Dirty Laundry: A Tucker Springs Novel #3

that way is right.
    The revelation should have been a victory, and in a way, it still was. Adam crouched inside of himself, and his bully huddled too, confused and unsure of how to build up a defense. Adam realized it had always been this way with Brad, that being sick was letting Brad make him crazy. In a way, being with Brad was like living in the Laund-O-Rama with drunk frat boys, full of their own problems, bullying harder than Adam’s own bully was willing to plug in. The only thing to do about Brad, like the bullies, was flagellate himself over ending up in the situation in the first place.
    Except here, now, the inner bully would not pick up a whip, and that was great, but the problem was Adam had built a victory sandcastle on the beach as a tidal wave was cresting above his head. He’d found his inner peace, but that was all he had so far, and with his bully mollified, with his horses on rein, with Louisa and Denver absent, he had no one left to defend him. And in the absence of any protection, his brain sent out the last defense, the only shield it knew how to make: a panic attack.
    A full-blown, near seizure-level panic attack.
    Brad hadn’t stopped monologuing as Adam’s world narrowed and went dark, but he’d seen Adam freak out before, so when the shortness of breath began, he stopped. “Oh Jesus. Now? Now ? God, are you using this as an out?”
    Fucking Christ, but Brad was an ass. Of the highest order. I wish I knew how to deal with him. I want to learn how to deal with him.
    Not today, you won’t , Adam’s anxiety answered. The internal bully burst into tears, the horses reared, and red dots began to form in front of Adam’s eyes.
    He watched as if from a distance as Brad comprehended this was more than the normal weeping and pacing. In a strange way, part of Adam enjoyed it, hoping he was freaking Brad the fuck out, that he was giving the kind of performance he used to offer up at hotels or when his grandmother had locked him in his room only to come back and find him drooling on the floor in a near coma. God, I hope I puke on him , he thought, and then the panic slid over him like a blanket, and there was nothing left but to let those ponies run.
    Once Adam had watched YouTube videos of people having panic attacks, and he’d been floored at how benign they appeared. They felt like death. The worst—and the videos with narration had addressed this—was the pain in the center of the chest, the one that felt like a heart attack. In reality it was adrenaline spiking, a hard jolt that was meant to fuel anger or spur flight, but in anxiety or panic attacks it only fed the fire. It felt like confirmation of the messages the brain sent out like a spastic SOS: We’re going to die. We’re dying right now, and you can’t stop it, you can only die.
    “You need to calm down,” Brad said, though he sounded very far away.
    It’s not real , Adam tried to tell himself, because he’d been to this rodeo before, but on a panic attack scale this was The Big One, and in actuality, Adam’s heart wasn’t up for moving this shield. He wanted to get away from Brad. He wanted Brad to get the fuck out and never come back, and maybe if he were a big enough mess, maybe Brad would abandon him forever.
    We’re dying, we’re dying! Adam’s brain screamed, and any attempt at affirmations or rationalizations ceased. This was death. This truly was death—it was a heart attack. He was dying.
    “ Adam .” Brad took hold of Adam’s shoulders.
    I’ll never see Denver again.
    With a cry, Adam stumbled forward, reaching for his phone—Brad tried to step away, but Adam caught his arm and gripped his wrist until Brad cried out and dropped the phone. Adam dove after it, weeping, shuddering, dying, and he fumbled with the keypad to get to his contacts. Denver answered on the third ring, his voice gruff as he said, “Hey.”
    “I’m dying.” Adam didn’t know how his voice sounded. It felt thin and raspy, his throat clogged with whatever it was that was killing him. Maybe he was dying of adrenaline. It didn’t matter. He was dying, and he had to see Denver again. “I’m at the lab. Please, I want to see you.”
    “Adam?” Denver was all business now, a dangerous edge in his voice.
    “You aren’t dying,” Brad whispered angrily.
    Adam moved away before Brad could grab him. “It’s going to kill me.” The pain in his chest was so bad. There weren’t voices, there weren’t bullies, there weren’t any