Lex Hope
I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I don't know anything.
Ivan's having a panic attack. He's hyperventilating and shaking profusely.
I don't know if he wants me to speak or not. His eyes are closed and he's experiencing something he doesn't want to. "Ivan," I say softly.
He's on the floor, leaning against one of the mirrors stuck on the walls of the trial room. His knees are pressed to his chest and his face is buried in the crook between his knees.
I sit beside him, my hand on his quivering back. I don't say anything for some time. Even though it's unnerving that he's having a panic attack and I don't really know what to do, I can't panic. He won't calm down if I'm not calm in the first place.
"Do you want some space?" I ask tentatively.
He shakes his head and presses his shoulder against my chest. I hold him close. "Does this happen often? Do you take any meds for this?"
He shakes his head again. I nod though I doubt he can see it. We fall back into our silence. The only sound between us is Ivan's ragged breathing and pounding heart.
"Keep talking," he says in between breaths.
"It's helping? Hearing me speak?"
He nods and buries his head on my chest. We'd be hugging if our hands were wrapped around each other.
"You're safe, all right? I know you don't believe me. I know you're scared. But there's no danger, okay? I'm right here, nothing will happen to you when I'm here."
His breathing has improved, the quivering of his back has reduced. I keep going on. "If you want anything, tell me, yeah? Water, perhaps. Should I go get some?"
He shakes his head.
"Do you want something?"
He looks up and takes my wrist. "You - I want you to stay here."
I ease and crouch in front of him. I have my hands on his shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere."
He smiles before his breathing fluctuates again. "Shit."
"Ivan, listen to me, all right? Are you listening?"
He nods.
"Okay. I want you to focus on something in this room." I look around the room, just mirrored walls and a plain white door. There's nothing he can focus on without being reminded of himself.
"Focus on me," I say. He looks up, too weak to be startled. He rests his head against the mirror and looks at me fondly. He gazes into my eyes without staring at them. I can't help but look back at his. He has Bambi brown eyes, and at this point, they're the only color in his pale face.
"Keep looking, it's fine," I mutter. His breaths are getting deeper. Good. "Now concentrate on your breathing. Breath on my count."
He nods. His hands loosen up.
"One."
I hear him inhale and then exhale.
"Two."
He does it again but it lasts shorter this time.
"Three."
He tries inhaling, but his breath constricts. He tries taking another deep breath but he can't. If I don't do anything, he'll start hyperventilating again.
"It's okay," I assure him. "Look at me. This isn't going to last very long. You want to try breathing again? We'll do it together this time?"
He doesn't respond. He presses his head on my chest and wraps his legs around my waist. "Is this okay?"
I wrap my hands around him. "Of course it is. I want you to feel safe."
I can feel his heart beating against mine. It's pounding.
"We'll breathe together?" I ask him.
I feel him nod on my shoulder. I start counting. "One." We inhale and exhale. We don't do it in sync but it's something. "Two." We breathe again, and our timing improves. I keep counting until we're breathing in sync. We're breathing in unison and I stop counting.
I keep breathing and so does he. We're pressed against each other. Ivan has stopped sweating. He's alright now.
I feel him stir. I loosen my grip on his back as he backs away from me, his legs still wrapped around me.
"Thank you," he says. Strands of his loose hair are plastered on his damp face. He looks so vulnerable, I could hug him forever. Does he know how beautiful he is?
His eyes search mine. "Aren't you going to say something?"
There's a rock on my throat. I want to stay like this forever, him on my lap and my hands on his back. Mirrors everywhere.
I finally speak. "I care for you."
He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. He looks disappointed. He unfastens his legs from my waist and stands up.
I stand up as well. "Did I say something wrong?"
He shakes his head and opens the trial room door. "Sometimes I get my hopes up high. Very high."
"Then why do I feel like it's my fault?"
He sighs and gestures at the door. "I have to change, if you don't mind."
He's still wearing the skinny jeans I got him. His legs are... I can't stop looking at them. They're beautiful. "Are you getting those jeans?"
He laughs for the first time since his panic attack. "Yes, of course I am."
I smile and walk out the door. I look at him one last time before closing the door. "I said I care for you."
"I don't know what that means," he replies and starts closing the door.
I stop him midway. "It means you don't have to thank me for helping you. I'm doing it out of my own will. Because when I'm helping you, I'm helping myself as well."
He gives me a longing look. Even though we're one step apart from each other, it feels like there's a barrier between us. A fence that appears and disappears at will.
I wait for him to reply but he doesn't. Instead, he shuts the door. On my face.
***
We're driving back to town. The sky is a shade of orange some would mistake for pink. Like Jamie's jacket, I think and regret it immediately. Lately, everything I do has me thinking of Jamie Smith.
As much as I try pushing it away, it always comes back. His thought, that is. Jamie never comes back to me. I call and he never picks up. He ignores me in school, though I haven't been going there lately. I thought our friendship would never break, but here I am.
"There's an ice cream parlor in a few miles," Ivan says, looking at Google Maps on my phone. He left his phone at home again this time. He keeps doing that. Leaving his phone behind like it isn't the most essential item in his bag. He was born in the wrong century. But then again, all legends are.
"You're thinking," he observes. "You don't usually do that..."
Is he mocking me or showing that he cares for me as well?
"It's nothing important," I dismiss him.
He shifts on his seat. "Is it about Smith?"
"I was thinking about you," I say, only half lying.
He looks at me dead in the eye - something he does only with me. He usually just avoids eye contact altogether. But with me, he's either glaring at me with supreme distaste or looking at me with the fondest expression on his face. "What about me?"
I smile at him. He was glaring at me only a second ago but now he's fighting back a smile - and a blush?
"Good things," I assure him.
He raises his brow. I'd call that flirtatious if someone else was doing it. I call it direct flirting when he does it. "Your definition of good differs from mine."
I'm tongue-tied when he talks to me like that, like he's daring me to give him a reply as bold as his previous statement. "You're legendary."
I think he considers getting out of the car. Why do I screw up when it matters the most? And when it's with Ivan, I'm messing up all the time. Perfect moments are rare when it comes to us. I hate that they don't happen more often.
"Let me finish," I say before he actually jumps out. "You make me feel legendary."
He looks at me expectantly. And when I don't say anything more, he says, "That's it?"
I nod, disappointed in myself. I'm pretty sure Ivan's grinding his teeth now. I wish he'd smile again at me.
Before I can embarrass myself any further, the ice cream parlor shows up on the right. Ivan unbuckles his seat belt even before I stop the car. Guess I really did screw up.
We take our seats opposite each other at a circular table. We're staring at a laminated placard that has several ice cream flavors and combinations written on either side of it.
"Buttermilk ice cream? Mint? Pickled mango?" Ivan says, hunched over the menu. "How am I supposed to choose from such wacky flavors?"
"We could try them all if you want," I suggest.
He glowers at me. "I'm paying this time."
I paid for everything we bought in the mall and Ivan doesn't like the fact that everything was bought for him.
"I had vouchers for almost everything. I ended up paying no more than fifteen dollars."
"That's still a lot," he mutters. "Thanks though. I didn't thank you before."
I shrug. "You don't have to."
He rolls his eyes and goes back to figuring out which ice cream (or ice creams) he's going to have. I walk up to the counter where a couple of people are serving some weird amalgamation of ice cream to a small girl and her grandma.
"Hey." I smile at them. "I was wondering if we could try some of these flavors before buying them."
"Of course you can," one of the servers says, smiling weekly. She must've had a long day. "Which flavors would you want to try?"
"Everything."
Her eyes widen. "I'm sorry?"
"Could we try them all? I swear we'll buy something in the end."
She mutters some stuff to her coworker and she finally turns to me. "You might want to get yourself a seat next to the counter. But you won't get much to taste, mind you."
I nod gratefully and walk back to Ivan, who's looking at me like I just started dancing on one of the tables. "Come on," I said, dragging him from the chair.
"But I haven't decided yet!" he whines. I guess everyone becomes a kid when it comes to ice cream.
"You don't have to," I respond, slinging my arm around his neck. "We get to taste everything."
He seems astonished but casually shakes his head instead. "Which of them did you flirt with to get this offer?"
"I don't flirt with just anybody," I tease. "I'm your personal flirt, remember?"
He laughs and presses his hands against the glass counter beneath which the ice creams are displayed. "What should we start with?"
The barista takes a tiny spoon and dips it into a random ice cream and hands it to us. I take it. "Should I feed you?" I ask, looking at his fractured hand.
"I can eat, goddammit," he says and extends his arm to grab the spoon from me.
I think I've got the best idea ever. "You know what, sit down."
"Huh?"
"Just do as I say. Sit down here. And close your eyes."
He does as I say. "What now?"
"Open your mouth."
He grunts. "Why on earth--"
"I'm not going to kiss you or anything, calm down," I interrupt and bring my spoon closer to him.
He blushes and opens his mouth. I slide the spoon into his mouth. "Guess the flavor."
He savors the ice cream. "Strawberry. You're making this too easy." He opens his eyes and gets another tasting spoon from the counter. "My turn."
I take my seat, close my eyes and keep my mouth open. I hear Ivan sitting on the table, facing me. He slides the spoon into my mouth. Something rich and dark fills my senses. I get the taste of some solid chocolate as well. "Chocolate?"
"You have to be more specific," Ivan instructs.
I give it a thought. "Belgium chocolate. With chocochips." I add the last part hastily. I open only one eye, Ivan's looking at me with a shocked expression. "Was I right?"
"How are you so accurate?. Did you cheat?"
"I used to work in an ice cream shop," I tell him. "Of course I know the difference between all those chocolates."
His legs are dangling from the table. They look good even without the jeans. "Armani and an ice cream store? You've got a great CV."
I laugh and we continue doing this for a while. Closing eyes, opening mouths, a hell lotta ice cream. I give Ivan a random ice cream flavour I didn't register the name of.
"I love this," he says, eyes still closed. The staff seem happy. "What is this? Walnut?
"Walnut with honey," our server corrects.
Ivan beams. "I love it."
"Let me have a taste." I slip the same spoon into my own mouth. Ivan's ice cream littered mouth parts, eyes widening. I shrug. "It's okay. Not that great."
"You have no taste."
The next time Ivan gives me a taste of some wacky flavor, he has a bit of it himself. I smile. We're sharing the same spoon, and soon enough I have a hand on his knee as we keep tasting. He doesn't brush it away.
He's sitting on the table so he's much higher than me while sitting. He rests his fractured arm on my head and I smile. As we spend more time in the ice cream parlor, the tension reduces.
For our final ice cream choices, Ivan gets Walnut with Honey, while I get chocolate with blueberry. We're probably drunk on sugar because by the end of the whole session, Ivan has his head on my shoulder and I have my arms on his waist.
I wouldn't blame the staff if they thought we were a couple.
On our way back, Ivan's smiling while he's looking at me. I catch his eyes, he doesn't look away like he usually does. Instead he smiles even more and keeps looking at me. I smile back at him.
I place my hand on the gear stick as I take a turn. Ivan places his hand on mine. I'm not as surprised as I should be.
We aren't saying anything, but our silence is comfortable. The radio is playing some crappy pop song which both Ivan and I hate. But it doesn't dampen the mood, nothing can. Not when we're like this.
"You make me feel legendary," Ivan echoes my words from some time ago. He isn't mocking me, he's saying it with meaning. And now that he's said it, it's like the words belong to us now. Like we've rewritten the dictionary and only we can read the new definition.
"I don't want this car ride to end," I blurt, it comes out as a whisper. He hears me and his eyes reflect mine. He feels the same way.
"Keep driving, then," he says. "We have to collect my bike anyway. We'll drop it at the auto repair shop I work in, it's open twenty-four seven, anyways."
I nod. "We'll have to reach home by twelve, though. Mom doesn't like me late." I hope I haven't ruined the moment.
He squeezes my hand on the gearshift. He always knows the perfect way to respond.
We stop at a red light. I stare at him because the road isn't a priority now. "I should take you on a road trip."
"You're asking me?"
"Yes. I can't take you until the season's over. But someday."
"Someday," he repeats, smiling at the idea.
I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek. The red light turns green just then and I take off. I don't bother looking at Ivan again. He'll either want to kill me or kiss me back.
I don't know which of the two is worse.