Page 21 of The Breaking Pointe

don’t panic

COLTON

Going to the hospital is as antagonizing as I imagined it would be. So antagonizing that I can’t even stay in the building. Which didn’t matter because overnight visitors haven’t been allowed for a few months now due to the rapid illness outbreak within the building. So the doctors left me with a few major things to consider.

At-home hospice, or in-house hospice. And if I choose to keep her home, which I already think I will, I’m left to search for an at-home nurse who I can trust. I can trust a lot of things, but a random person to take care of my dying mother is not something I can settle over in one night. So, upon coming home, I do what I do best to think it over.

Running.

I park my car near Noelle’s dance studio for a decent founda- tion. There are a lot of streetlights, and the sidewalk is more open. It makes for a more comfortable trail to run along. It’s

also free of people since it’s now reached eight o’clock. That means I have little to no human objects in my way, and I can book it as fast as I want to.

The disaster inside my brain isn’t letting up, though, no matter how fast I run. I somehow carried the thoughts with me outside, and they are bringing my run to a light jog. The good feeling that usually comes along with it is absent this time. Every feeling is absent at this moment. I’m becoming numb the longer I go, giving myself a familiar feeling that I haven’t had that’s overpowering the numbness.

When I feel trapped in my emotions, I feel like I’m trapped in a steel box. I call it The Panic Box.

Not to mention, I’m gaining tunnel vision of the sidewalk in front of me, and if it wasn’t for the streetlights, I wouldn’t be able to notice my surroundings in the slightest. There is a familiarity about the street since it’s where Noelle’s studio resides, though. Late as it might be, my heart is longing for her to walk out and find me—maybe to tell me that things will be okay, and that I’m panicking for nothing.

On the other hand, I would rather her not see me hyperventi- lating and flying off the handle.

Slowing my flow and coming to a stop, I wipe my face with my t-shirt as I examine the small dance studio, peeking inside to see the lights are on. She could be in there, but with my luck, I very well could also be hallucinating. If my goal is to avoid being a creep, I’m doing a lousy job at it. I need to see her face one good time, and maybe I’ll go away. That’s all I’m asking for. Yet my breathing is becoming harder to control, and focusing on her being in there is, also.

Dropping the idea, I enable my legs to begin pacing, holding my head as I try to forget everything around me and focus on

controlling my mind—or better yet, emptying it.

The door swings open, provoking me to look around madly. Still, the shallow breathing ensues. Trying to find a distraction, I press my hand on my heart, feeling the vibration on the outside.

Just run. Just run and it’ll go away.

The moisture on my hands begins to puddle while simultane- ously the air becomes harder to swallow. Taking one last look in the studio, I run my fingers through my hair, walking out the door.

Pushing myself into a full dash, I dodge different folks walking ahead of me, seeing a park in my horizon. With no real direction, that is my first destination. Anywhere but here, where people can still see me. If I have to visualize embarrassing myself with a public panic and anxiety attack one more time, I’m gonna hit the ceiling.

Disregarding the streetlights, I keep going like I’m fraught with danger. I sort of am, with the way I’m ignoring everything, now. Death becomes optional for a moment as I hurl my body across the street. A couple of cars slam on their breaks, others honking aggressively. The sound of screeching tires fills the atmosphere, impaling surrounding ears. Stumbling over, I lose my footing as I continue to run, trying to rid myself of everything behind me.

My heart has to be fucking with me. It’s beating so hard that it has me sick to my stomach.

Speeding into an open space in a grassy area of the park, I abruptly stop myself, nearly dry heaving. I hold a heavy hand against my chest, rubbing it.

“Please…what the fuck…”

I grip my shirt.

A solid hand smacks my back all of a sudden, sending a coughing fit throughout my lungs. I turn my body, pushing

the lingering arm away”

No!”

I yell, only to see that it’s Trey”

Calm down, it’s just me! It’s Trey!”

He grabs my arms, blocking my flailing hand. A small sense of relief washes over me as I pick at my shirt. The last time I recall this feeling occurring, I might’ve been twenty or twenty-one. The sheer feeling of panic. I’m drowning in a thirty-foot-deep body of water, and nobody could convince me otherwise.

“I—I can’t breathe…” I blurt.

“Okay, sit, Cole, c’mon.”

He firmly pushes my body down. The chill of cold sweat trickles down my skin in different areas, giving me a sensory overload. Snapping my head around, I notice the world becoming hazier than before, so I bury my head in my hoodie, puffing all my air into a cubby.

“God, it hurts so bad. Why does it hurt so bad—why is this happening to me?!”

I howl, submitting to my need to cry.

Choking up, I open my body now, feeling around for Trey’s presence. I spoke too soon. If a second ago I couldn’t breathe, then now I must be dying. All airflow just seems to vanish from me, and now the real fear is setting in.

Not a sound can escape my body.

“Cole…”

His eyes flicker around my body”

Help! Somebody!”

he yells, calling attention from a few people.

I lie down, closing my eyes in the process. Whatever is hap- pening, I don’t wanna think about the fact that it’s happening publicly like this. Everything starts to feel like it’s coming in waves. Every voice or noise around me is skipping like a bad record. In and out, over and over.

“What’s happening?”

I feel another presence show up above me, with a voice I know that I’ve heard before.

“I dunno, he looks like he might pass out.”

Trey begins smacking my face a few times, awakening me.

“Lauren…?” I huff.

“Yeah, it’s me. Sit up.”

Her voice echoes as they each pull my upper body off the ground.

I watch as she looks through her fanny pack for a split second, whipping out an inhaler. She doesn’t even think twice before shaking it up, opening the mouthpiece, and shoving it between my lips.

“One, two, three…”

She then mimics the breathing pattern she wants me to copy.

So I try, burning every single morsel of my lungs in the process.

“Again,”

she instructs.

The chances of Trey and Lauren being here is just another example of me magically being the lucky one. Though our city is huge, it’s still small enough for them to find me in a time of need. That’s what makes me believe that everything happens for a reason. I may not have been able to have such a breakdown in the comfort of my home, but at least I have the comfort of two people I know.

Especially Lauren. Not that I don’t think she’s nice, but she isn’t particularly the sweetest person off the bat, either. She’s permanently in serious mode or something. Which I guess I should be grateful for.

I wonder if it’s selfish to say that I would’ve been fine with not being as lucky today.

Lauren’s grand solution is to take me right back to Noelle’s studio. Apparently, she was only in the area because she was waiting for her to finish paperwork. The coincidence is completely in my favor. Every other time that I’ve been in this predicament, it’s been in the worst places possible. It’s happened in grocery stores, on vacations, and even in malls,

just to name a few settings. It’s just that every time it happens, I seem to forget all the details almost immediately, and it feels more and more intense. As if no amount of medication I take is handling the problems at hand.

I know the real reason, but I’m aching just thinking about it. I can’t rid myself of the sheer panic, though, when I feel like I’m under pressure. It’s more than pressure. It’s like two walls smashing my body in on both sides.

That’s what it feels like when I think of Paul Kennedy. My father. I’m closer to being him than I am anybody else, and nobody has to live with that thought but me. Unless I can let go of the giant weight that’s holding me back from telling people how I truly feel. If I can’t do that, I’m going to turn myself inside out trying to explain anything to Noelle.

I’m seemingly a lot more tired by this time than any other that I can remember. If someone had told me I ran a marathon, I would fully believe them. No questions asked.

“Here, you need this.”

Trey tosses a bottle of water at my side as I sit against a mirrored wall, staring blankly at the floor.

I have barely regained any sort of strength, so everything is trembling. Down to the edges of my fingertips. Picking up the bottle, I grip the cap, twisting it open. My breathing has returned to normal, and I can feel the heat of blood flow returning to my face.

Seeing that the panic attack has passed, Trey kneels before me”

I gotta go. I’m supposed to be meeting someone. You guys good?”

He looks at Lauren.

She drops down in the space next to me”

We’ll be fine. I got it.”

“You’re amazing.”

He looks at me now”

I’ll call you, dude. You better pick up. Don’t make me worry!”

he says before

hurrying out the front door.

Now leaving the studio quiet, Noelle storms in the room with wet towels, dropping beside me to wrap them around the back of my neck to try and cool me off.

Closing my eyes, I lay my head back, sighing”

Lauren, you didn’t have to help. Thank you. I’m sorry, I—”

Noelle cuts me off.

“Why didn’t you just come inside? I could’ve helped a lot sooner,”

Noelle says, holding my arm with both her hands. Her tone of voice holds worry.

“I wasn’t thinking at all. Before I knew it, Trey and Lauren were there, and I was on the ground.”

I look at her.

“Yeah. I know. And Noelle would’ve killed me if I didn’t try to help. Plus, I couldn’t just walk by,”

Lauren responds, softly smiling.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,”

Noelle says, pressing her lips against my cheek as she grabs my jaw.

She looks at me, and we both stare for a moment. Her lips purse.

“Yes?”

I raise my brows.

“I don’t want you to be alone tonight. What if I…come over?” she asks.

“I think it’s fine now, Elle. Just a state-of-the-art panic attack.”

I sigh, looking down again”

Besides, I have to jump into this research for my mother. Hospice shit. Nothing you want to be around, trust me.”

“That was not just a panic attack. You lost all color—are you always this dismissive?”

She grabs my chin again, making me look at the devoted seriousness in her face. She was telling me, not asking me.

I’m not always this dismissive, but I don’t want to think about

how everything in my life is going to shit, tanking my mental health as a result. I don’t want her watching me lose my mind, and I don’t want to suffocate her in my depressing life activities. It seems a bit too late for that, though.

I take another deep inhale and lay my head back again”

Not dismissive. Just terribly burned out.”

“So, let me help you. I care,”

she says, then subtly looks at Lauren”

Go without me? I wanna make sure he gets home.”

“Are you sure?”

Lauren asks.

“Positive. I’ll just text you.”

She nods, scooting closer to me as I feel Lauren’s presence leave my other side and exit the studio.

Noelle’s arms wrap around me, fitting them as much as she can as she squeezes me tightly.

“It’ll all be okay. Life is the worst obstacle course given to mankind, but you’re really great at jumping over them. That’s why you’re here, now,”

she whispers, grasping the hair on my head to stroke it.

This is all I need.

Preparing for someone to die is hands down the worst job to ever have. Out of all of the things I could have to have control over or be in charge of, this was the last thing that I wanted it to be. Let alone the victim being my mother.

It felt good to be able to support her, but knowing that there are multiple doctors and nurses, the cost of each of them, along with every item needed, I can’t pinpoint where to begin, and I’m not afraid to admit that I do need the help. Reality is setting in now that if I were any less fortunate, then this would be a much more stressful circumstance, financially. It’s a trip of guilt to take. Nevertheless, it’s just as stressful to have to grasp the idea of a world without my godsend of a mother around. Nobody can

justify your wrongdoings, or make you feel good when the rest of the world thinks you’re bad.

The only people who do that, other than your mother or father, are people who have intentions of pleasing themselves. So, I’m lucky to have had my mother. The only person who has almost come close to her ways has been Trey, and with a personality as big as his, he’s made up for an entire household.

Now, I think I can say I have a gentler personality to grasp onto when I need to. I’m becoming more okay with the idea that her being around might be better for me than I thought.

* * *

“The moral of my point is that you’re better off playing it safe, Cole. Daniel might want another fight, but we have to finalize management. Perfect timing, too, since you need a little physical break before training again.”

Trey sips his coffee, dodging a few people as we walk along the sidewalk.

“You are my management. And it’s a small panic attack. Care to enlighten me on what finalizing anything means?”

I ask, burning the concrete with my stare as I wait for his response.

“It means that having me around isn’t enough anymore. People are starting to recognize you. A nice contract might do you well,”

he says, glancing at me”

And that wasn’t small. You almost passed out,”

he reminds me.

“A contract for what, exactly?”

I scoff, ignoring his last sentence.

“A contract for you to embrace your punching skills for once, shut up, and make some money,”

he states, stopping as we land in front of his studio”

Trust me. You’ll be happy, I spoke with

some people. Maybe when the season starts. I’m thinking Daniel could be the first match. Get it over with, you know?”

“Trey, when were you going to actually discuss this with me? I…I’m in no way ready to fight that man again. Did I mention I’ve slept with his ex? I got lucky the first time we fought. I’m not pressing the luck button again,”

I tell him, my words falling into a demanding tone.

He enters the building, and I follow behind him, his words coming out as an echo now into the empty studio.

“God—Colton, why do you have no faith in yourself, huh?”

My next words fall short as I blankly stare at him and his obvious frustration with me.

“I…”

I begin to harbor some filthy excuse, but he stops me, yet again.

“Don’t answer that. You don’t need to. But you need to stop strutting around as if the world isn’t your oyster, bro. You’re a man who’s young. You have money.”

He sighs, reaching in his bag to pull out some papers before smacking them against my chest”

You’re a man who has the option to sign these papers. Pro boxer, Colton, c’mon. So, stop wasting time considering, and just live.”

His lips creep into a smile”

Maybe get that sweet woman of yours to give you a talking to.”

My nostrils flare out as I take in his words, relieving myself of a deep, silent sigh.

“I’m sorry. The contract is a good idea, okay? I’m just thinking about a lot, right now.”

“Lay it on me.”

Oh, Trey. How I hate when you make me open up.

“It’s Steven. I’m not good at this whole talking to him thing.”

I shake my head, setting my bags and a box down.

“Have you tried a little gentle parenting?”

He chuckles.

“Trey, I’m serious, man. It’s going south, really fast,”

I say, taking my shirt off.

“And so am I, Cole,”

he says, pausing as he thinks of his words”

What…”

I ask, seeing him ponder a thought in real time”

Listen, I don’t want to go to these extremes as quickly, but

if your mom does…you know—then Steven will only have you as his guardian, and basically his father figure. Which he may already view you as, so yeah—a bit of gentle parenting might not hurt. You gotta remember that he’s a kid, Cole,”

he says, smoothing his words over as sincerely as he can.

His points are valid, his tone is berating, yet he delivers it with nothing but love, which I’m thoroughly aware of. It just doesn’t erase the hatred I have for having deep conversations about my problems. Though I need fixing like a shattered, porcelain doll”

The issue is that I don’t know how to do that. He doesn’t respond positively to anything, Trey. I like things straightfor- ward, and not convoluted,”

I say, pulling my gloves out of my

bag.

“Take my advice and ask your girl. She works with kids, doesn’t she?”

he reminds me with his question.

“Yeah, nearly babies, Trey. Little girls.”

I chuckle”

Which Steven is the complete opposite of.”

“Whatever—they’re still kids, and she’s a woman. There’s gotta be some sort of help there, and if I were you, I’d be asking for it.”

He shakes his head with mild laughter as he enters his office, leaving me at the punching bag.

I sit down on the bench and reach for the papers that Trey gave me a bit ago. Looking closer at the fine print and fancy font, my delusions that Trey was just fucking with me about putting me on a serious contract are no longer filling my brain. The print is unequivocal and deliberate, stating that I can have an entire pro

season with my name on it. An entire pro season.

What I’m doing now is only different because I’m picking up random fights for a large amount of money, and sometimes they get broadcasted on TV, but I make no big deal of it. It stopped being entertaining when I realized how much people use me as a gambling device and have no real interest in my skills. The people who come in person aren’t any better, but it doesn’t overshadow the faces of real fans. If I signed this contract, I’d be signing over my time to a lot more fame, and a lot more fortune than I think I could handle, possibly.

If I widen my perspective, I don’t mind the thought of having people know who I am for a fathomable, good reason. What I do mind is people getting in my face with cameras, stalkers, and crazed fans with parasocial relationships. I just want to box, and when people talk about me, I want them to say I’m decent. Nothing can be grander than appreciation.

I don’t want to think about it, but if I procrastinate any longer, I could jeopardize the entire opportunity.

The jingling of Trey’s keys echo through the room as he comes back out of his office.

“Keys are on the table here. I gotta bounce, but lock up when you’re done,”

he says, loud enough for his voice to reach my ears.

“Wait, before you go,”

I say, standing up and jogging over to him, taking the pen from his hand”

Here,”

I say, placing the papers on the table, signing all the pieces I could find with the dotted line for my name.

“Take this with you,”

I add, holding them up.

He carefully takes them away with a smile, smacking my shoulder firmly.

“Right on, Cole. My man.”

He nods before continuing his exit.