to myself.”

  He pulls back and frowns down at me. “Seriously?”

  I nod. “She said that there was no such thing as panic or anxiety and that it was just something doctors made up to make more money. Just like when kids were suddenly all being diagnosed with ADD or ADHD, when hardly anyone else had been for years. It was all so the drug companies could sell me Ritalin.”

  “She honestly believed that?”

  “Yep!” The woman had no heart. I see that now. Or, it was a cold one. “She was afraid I would pull a stunt in front of her friends, when she still had them, and didn’t want them thinking her daughter was crazy and belonged in a mental institution.”

  Gabe pushes my head back against his shoulder and pulls me close. “There is nothing wrong with you, Ellen. A lot of people have anxiety and panic attacks. I’ve never had one, but I do know they’ve got to suck.”

  “They do.”

  “You are not crazy either, and I hate that word.”

  I peer up at him.

  “That and nuts, mad, and any other word the general population likes to use for anyone who suffers from emotional and mental distress. There are a ton of reasons why people act the way they do, and some just need some help, and usually with medication.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I’m going mad,” I admit.

  “Taking meds for anxiety is no different than me taking something for my knee. The body and brain are a complicated machine. We just need to treat what isn’t working right at the moment.”

  “Yet you aren’t taking your pain meds,” I remind him.

  “The anti-inflammatories treat the symptoms. The pain meds just mask them. There’s a difference.”

  “And mine treat.” He’s got a point, though I wished he’d take something for the pain, but it isn’t my call. He knows what’s best for his body, and I know what works for mine.

  I snuggle closer, feeling safe and calm. He accepts me, even with all my problems, and he’s still here. He knows my past and never left my side when the worst part of me came out. How the hell did I get so lucky to find him?

  I’ve fallen in love with this guy. There’s no other explanation for my feelings. Anytime anyone else has ever gotten close, I’ve pushed them away. There were guys in my past, ones I thought I really cared about, but I never told them the truth, or who I was and I sure as hell never let them see my anxiety. Gabe has seen it all, and I let him. I’ve blurted out my secrets, he knows who I am because I know, instinctively, that I can trust him. I would have never done that if I wasn’t in love.

  But, is that even possible after a week?

  Or is it just because of this emotional roller coaster I’m on?

  Do I dare trust my feelings?

  And, what if he feels differently?

  I glance up and Gabe is studying me. His blue eyes darkening before he turns me in his arms so that I’m lying across his chest. I blink up at him as he takes the cup from my hand and sets it on the end table.

  My breath hitches and my heart starts to pound, but not in the panic attack kind of
way, but in anticipation.

  He bends, placing his lips against mine. They are gentle and packed with emotion. My heart aches from the tenderness. This isn’t like the other times, when passion ruled our desire. This is a different emotion altogether. He smooths my hair back and opens his mouth to speak just as the door opens.

  “I’ve got din…” Mateo stops.

  My face burns and I sit up quickly. Gabe shoots his friend an irritated look.

  “I’ll just make a plate and go to my room.”

  “No,” I rush to say. This is his apartment. Not mine. And, I should be in mine. I can’t stay here, but I can’t go back up there either. At least not yet. I get up off the couch and go into the kitchen and grab to plates.

  Gabe starts to get up.

  “You stay right there and rest your knee.”

  He rolls his eyes, but does as I say. I fill our plates after Mateo and take Gabe’s back to him.

  Mateo takes a seat in the empty chair and looks at us. “Are you going to be listening to Sleeping Beauty again tonight?”

  My face burns.

  “Maybe,” Gabe says.

  “Why?” he asks me curiously.

  He isn’t being all judgmental, then again, he is a psychologist. “It’s my coping. I used to be a ballerina. When I can, I dance, when I can’t, I listen. There’s something that helps calm me.” I bite my lip and try to think of how to put it. “I can’t really explain why, it just works sometimes.”

  He simply nods his head and takes a bite of the fried rice.

  “I’ll go back to my apartment. I don’t want to disturb you.”

  He stops eating and stares at me. “Can you go back there right now?”

  Just the idea of the possibility of being trapped up there puts me on edge, no matter how irrational the fear.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “I won’t listen tonight,” I assure him, though I know myself well enough that if this point, I’m better off falling asleep listening to a ballet. If I’m going through the choreography to the music in my head, I’m not thinking or worrying about anything else.

  “You will if you need to.”