The cashier exhaled. She offered Owen and Ophelia an apologetic smile and went to scan their things again. "Sorry about that."
"It's okay."
Owen looked at Ophelia whose eyes were wide and afraid. Quickly, he slipped over a twenty dollar bill and left their stuff on the counter. "Where's the bathroom?" he asked just as quickly.
"Right over there—"
He practically carried Ophelia over to the bathroom, which was intended for one person at a time and genderless. The small space felt somewhat claustrophobic, but Owen focused on being steady and calm for Ophelia's sake.
Ophelia pressed her back to the wall, her chest rising and falling rapidly as panic began to set in. Owen immediately noticed the stress and fear, his hands reaching down to gently grasp her hands.
"Hey, it's okay," he murmured softly. "You're safe here with me. Just focus on your breathing, okay? In... and out."
He demonstrated the deep, slow breaths for her to follow. Ophelia struggled to control her breathing at first, like trying to breath in black smoke.
"Come on, come on. Yeah, that's it."
Inhale, exhale. Ophelia stood there, connected to him, feeling him and his warm hands. His thumb caressed the back of her hand.
Her breathing steadied, and Owen could see the tension slowly melting away from her features. The panic slipped from her face, replaced by a tinge of anxiety and fear.
"There you go," Owen said gently, a small smile on his lips. "You're doing great. Just take it one breath at a time, okay?"
Ophelia nodded, her eyes meeting his. She squeezed his hands and opened her mouth to give her thanks. She eventually closed them, unable to find the strength.
"Come, sit." He put down the toilet seat for her. Her legs shaking, she took the seat, her breathing hard and heavy.
"Sorry," Ophelia mumbled. "I, just…I thought…"
The presence of gangsters was obvious to anyone, civilians or otherwise. There was a particular aura around them. The hair, the earrings, the overly casual attitude and dominance, it was natural to tense up.
He let her speak and mumble. Getting it out of the system was better than being cut off and bottling it up.
"I really…I shouldn't have but I thought my dream was going to come true." Ophelia whimpered and put her face in her hands.
Owen smiled politely. Her agoraphobia had gotten much better. He was proud of her. Before, she struggled to speak and communicate in public. 'If that situation had happened to her last year…it would have been much worse.'
Owen crouched to her level, a hand on her shoulder. "I'm proud of you." It wasn't easy. It was never easy. Ophelia nodded but didn't believe him. She thought she was terrible. She thought she was being clingy and annoying and stupid. He really wished that she believed him. Alas, life was never easy. Mere words couldn't convince a person, even your own girlfriend.
"Let's go home, hm?"
"Okay."
Holding her hand, he brought her out. The cashier was waiting for pick-up. Before doing so, Owen added a pack of gum to their haul and swiped his card to pay. Ophelia hid behind him when the cashier's gaze landed on her. She might have been a woman but that didn't stop her phobia from flaring up. Owen quickly went out with Ophelia clinging to him.
"Here." Owen handed her a piece of gum. Ophelia plopped the chewing gum into her mouth and relaxed ever so slightly. Gum was a great distraction.
But not a solution.
Going home, all he felt was waves of emotion. The fear, the tension, the clinginess. He understood and didn't comment. He let her hide wherever and however she liked. It wasn't like the walk was longer than five minutes. They arrived at their condo and made their way up the stairs.
The door was like a forbidden gate. The moment it opened, Ophelia slipped inside and tossed her shoes aside. Owen had to properly set them aside, close the door behind him, and go after her gently. Inside her pink room, he saw her wobble toward her bed. She was dizzy. He wanted to help but he knew better than to intrude on her safe space after such a sensitive episode.
Ophelia crouched down, hands on her head, breathing heavily. "I'm home. I'm home. I did it." Slowly, shakily, she got up and dived for her bed, cuddling up in her blanket and revelling in the darkness. Owen gently closed the door. She didn't need him. If she did, he would be here.
***
Dinner that night didn't happen. Owen cooked a simple meal of spaghetti aglio e olio (garlic and olive oil), a dish he knew Ophelia enjoyed. Gently knocking on the door, Owen waited for Ophelia's response before entering. He found her curled up on her bed, still wrapped in her blanket, her eyes closed as if in deep concentration.
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she sat up slightly, the blanket still draped around her. "Thank you, Owen," she murmured.
"In pain?"
"I feel nauseous, my chest hurts, and my head is just..." Ophelia broke off, a hand to her temple. "Just walking in the house made me want to vomit."
Owen nodded, listening while his gut wrenched. "Do you want to go to the doctors?" he asked. "Not today or even next week or anything like that. What I mean is..." He breathed in and out, rewording himself. "We should get you medicine."
"Yeah, but...I'm not supposed to be here."
If Ophelia was caught on any public record, she would have to leave the country. Owen lowered his gaze while Ophelia's breathing became heavier and she stopped eating. The thought of getting caught and being forced away from him was a terrible one. Owen himself hated imagining it.
"Remember Dr. Belle?" he said. "She might be able to help us out."
"Oh. Her." Ophelia made a face. "...it's okay."
"Are you sure? If you want, I can go and ask her about it. No need for you to come at all. We can test different medicines and all that."
"It's fine," Ophelia said, a little louder. "I'll be fine. I didn't need medicine before and I don't need it now."