I slammed the bathroom door behind me, thinking a few minutes alone would calm the storm inside my chest.
But as soon as I locked it, the handle refused to turn.
Panic bubbled immediately, a tight coil twisting inside me.
My hands rattled the doorknob, back pressed against the cold, tiled wall. My chest heaved.
I couldn't breathe properly.
Not again.
Not here.
A wave of anxiety hit like a tidal surge.
Every tiny, confined space I had ever entered seemed to close in on me now.
My palms were clammy, my knees weak.
I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, head buried in my arms.
"Ken… Ken…" I whispered, voice shaky, cracking. My throat hurts from crying.
There was no response.
Of course not.
I didn't even have my phone with me.
How stupid was I to come in here alone, without any way to reach him?
Time became a blur. Minutes stretched into hours.
My tears ran freely now, hot and relentless, spilling down my cheeks.
The walls seemed to lean closer, the air thick and suffocating. I screamed quietly into the silence, "Ken! Please! I need you!"
No one came.
The darkness of the bathroom corners pressed against me.
I felt trapped in my own mind as much as in this tiny room.
Every memory of past panic attacks rose, each one clawing at me.
My chest tightened further, and I could feel the world slipping just a little out of reach.
"Please…" I choked out. "Please…"
The floor beneath me felt cold and indifferent.
I banged my fists weakly against the door, desperate, trying to make any sound that could escape and reach him.
"Ken!" I shouted, voice hoarse, raw. "I'm here! Please!"
A quiet part of my mind, the rational part, knew he couldn't hear me.
He was out.
Probably at work, probably busy, probably not even thinking about me trapped like this.
But I didn't care about the reason anymore.
I needed him.
Needed anyone.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
was shaking uncontrollably now, body twisting in panic.
The phobia I'd tried to ignore all these weeks had finally caught me unarmed.
And it hurts.
It hurt so much.
"Ysabelle?"
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I froze.
Could it be him? Was I imagining it? My hands scrabbled at the doorknob, rattling it as if sheer force could make it budge.
"Ken?" I called, voice trembling, raw. "I… I'm stuck! Please! Open the door!"
His voice came again, steadier this time, closer. "I'm here! I'll get you out, just stay calm, okay?"
I let out a shaky sob, hitting the door with both fists. "I can't! I can't!"
"You can!" His voice was calm, grounding, and the way he said my name made something inside me loosen just a little. "I've got you. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Minutes or maybe hours passed, though I couldn't tell anymore.
The panic was still there, tight and suffocating, but the sound of his voice, so close, so certain, tethered me to reality.
"I'm banging the door!" I cried, letting my tears stream freely. "Ken! Please, hear me!"
"Keep going, keep going," he urged. "I'm right outside. I hear you. I've got you."
The panic didn't vanish entirely, but I could feel my body beginning to obey again, to trust again, even if just a little.
Every word he said grounded me, each syllable a lifeline thrown across the thick waters of fear.
I threw myself against him the moment he opened it.
His arms wrapped around me automatically, steady, unflinching.
I buried my face in his chest, sobbing into the fabric of his shirt, shaking uncontrollably.
"I'm here," he whispered. "You're okay now. It's okay, I've got you."
I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe properly.
All I could do was cling to him, letting the tears fall freely.
The weight of hours trapped, of panic and fear, melted into the solid warmth of his embrace.
He held me for what felt like eternity, stroking my hair gently, murmuring small reassurances. "It's okay. I'm here. You're safe. You're okay."
I finally lifted my head slightly, just enough to see him.
My cheeks were streaked with tears, my hair damp from sweat, my eyes red and swollen.
And I kissed him.
It started almost impulsively, desperation bleeding into desire.
My lips pressed to his, frantic at first, trembling.
But he didn't pull away.
His hands cupped my face gently, anchoring me.
The world narrowed until there was only him, only the heat of his body, only the soft pressure of lips against lips.
Every breathless sob, every shiver of fear, every fragment of broken panic funneled into that single, fragile moment.
When we finally pulled back slightly, the air between us hung heavy.
His forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with mine.
"What are we?" he asked quietly, voice low, shaky but steady.
I froze.
I didn't know.
I couldn't answer.
His hands slid down, resting lightly on my shoulders, grounding me. "Think about it. At this moment, I don't know what we are."
The storm inside me hadn't completely passed, but for the first time, I felt safe enough to let it exist without letting it consume me.
"I…" I started, voice breaking, "I don't know."
I sank back into him, letting the last remnants of panic dissolve against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
For the first time in a long time, I felt a fragile sort of peace, the kind that comes when someone who truly sees you doesn't run, doesn't judge, and doesn't let go.