Brilliant hazel irises flecked with gold. I know these eyes...

Felix's face is hovering inches from my own. I blink, trying to dispel the lingering haze.

More faces appear as my vision clears. Elliot, Lyall, Ben and Alastaire. They're all here. Gathered around. Gazing down at me. From the ceiling.

I stare at the poster above my bed for a split second before sitting up so fast that I get a head rush. After it passes I get up slowly, realizing I'm alone in my room.

How long was I out?

The screaming outside is totally gone. I stumble over to the window and look down at my driveway. Apart from one or two stragglers, the crowd has vanished.

Which means...

I run down the stairs, already feeling my eyes prickling with tears. My mom and dad are standing in the kitchen, both looking at something on my mom's laptop.

"Where's Felix?" I ask.

"Thank goodness, we were starting to get worried," my mom says as she shuts the screen of her laptop. "You were out for almost an hour this time."

"Did he... is Felix gone?" I ask.

"Yes, thank god," my dad says. "His driver arrived just after you fainted."

"Oh," I say.

I try to crack a smile. "Well, that's a relief, I'm glad the rabid fans didn't tear the house down!"

My mom's not fooled.

She stands up, wraps me in her arms. Brushes away the tears I didn't even realize I was crying.

It's over.

*****

The rest of the weekend passes by unbearably slowly.

I keep revisiting everything I said, everything I didn't say.

I can't go back, can't not run out of that dressing room, can't change the past. I agonize over the thought that Felix and the others will be on their way home now, London-bound.

Five thousand miles away.

Still, I check my phone every few minutes just in case he calls me. Texts me. Anything.

He probably didn't even take my number – after all, he phoned me at home from my own cell phone, so it's not like he needed to write it down or anything. And he only came over to my house to semi-threaten me into not going to the cops about what happened backstage at the concert.

But I guess some part of me stupidly thought he might contact me.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

About what? There's really nothing more to say.

I try to look on the bright side. I met my idols. Sure, I spent most of my little adventure getting to know the one guy in Fable I've never really been a fan of – but that doesn't matter. If anything, I saw a new side to him. I think I understand now why Felix is always so rude in interviews, why he built his wall. I get it.

All in all I really should be grateful. I was extremely lucky to meet Fable, even if it wasn't the fairytale scenario I'd always dreamed of. Even if I didn't get to keep my promise to Mia. I'm lucky.

It's basically impossible not to dwell on everything that happened though.

First Jamie, then Zee and even Grace call me wanting details.

I don't feel like seeing them – don't feel like seeing anyone for that matter – so I tell them everything over the phone. I cancel my band practice with Alix and Micah and spend the whole weekend at home in a onesie watching cat videos and playing my guitar.

I need time to get over the panic attack I had backstage, and the even worse one I had when I cut my hand in front of Felix. And I need to mentally prepare for the craziness that inevitably awaits me at school on Monday morning.

*****

I haven't always been like this.

Before the accident, I didn't even know what a panic attack was. The first time I had one was at the candlelight vigil, just one week after the accident.

It was on the same day I was discharged from the hospital. They wanted to keep me longer – I'd been unconscious for more than a day after I was pulled out of the sea, and the doctors wanted to be safe rather than sorry.

But I insisted.

I wasn't even meant to be at the vigil, but I knew I had to go. I had to see for myself.

I still couldn't accept that what had happened was real. I didn't know what I would find, how I could ever understand or accept any of it, but the vigil was the only thing left. My parents reluctantly agreed to let me go.

The moment we arrived and I saw Mia's photograph surrounded by candles and flowers, her mom sobbing at the front of the crowd while Evan's dad knelt on the ground ... I felt my heart clench.

It's difficult to imagine unless you've experienced it, but it's like an invisible hand takes hold of you, and squeezes all the air from your lungs. Slowly at first then faster and faster, until you can barely breathe. You go limp. Your heartbeat races. Your skin turns to ice.

I fell down shaking and gasping, surrounded by the grieving families of my former classmates. The lone survivor, reduced to a shrieking shaking mess on the grass. My parents pulled me off the ground and took me straight back to hospital.

The next day my doctor told me I'd had a panic attack caused by post-traumatic stress. I looked up the definition of panic attack on my phone.

pan·ic at·tack

noun

1. unexpected episode of intense fear which may be accompanied by physical symptoms.

The most common physical symptoms, as I learned first hand, are a racing heartbeat, dizziness, chills, hyperventilation, fainting. All while experiencing the most utter certainty that you are dying, right there and then.

It's like a dread that entirely takes over your body and mind.

It's the worst feeling in the world.

Since that first time, the panic attacks have become a regular part of my life. Anything that reminds me of the accident can set me off. The sight of blood. A bright yellow school bus. A broken window.

Even just the sound of girls screaming, or the feeling of being trapped and surrounded by people can send me over the edge. It happened at a concert I went to with Zee one month after moving schools, soon after I'd met her – the Zara Quinn show, aka the concert that made me swear I'd never attend another one ever again.

Even for Fable.

The doctor originally put me on meds, and those helped the panic attacks at first. After a while though, the constant feeling of being in a daze, inside a fogged-up glass bubble, got too much. I went off them and tried therapy. Cognitive analytic therapy. Hypnotherapy. Group therapy. Nothing's stuck.

Eventually, I put my foot down and I haven't seen a doctor in over a year. My parents weren't entirely happy about that, but they eventually accepted it. I'm not totally sure it was the right decision to make, but I know it was the only decision I could make.

I'm done trying to get over what happened, to erase the fear and anxiety that filled me up that day and never left. If I'm a nervous wreck for the rest of my life, so be it.

So long as Mia and Evan and the rest of them continue to haunt me, they are at least still present in some small way.

That's the only thing I can do for them now.