Hello again and welcome back. This chapter contains panic attacks and feeling of being helpless or belittled. I believe that is all, please correct me if I'm wrong. That you for your patients thus far and going forward. As always take care of yourselves and thank you for reading.
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Stupid Remy, he totally ditched him. He didn't even know what the guy was doing; he just left Virgil to his own devices until dinner. It was weird being alone. His mother never let him be alone unless it was a safe location like school or his house, this was entirely different. It was fine, he didn't need to rely on anyone to take care of him. He could take care of himself. He'd successfully gone on his walk and now he just needed to get back to campus. He was going to be late to meet up with Remy for dinner at this point if the traffic lights didn't hurry up. He'd gone for a walk just outside of campus, where Remy had shown him before. Now he stood on the lumpy edge of the sidewalk preparing to cross the road, listening for each beep and distorted voice recording that signaled him what to do. Ember shifted beside him waiting patiently for when it was safe to take him across the road. The crosswalk signal changed and he stepped forward. Traffic roared parallel to him and he could hear engines idling to the opposite side. The short leash to Ember's harness pulled tight behind him. He only paused for a moment, trying to figure out what was wrong, when it happened. The sound of speeding tires and a roaring engine barreling towards him. Something hit his walking stick which had been extended in front of him ripping it roughly from his hands, he could only barely imagine how lucky he was that the built in strap hadn't been around his wrist. He could physically feel the car centimeters in front of him as it ran the red through the oncoming traffic and nearly hitting him. The force of the hot air surging around the large car knocked him back, tumbling onto his rump on the ground.
He nearly died. That driver nearly killed him. He hadn't even noticed the sound, it blended into the other traffic sounds. Damn, he took that landing pretty hard on his left side, his arm, hip and ankle hurt pretty badly, but it was nothing compared to what could have happened. He almost died. He's lying on the ground, people might not be able to see him now. Someone might almost hit him again. He needed to get up. He didn't know where his walking stick was. He wasn't even sure which direction he was facing anymore. He might be all turned around and lost. No, he just needed to focus, he knew he could hear the cars, he knew he'd be able to figure out which direction was the right way if he just stopped to concentrate. But he couldn't. The blood was rushing in his ears, he couldn't stop shaking. He didn't think he could stand even if he wanted to, his body felt too weak. He hated it. He felt terrified and helpless, his mind screamed danger but he didn't feel able to do anything about it.
"Shh, you're safe kiddo, we've got you. Are you okay?"
That voice, that soft sweet voice. His mind cleared a bit to give way to what was going on in the present, listening to the close voice. The voice, the scent, it was the same as the boy he knew two years ago, but it couldn't be possible. There was yelling in the background, very loud, very panicked. There was the distinct clicking of hazard lights from a car that had at some point inched closer to him to force cars to go around him so he wouldn't be hurt. There were two bodies near him, the one that reminded him of Patton crouching to his left and another calmer presence that knelt in front of him, knees brushing.
"I believe you're having a panic attack, I need you to breathe along with me please," a new voice, the one in front of him, requested.
Virgil tried but he didn't feel safe. It was so loud. So many people were honking and yelling out their windows for them to get out of the road. He felt so terrified. This must be why his mother never let him go anywhere or do anything alone, he was helpless.
The man continued his efforts, tapping out the rhythm on his hand. Virgil slowly got the hang of it, managing to calm down enough he was able to think more clearly.
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