Highly Illogical Behavior Read Online Free Page A
Author: John Corey Whaley
small way, he felt like the biggest and only problem in their lives. And he didnât want
his
cure to be their life sentence.
After his mom left the room, Solomon went back to his schoolwork. But, every now and then, heâd get online and do research. He didnât miss much about the outside worldâTarget sometimes, with its organized shelves and relaxing department store music. Some of his favorite restaurants,sure. Oh, and he really missed the way it smelled outside when it was about to rain, and the way the heavy drops would feel on his skin. This, though, heâd been able to enjoy by sticking his arm out of a window from time to time. Water calmed him down. He didnât know why, but it helped. Heâd lie in the bath for an hour or more, his eyes closed, focusing his attention on the whirring of the bathroom vent. And that blocked it all out, anything that could make him worse, any thoughts that could start looping around and around in his mind. He knew that when it happened, he was supposed to close his eyes and count to ten and take slow, deep breaths. But that never worked like the water did.
So, for weeks, heâd been secretly working up the nerve to ask his parents for a pool. But how could he even mention the idea of it if he couldnât promise to go outside? He thought maybe heâd be ready by the time they could have a pool put in since he wasnât especially afraid of the outdoors anyway. It was the potential chaos that lay beyond their yard that scared him. Plus, he could damn sure use the exercise, because running on a treadmill had become mind-numbing. Itâs just that when youâre afraid of dying, youâll do whatever it takes to keep yourself pretty healthy and the pool would help. Heâd been fantasizing for weeks about waking up every morning and starting the day with a long swim. And, as much as he hated to admit it even to himself, he would imagine the warm beams of sun heating up his skin and eventually helping him look less like a walking corpse. Even in his isolation, Solomon wasnât completely immune to superficiality. He didnât know whyhe cared about his looks, but he did. And, at the very least, he hoped it was one more sign to his parents that his life was sustainable and not some statement against civilization.
Solomon hoped maybe if they thought it would help him, his parents would say yes to the pool. But, sitting there at his computer, thinking about what heâd be expected to do, his breathing starts to pick up. He didnât want to waste their money, sure, but most of all, he didnât want to give them hope and then let them down. He turned away from the computer, and bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head down as low as he could.
This is how it always started. Everything would be fine and then a sudden sinking feeling would come over him, like his chest was going to cave in. He could feel his heart bumping up against his rib cage, wanting out, quickening with every beat and then radiating down his arms and up to his temples. It vibrated him, making everything he saw bounce around like the world was just photographs being flipped in front of him. And with everything around him muffled, but still noisy, all he could do was focus on breathing and close his eyes tight and count.
Every number had an image attached to it. He saw himself standing at the back door, looking out at a brand-new pool, his parents beside him. And then he saw the looks of disappointment on their faces when they realized he was frozen in place and that it had all been for nothing.
When he got to one hundred, he sat back up and closed his laptop. He needed a break. He couldnât think about the pool anymore. He couldnât think about what the poolmeant, to him or to them. He couldnât do anything but go to the garage, lie on the cold cement floor, and close his eyes again. The panic attacks drained him, like heâd
his
cure to be their life sentence.
After his mom left the room, Solomon went back to his schoolwork. But, every now and then, heâd get online and do research. He didnât miss much about the outside worldâTarget sometimes, with its organized shelves and relaxing department store music. Some of his favorite restaurants,sure. Oh, and he really missed the way it smelled outside when it was about to rain, and the way the heavy drops would feel on his skin. This, though, heâd been able to enjoy by sticking his arm out of a window from time to time. Water calmed him down. He didnât know why, but it helped. Heâd lie in the bath for an hour or more, his eyes closed, focusing his attention on the whirring of the bathroom vent. And that blocked it all out, anything that could make him worse, any thoughts that could start looping around and around in his mind. He knew that when it happened, he was supposed to close his eyes and count to ten and take slow, deep breaths. But that never worked like the water did.
So, for weeks, heâd been secretly working up the nerve to ask his parents for a pool. But how could he even mention the idea of it if he couldnât promise to go outside? He thought maybe heâd be ready by the time they could have a pool put in since he wasnât especially afraid of the outdoors anyway. It was the potential chaos that lay beyond their yard that scared him. Plus, he could damn sure use the exercise, because running on a treadmill had become mind-numbing. Itâs just that when youâre afraid of dying, youâll do whatever it takes to keep yourself pretty healthy and the pool would help. Heâd been fantasizing for weeks about waking up every morning and starting the day with a long swim. And, as much as he hated to admit it even to himself, he would imagine the warm beams of sun heating up his skin and eventually helping him look less like a walking corpse. Even in his isolation, Solomon wasnât completely immune to superficiality. He didnât know whyhe cared about his looks, but he did. And, at the very least, he hoped it was one more sign to his parents that his life was sustainable and not some statement against civilization.
Solomon hoped maybe if they thought it would help him, his parents would say yes to the pool. But, sitting there at his computer, thinking about what heâd be expected to do, his breathing starts to pick up. He didnât want to waste their money, sure, but most of all, he didnât want to give them hope and then let them down. He turned away from the computer, and bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees and hanging his head down as low as he could.
This is how it always started. Everything would be fine and then a sudden sinking feeling would come over him, like his chest was going to cave in. He could feel his heart bumping up against his rib cage, wanting out, quickening with every beat and then radiating down his arms and up to his temples. It vibrated him, making everything he saw bounce around like the world was just photographs being flipped in front of him. And with everything around him muffled, but still noisy, all he could do was focus on breathing and close his eyes tight and count.
Every number had an image attached to it. He saw himself standing at the back door, looking out at a brand-new pool, his parents beside him. And then he saw the looks of disappointment on their faces when they realized he was frozen in place and that it had all been for nothing.
When he got to one hundred, he sat back up and closed his laptop. He needed a break. He couldnât think about the pool anymore. He couldnât think about what the poolmeant, to him or to them. He couldnât do anything but go to the garage, lie on the cold cement floor, and close his eyes again. The panic attacks drained him, like heâd
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