Page 150 of The Bitter Words

“No, but I researched panic attacks when I was diagnosed with them. I found out that anxiety can present itself in various ways. And I discovered different ways people cope or use techniques to get through them.”

“I can see you doing that.” I try to make light of the subject and toss him a soft grin.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, but in all seriousness, you don’t come across as someone who has had to deal with issues like I have. I mean, you’re strong and successful. If you don’t mind, I’m interested in knowing more.”

I hadn’t noticed until just now, but he’s still making little circular trails over my wrists. It’s soothing and I sink into his touch a little more.

He tilts his head and follows my line of sight. He pulls away suddenly as if he didn’t realize he was caressing my skin.

“Sorry.” He shifts back and adjusts the sweatshirt he’s wearing. “What would you like to know?”

“Tell me how you figured out how to handle your anxiety. I’d love to learn the secret.”

“I was a bookish kid for years. You know the type.”

“No, not really. I’ve never seen anyone one way or another.”

His gaze flits around my face and his expression grows into confusion. “You must have judgments about people. Everyone does.”

I shrug and shake my head. “I’m sure I do, but I don’t like to put labels on people. It’s not fair without really sitting down and talking to them first.”

“You’re different than most.” He studies me with heavy concentration. After a moment of silence, he stands and strides to the minibar. “I’m more dehydrated than I thought.”

“What does being a bookish boy have to do with how you learned to deal with overwhelming stress?”

I want to know how he mastered his emotions. If he could, maybe I could, too. He twists a lid off a bottle of water and faces me.

“When I was young, I was bullied for many years. The trauma of it manifested into panic attacks.” He says it matter-of-factly, almost like he rehearsed it.

I try to analyze him, but he keeps going before I can gauge his sincerity.

“My parents got me diagnosed and presented me with treatment options. That’s when I went digging for information.”

“Your parents let you decide how to deal with them?”

“They did.” He takes a drink and then screws the lid back on. “They were both therapists and wanted me to have a say in the matter.”

“Your parents sound smart.”

“They are.”

“Why do I get the sense there’s a but in there somewhere?”

He laughs under his breath. “And this interaction with you is exactly why I always forget you’re young.”

An instant wall goes up around my heart and I huff. “Why do you always do that? We were finally having a genuine conversation, and you diminished it by bringing up my age.”

“I apologize for hurting your feelings.” He hesitates by staring at me for a moment, then he sits beside me. “You’re young and sometimes that gives me reason to pause.”

“Pause what? Being a kind person who will have an honest discussion with someone who really wants and needs the information?”

“No, it’s just that you come across someone much older than you are. If anything, you… It’s…” He runs his palm over his beard. “I get uncomfortable with you at times.”

“Me?” My face screws up. “Why? What do I do that makes you feel that way?”

He sighs in a confused tone. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s not your issue. It’s mine to deal with and I’ll manage it.”