Ambushed Love
A Close Call
Mike had to read the scrawled words several times, in order for them to at least begin to sink in. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. A dozen thoughts raged through the bassist’s mind all at once and he dropped the note, as though it had scalded his hand, he simply watched as the scrap of paper fluttered to the ground.
Mike could feel his breathing gradually becoming quicker and quicker. The uncomfortable pressure in his chest was mounting and he could feel an anxious bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck.
He knew what was slowly taking place. It was inevitable: a panic attack. However, at the same time, Mike was trying to will it to go away. Deep breaths, deep breaths.
His icy blue eyes darted around the room, yet he stayed rigid on the spot, unable to think rationally. Who the Hell was this? Surely it wouldn’t just be sick kind of joke?
No. Somewhere in the back of the anxious bassist’s mind, he knew it wasn’t a joke. It was real.
Mike needed to get help. He needed to get help for Brittney.
The bassist practically stumbled over to the phone, which was still off of the hook. He stood in front of it, his shaking hand outstretched a little. He reached out and grabbed it, fumbling at the receiver, barely even concentrating on what he was doing as he tried to allocate his wavering fingers in order to dial the numbers that he needed. However, his vision was beginning to blur and he couldn’t help but to panic even more so. Mike had to squint a little, the rate of his ragged breathing increasing even more.
Nine.
One.
“Don’t call the police. If they find out, she’s done for, as are you, Michael…”
No. He couldn’t.
Brittney’s jittery boyfriend slowly let go of the receiver, a panic attack careering closer and closer to his already nervous state.
He hesitated for a moment, a stabbing pain shooting through his chest. Mike let out a small, pained groan before pressing his back against the wall and tediously beginning to sink to the floor.
As the bassist sat there, he pulled his knees close to his chest and reached his hands up to lace his long fingers into his short, spiky hair, trying to keep calm.
Another twinge in his chest occurred and Mike tried to force himself to keep calm, pressing his forehead against the tops of his knees, his hands now tugging at his soft hair, yanking at it. He tried to focus on something other than the note and whatever was happening to his beloved girlfriend as he sat there.
The bassist gnawed at his bottom lip a little destructively, forcing himself to take deep breaths: in through his nose, out through his mouth whilst attempting to concentrate on other things.
As of yet, it was working pretty well, considering that to start with, his hands were no longer quaking and he hadn’t had yet another flash of pain vibrating from his heart.
At least fifteen minutes passed though, before the bassist felt a calm and collected state returning to his mind. However, he continued to just sit there, not wanting to tempt fate and get up too quickly.
The house was now quiet, the only sound that could be heard was Mike’s own heavy, yet steady breathing. The satirically silent atmosphere was broken however, by the sound of the bassist’s cell phone ringing.
He gulped, jolted from his position on the floor and reached in his pocket, searching for his cell.
It continued to ring, whilst the bassist grappled with the cell phone. He silently prayed that it was Brittney. Although, he was not surprised when the Caller I.D did not display his girlfriend’s name. Instead, it showed Billie Joe’s.
Mike inhaled a sharp breath, before pressing the green button and placing the device next to his ear. He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible, not wanting to give anything away.
“Hey, B-Billie,” he stammered, metaphorically kicking himself and already worrying that his best friend would suspect something.
“Hey,” the guitarist replied, obviously quite cheerful at that, “you okay?”
”Ummm…” the younger of the pair answered weakly, “y-yeah, I-… I’m fine.”
“You sure? You sound like you’re outta’ breath or something,” Billie Joe replied softly, not sounding quite as bubbly as he had done previously, “I haven’t… interrupted you and Britt, have I?”
The bassist gulped for a moment, almost physically wincing, “I-… no, of course not, I just-…”
“Just what? Why’re you out of breath, Mikey?”
“I-… I just had a panic a-attack,” Mike admitted bashfully, closing his eyes momentarily and tilting his head backwards, “I just c-calmed down.”
There was a short pause, but when the bassist’s fellow band mate answered, his voice sounded genuinely concerned: “A-… You’re alright though? Brittney helped you out though, yeah?”
“Brittney’s not here,” the younger of the two replied, almost too quickly.
“Oh, fair enough…”
“Y-Yeah, umm… she’s not here,” Mike repeated, hoping to cover up his speedy response.
The dark-haired singer nodded suspiciously, regardless as to whether Mike could see him or not.
“Oh, okay. Has she raided the mall or something then?” he questioned with a small, rather unnerved chuckle, “do you want me to come round?”
“No! Umm… n-no, no I’m fine,” Mike replied, not wanting his best friend to come round and see the state in which his house was in, or to find out what had supposedly happened to his beloved partner.
The elder of the pair was now feeling really rather doubtful. He paused, keeping mute for a moment or two. When he replied, breaking the awkward silence, his voice was both soft and troubled: “Mike? Is something the matter? I mean, seriously… you were fine an hour or so ago, but now you’re acting, well, ya know, weird.”
“I-… I’m fine, Billie,” the bassist tried to reason, but only succeeding in rambling instead, “h-honest, I just got into a state, something ha-… I thought that something had happened to Brittney, because she w-wasn’t here when I got back, b-but, well… ermm, she’s g-gone away for a bit.”
“Gone away for a bit?” his best friend questioned, clearly not convinced, “is everything alright between you two?”
“Well, y-yeah, umm,” Mike answered, desperate for an excusable explanation, “w-we had a fight. Yeah! Yeah, we had a fight.”
“You didn’t mention it at band practise...”
“I know, that’s be-…ermmm-… because we had it when I just got back, that’s why I had the panic attack.”
“But-… Mike, you said that Brittney wasn’t there when you got back; you’re not making any sense. Listen, are you sure you don’t want me to come round?”
“No, y-yeah… yeah, I’m fine, honest. Umm, I h-have to go now, Billie. I’ll speak to you soon, yeah?” the bassist replied abruptly, kicking himself once again, in an attempt to get rid of his best friend’s questioning.
“Fair enough, but if you need me or anything, you’ll phone, right?” Billie Joe inquired.
“Yeah, of course I will, bye Beej,” the youngest of the pair responded, hoping that his best friend wouldn’t be offended.
Mind you, the frontman didn’t even get a chance to reply, for Mike pressed the red button on his cell phone before Billie could respond.
The bassist let out a sigh, well aware that it was more than likely, a close call. He carelessly chucked his cell phone down beside him and looked up, taking in the ruffled appearance of his own kitchen.
Mike could feel his breathing gradually becoming quicker and quicker. The uncomfortable pressure in his chest was mounting and he could feel an anxious bead of sweat slide down the back of his neck.
He knew what was slowly taking place. It was inevitable: a panic attack. However, at the same time, Mike was trying to will it to go away. Deep breaths, deep breaths.
His icy blue eyes darted around the room, yet he stayed rigid on the spot, unable to think rationally. Who the Hell was this? Surely it wouldn’t just be sick kind of joke?
No. Somewhere in the back of the anxious bassist’s mind, he knew it wasn’t a joke. It was real.
Mike needed to get help. He needed to get help for Brittney.
The bassist practically stumbled over to the phone, which was still off of the hook. He stood in front of it, his shaking hand outstretched a little. He reached out and grabbed it, fumbling at the receiver, barely even concentrating on what he was doing as he tried to allocate his wavering fingers in order to dial the numbers that he needed. However, his vision was beginning to blur and he couldn’t help but to panic even more so. Mike had to squint a little, the rate of his ragged breathing increasing even more.
Nine.
One.
“Don’t call the police. If they find out, she’s done for, as are you, Michael…”
No. He couldn’t.
Brittney’s jittery boyfriend slowly let go of the receiver, a panic attack careering closer and closer to his already nervous state.
He hesitated for a moment, a stabbing pain shooting through his chest. Mike let out a small, pained groan before pressing his back against the wall and tediously beginning to sink to the floor.
As the bassist sat there, he pulled his knees close to his chest and reached his hands up to lace his long fingers into his short, spiky hair, trying to keep calm.
Another twinge in his chest occurred and Mike tried to force himself to keep calm, pressing his forehead against the tops of his knees, his hands now tugging at his soft hair, yanking at it. He tried to focus on something other than the note and whatever was happening to his beloved girlfriend as he sat there.
The bassist gnawed at his bottom lip a little destructively, forcing himself to take deep breaths: in through his nose, out through his mouth whilst attempting to concentrate on other things.
As of yet, it was working pretty well, considering that to start with, his hands were no longer quaking and he hadn’t had yet another flash of pain vibrating from his heart.
At least fifteen minutes passed though, before the bassist felt a calm and collected state returning to his mind. However, he continued to just sit there, not wanting to tempt fate and get up too quickly.
The house was now quiet, the only sound that could be heard was Mike’s own heavy, yet steady breathing. The satirically silent atmosphere was broken however, by the sound of the bassist’s cell phone ringing.
He gulped, jolted from his position on the floor and reached in his pocket, searching for his cell.
It continued to ring, whilst the bassist grappled with the cell phone. He silently prayed that it was Brittney. Although, he was not surprised when the Caller I.D did not display his girlfriend’s name. Instead, it showed Billie Joe’s.
Mike inhaled a sharp breath, before pressing the green button and placing the device next to his ear. He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible, not wanting to give anything away.
“Hey, B-Billie,” he stammered, metaphorically kicking himself and already worrying that his best friend would suspect something.
“Hey,” the guitarist replied, obviously quite cheerful at that, “you okay?”
”Ummm…” the younger of the pair answered weakly, “y-yeah, I-… I’m fine.”
“You sure? You sound like you’re outta’ breath or something,” Billie Joe replied softly, not sounding quite as bubbly as he had done previously, “I haven’t… interrupted you and Britt, have I?”
The bassist gulped for a moment, almost physically wincing, “I-… no, of course not, I just-…”
“Just what? Why’re you out of breath, Mikey?”
“I-… I just had a panic a-attack,” Mike admitted bashfully, closing his eyes momentarily and tilting his head backwards, “I just c-calmed down.”
There was a short pause, but when the bassist’s fellow band mate answered, his voice sounded genuinely concerned: “A-… You’re alright though? Brittney helped you out though, yeah?”
“Brittney’s not here,” the younger of the two replied, almost too quickly.
“Oh, fair enough…”
“Y-Yeah, umm… she’s not here,” Mike repeated, hoping to cover up his speedy response.
The dark-haired singer nodded suspiciously, regardless as to whether Mike could see him or not.
“Oh, okay. Has she raided the mall or something then?” he questioned with a small, rather unnerved chuckle, “do you want me to come round?”
“No! Umm… n-no, no I’m fine,” Mike replied, not wanting his best friend to come round and see the state in which his house was in, or to find out what had supposedly happened to his beloved partner.
The elder of the pair was now feeling really rather doubtful. He paused, keeping mute for a moment or two. When he replied, breaking the awkward silence, his voice was both soft and troubled: “Mike? Is something the matter? I mean, seriously… you were fine an hour or so ago, but now you’re acting, well, ya know, weird.”
“I-… I’m fine, Billie,” the bassist tried to reason, but only succeeding in rambling instead, “h-honest, I just got into a state, something ha-… I thought that something had happened to Brittney, because she w-wasn’t here when I got back, b-but, well… ermm, she’s g-gone away for a bit.”
“Gone away for a bit?” his best friend questioned, clearly not convinced, “is everything alright between you two?”
“Well, y-yeah, umm,” Mike answered, desperate for an excusable explanation, “w-we had a fight. Yeah! Yeah, we had a fight.”
“You didn’t mention it at band practise...”
“I know, that’s be-…ermmm-… because we had it when I just got back, that’s why I had the panic attack.”
“But-… Mike, you said that Brittney wasn’t there when you got back; you’re not making any sense. Listen, are you sure you don’t want me to come round?”
“No, y-yeah… yeah, I’m fine, honest. Umm, I h-have to go now, Billie. I’ll speak to you soon, yeah?” the bassist replied abruptly, kicking himself once again, in an attempt to get rid of his best friend’s questioning.
“Fair enough, but if you need me or anything, you’ll phone, right?” Billie Joe inquired.
“Yeah, of course I will, bye Beej,” the youngest of the pair responded, hoping that his best friend wouldn’t be offended.
Mind you, the frontman didn’t even get a chance to reply, for Mike pressed the red button on his cell phone before Billie could respond.
The bassist let out a sigh, well aware that it was more than likely, a close call. He carelessly chucked his cell phone down beside him and looked up, taking in the ruffled appearance of his own kitchen.