I pace the carpet, trying to slow m

I pace the carpet, trying to slow my racing heart—and failing. My hands trembling, I manage to dial Romy’s number, and she picks up immediately. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
“I was just about to leave to pick you up,” she says.
“N-no,” I choke out. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” I’ve been up since midnight, thinking about going out today, knowing this was coming.
She’s quiet for a moment. “We should have planned for this. Have you called Heather?”
“I don’t know her. I don’t know …” I press my lips together and sink to the floor. I can’t go through this again.
“Have you called Daniel?”
“No.” And the thought of him is like a hand closing around my throat. I can’t believe I’m such a fucking failure. He made sure he had my cell number before he left yesterday. But when he called last night, I put on a great show, and we talked for a long time about everything but the start of my therapy today.
“Would it help if you talked to him?”
Yes, but—“I don’t want him to know,” I whisper. He’ll be so disappointed in me, and I can’t stand to hear that now. “I don’t want him to feel like he has to come and save me.”
“I see,” Romy says. “Okay then.” She hangs up.
I look down at my phone, think for a half-second about calling her back, and then decide not to. She’s let me off the hook. I go to my chaise and curl up, a tiny part of me relieved that I won’t be going to the session, the rest of me utterly defeated. I’m so exhausted that my eyes feel like they’re too big for their sockets. I slow down gradually, my terror slipping away, pressed down by black despair, and lower my head to my knees.
“Knock, knock,” sings my mother. “A friend of yours is here.”
My head jerks up, and a quick glance at the clock tells me it’s half past one. I’ve been asleep for half an hour. Romy strides into the room, still wearing her coat. My own coat, which she must have grabbed from the entryway, is slung over her arm.
“Hey, Stella,” Romy says.
“What are you doing here?”
She sits at the end of the chaise, ignoring my mom’s questioning look. “I heard how scared you were and I felt like I needed to be here.”
I blink at her. “Really?”
She smiles at me. “I don’t want you to miss this chance, and I was hoping you’d trust me enough to try. Just to try.”
I look into her eyes, which are empty of anger or frustration or impatience. If I don’t try, I’ll never know. I won’t be able to tell myself I did all I could. “We’ll go and come right back?”
She nods.
“You’ll stay with me?”
Another nod. “The first step is always hardest, I know.” She stands up and offers me her hand. There’s the tiny cursive script of a tattoo on her wrist, and my gaze gets snagged on it. She sees me looking and pushes up her sleeve.
Out of difficulties grow miracles.
“That’s beautiful,” I say.
“It’s also true,” she replies.
It would be a miracle if this helped me. It would be a miracle to be able to drive to Daniel’s apartment and show up at his door. I can’t imagine it—but if I could have that? Worth a try. I take Romy’s hand, and her grip is strong, her fingers cool.
“You’re being very brave, Stella.”
My mother frowns. “You’re not going out wearing that, are you?”
I get to my feet. “Mom, the fact that I’m going out at all should make you happy. It’s what you wanted right?”
“Only if you’re not embarrassing yourself.”
Romy blinks at her, then hands me my jacket. “There’s no dress code where we’re going, and it’s important that we be on time.” She waves at my mom and walks from the room, heading for the side entrance.
“You’re going out with her when you wouldn’t go shopping with me?” Mom asks, folding her arms over her chest.
Yeah, because it feels safer, which is sad, actually. “I’m just trying something, Mom. It may be only this one time. And I know you’re busy.”
She shrugs. “I am. Markus will be here for our private lesson soon. I’m giving sculpting another try—I needed a way to channel my emotions.”
“I’m so glad you’re doing that for yourself,” I say, pouring sincerity into every word. Because Daniel is mine.
With that thought echoing in my head, I follow Romy. Somehow, she makes this seem possible. She doesn’t seem surprised that I was freaking out, and she hasn’t made me feel stupid about it. Maybe I can do this.
“Romy?” I call after her when I reach the breezeway.
“Mmm?” She’s in the mudroom.
“What if I …?”
“If you have a panic attack?”
I nod. Even the idea of it is making my heart thump harder. We could be anywhere. What if it happens in the car and she can’t pull out of traffic?
“I can handle that, Stella,” she says with absolute confidence. “I will make sure you’re safe, and I won’t leave you alone.”
“And if I want to come back home?”
She smiles and pulls a hat on over her short hair. “We’ll bring you back home. You’re not my prisoner.”
Slightly reassured, I slip on my boots and stand at the threshold. With the exception of the gallery opening, this is as far as I’ve gotten for weeks, but I can’t be trapped here forever. I can’t believe I thought I could without going insane. Romy stands outside, pulling on her gloves. Then she offers her hand again. “Come on, Stella. One foot in front of the other. We’re going there and coming right back. That’s it. No surprises, no changes in plans.”
I blow out an unsteady breath and let her pull me into the frigid winter air. My breath puffs in front of my face as I follow her to her car and get in. She gets in the driver’s side and turns on the heater. “So,” she says as she moves up the driveway. “Daniel.”
I fold my arms over my chest, distracted by the blur of snow banks as we drive past. “He’s … I don’t know. I don’t know how to say it.”
“He’s been different since he met you,” she says. “I mean, I’ve only known him for a few months, but Caleb’s known him for years, and he’s noticed it, too.”
I smile in spite of myself. “He’s really patient. And playful. And he makes me laugh. This thing with his mom has been hard on him, though.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s told me. He’s scared she won’t get better. He’s scared of what it’s doing to his dad.”
Romy smiles with a hint of sadness. “I’m glad he’s talking to someone about it. Caleb’s his best friend, and Daniel hasn’t mentioned it. I mean, even Daniel can’t hide that much pain, but he seems to be trying. Unless he’s with you, apparently. I’m glad you’re with him, then, because his mom’s going to have to go through chemo, and it’s going to be rough.”
Like every time Daniel has been vulnerable with me, I suddenly feel strong. The idea that he might need me makes my muscles tense, but in a good way. Like I want to spring between him and the danger, like I want to hold him tight and keep him safe. I’m so busy pondering that idea that I’m surprised when Romy pulls up outside a cute little office building at the edge of the Becker campus. My heart jolts, and I grip the seatbelt.
Romy gets out of the car and comes around to my side, then leads me by the hand, all the way into a hushed waiting room. Heather Gregory is a psychologist who specializes in cognitive-behavioral therapy, and when I talked to her on the phone, she had a reassuring kind of voice and a calm, confident way that made me believe maybe she really could help. Like Romy, she didn’t minimize it or make me feel stupid for being scared.
There’s nobody in the waiting room, and that’s a huge relief. As soon as I sit down, though, the office door opens, and a young man walks into the waiting room. He doesn’t look at me or Romy as he heads outside. I guess he’s Heather’s one o’clock. He looked normal enough, not weepy or tremulous or crazy. It’s strangely comforting.
A woman in her thirties with straight blonde hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, wearing a long cardigan over an ankle-length dress, pokes her head out of the office. Her gaze immediately lands on Romy, and she smiles warmly, then looks at me. “Stella? I’m Dr. Gregory.” She walks out of her office and offers her hand. “You can call me Heather.”
“Hi,” I say as I shake it.
“Romy can come in with you if you want, or you can come by yourself.”
I look over at Romy. “Go ahead,” she says. “I’m right out here if you need me. I’m not going anywhere.”
With that settled, I trail Heather into her office. She’s got a sitting area set up in front of her desk. Her diplomas are on the wall, as is her license. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out one of the hundreds my dad left me—the money Daniel refused to take will be paying for this therapy. Heather takes the money and puts it in a little box in her desk. “As I told you over the phone, we can use your insurance.”
“I’d prefer it this way,” I say. Maybe this way my parents won’t be able to snoop about my diagnosis—they won’t have any ammo to give their lawyer if it comes to that, though I’m hoping this will defuse that particular bomb anyway.
She shrugs, then asks me about the panic attacks. We talk a little bit about the fall, but then she asks me questions about all sorts of things, my social life, my mood, my habits and preferences. I realize I’ve always been a bit anxious in crowded places—or situations where I feel stuck and can’t escape—and tend to avoid them. She tries to get me to describe the panic, and what I’m afraid of, and how it starts.
“It comes out of nowhere,” I tell her. “It comes up on me so fast that I can’t control it.”
“Tell me about one specific time, to give me a sense of it?”
I want to draw my knees to my chest, but it would be pretty rude if I put my shoes on her furniture, so I grip the edges of the chair. “It happened the last time I went out in public. I tried to go to an art exhibit, and I lost it, in front of everyone.”
Her brow furrows. “You said you hadn’t been out for eight weeks. How did you gather the courage to go to that kind of an event?”

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Saya kecepatan karpet, mencoba untuk memperlambat hatiku balap — dan gagal. Tanganku gemetar, aku berhasil penampilan Romy nomor, dan dia mengambil segera. Aku membuka mulut untuk bicara, tapi tidak ada yang keluar."Aku baru saja akan pergi untuk menjemput Anda," katanya."N-tidak," aku tersedak keluar. "Aku tidak bisa. Saya minta maaf." Aku sudah sejak tengah malam, berpikir tentang pergi hari ini, mengetahui hal ini datang.Dia tenang sejenak. "Kita harus rencanakan untuk ini. Sudahkah Anda menelepon Heather?""Saya tidak tahu dia. Aku tidak tahu..." Aku menekan bibirku bersama dan tenggelam ke lantai. Aku tidak bisa pergi melalui ini lagi."Sudahkah Anda menelepon Daniel?""Tidak." Dan berpikir dia adalah seperti sebuah tangan menutup di sekitar tenggorokanku. Aku tidak percaya aku sialan suatu kegagalan. Dia memastikan ia memiliki jumlah sel saya sebelum ia meninggalkan kemarin. Tetapi ketika ia disebut tadi malam, aku meletakkan pada acara besar, dan kami berbicara untuk waktu yang lama tentang segala sesuatu tetapi awal terapi saya hari ini."Akan hal ini membantu jika Anda berbicara kepadanya?"Ya, tapi — "Saya tidak ingin dia untuk mengetahui," berbisik. Dia akan menjadi sangat kecewa dalam diriku, dan aku tidak bisa berdiri untuk mendengar bahwa sekarang. "Saya tidak ingin dia merasa seperti dia untuk datang dan menyelamatkan saya.""Aku melihat," Romy mengatakan. "Oke kemudian." Dia menutup.Aku melihat ke bawah pada telepon saya, berpikir untuk setengah-kedua tentang menelepon kembali, dan kemudian memutuskan untuk tidak. Dia telah membiarkan aku lolos. Saya pergi ke kursi saya dan meringkuk, sebagian kecil dari saya lega bahwa saya tidak akan pergi ke sidang, sisa dari diriku benar-benar dikalahkan. Saya begitu lelah bahwa mata saya merasa seperti mereka terlalu besar untuk mereka soket. Aku memperlambat secara bertahap, teror saya tergelincir, ditekan oleh hitam putus asa, dan menurunkan kepala saya ke lutut saya."Knock, mengetuk," menyanyikan ibuku. "Teman Anda adalah di sini."Saya tersentak kepala up, dan sekilas pada jam memberitahu saya setengah past satu. Aku sudah tidur selama setengah jam. Romy langkah ke ruang, masih mengenakan mantel. Mantel saya sendiri, yang ia harus telah meraih dari pintu masuk, tersandang di lengannya."Hei, Stella," Romy mengatakan."Apa yang Anda lakukan di sini?"Dia duduk di ujung kursi, mengabaikan ibuku mempertanyakan tampilan. "Saya mendengar bagaimana takut kau dan aku merasa seperti saya harus berada di sini."Saya sekejap padanya. "Benarkah?"Dia tersenyum padaku. "Saya tidak ingin Anda lewatkan kesempatan ini, dan saya berharap Anda akan percaya saya cukup untuk mencoba. Hanya mencoba."Saya melihat ke matanya, yang kosong kemarahan atau frustrasi, ketidaksabaran. Jika saya tidak mencoba, saya tidak akan pernah tahu. Aku tidak akan mampu meyakinkan diri sendiri bahwa aku melakukan semua saya bisa. "Kami akan pergi dan datang kembali?"Dia mengangguk."Anda akan tinggal dengan saya?"Another nod. “The first step is always hardest, I know.” She stands up and offers me her hand. There’s the tiny cursive script of a tattoo on her wrist, and my gaze gets snagged on it. She sees me looking and pushes up her sleeve.Out of difficulties grow miracles.“That’s beautiful,” I say.“It’s also true,” she replies.It would be a miracle if this helped me. It would be a miracle to be able to drive to Daniel’s apartment and show up at his door. I can’t imagine it—but if I could have that? Worth a try. I take Romy’s hand, and her grip is strong, her fingers cool.“You’re being very brave, Stella.”My mother frowns. “You’re not going out wearing that, are you?”I get to my feet. “Mom, the fact that I’m going out at all should make you happy. It’s what you wanted right?”“Only if you’re not embarrassing yourself.”Romy blinks at her, then hands me my jacket. “There’s no dress code where we’re going, and it’s important that we be on time.” She waves at my mom and walks from the room, heading for the side entrance.“You’re going out with her when you wouldn’t go shopping with me?” Mom asks, folding her arms over her chest.Yeah, because it feels safer, which is sad, actually. “I’m just trying something, Mom. It may be only this one time. And I know you’re busy.”She shrugs. “I am. Markus will be here for our private lesson soon. I’m giving sculpting another try—I needed a way to channel my emotions.”“I’m so glad you’re doing that for yourself,” I say, pouring sincerity into every word. Because Daniel is mine.With that thought echoing in my head, I follow Romy. Somehow, she makes this seem possible. She doesn’t seem surprised that I was freaking out, and she hasn’t made me feel stupid about it. Maybe I can do this.“Romy?” I call after her when I reach the breezeway.“Mmm?” She’s in the mudroom.“What if I …?”“If you have a panic attack?”I nod. Even the idea of it is making my heart thump harder. We could be anywhere. What if it happens in the car and she can’t pull out of traffic?“I can handle that, Stella,” she says with absolute confidence. “I will make sure you’re safe, and I won’t leave you alone.”“And if I want to come back home?”She smiles and pulls a hat on over her short hair. “We’ll bring you back home. You’re not my prisoner.”Slightly reassured, I slip on my boots and stand at the threshold. With the exception of the gallery opening, this is as far as I’ve gotten for weeks, but I can’t be trapped here forever. I can’t believe I thought I could without going insane. Romy stands outside, pulling on her gloves. Then she offers her hand again. “Come on, Stella. One foot in front of the other. We’re going there and coming right back. That’s it. No surprises, no changes in plans.”I blow out an unsteady breath and let her pull me into the frigid winter air. My breath puffs in front of my face as I follow her to her car and get in. She gets in the driver’s side and turns on the heater. “So,” she says as she moves up the driveway. “Daniel.”I fold my arms over my chest, distracted by the blur of snow banks as we drive past. “He’s … I don’t know. I don’t know how to say it.”
“He’s been different since he met you,” she says. “I mean, I’ve only known him for a few months, but Caleb’s known him for years, and he’s noticed it, too.”
I smile in spite of myself. “He’s really patient. And playful. And he makes me laugh. This thing with his mom has been hard on him, though.”
“How do you know?”
“He’s told me. He’s scared she won’t get better. He’s scared of what it’s doing to his dad.”
Romy smiles with a hint of sadness. “I’m glad he’s talking to someone about it. Caleb’s his best friend, and Daniel hasn’t mentioned it. I mean, even Daniel can’t hide that much pain, but he seems to be trying. Unless he’s with you, apparently. I’m glad you’re with him, then, because his mom’s going to have to go through chemo, and it’s going to be rough.”
Like every time Daniel has been vulnerable with me, I suddenly feel strong. The idea that he might need me makes my muscles tense, but in a good way. Like I want to spring between him and the danger, like I want to hold him tight and keep him safe. I’m so busy pondering that idea that I’m surprised when Romy pulls up outside a cute little office building at the edge of the Becker campus. My heart jolts, and I grip the seatbelt.
Romy gets out of the car and comes around to my side, then leads me by the hand, all the way into a hushed waiting room. Heather Gregory is a psychologist who specializes in cognitive-behavioral therapy, and when I talked to her on the phone, she had a reassuring kind of voice and a calm, confident way that made me believe maybe she really could help. Like Romy, she didn’t minimize it or make me feel stupid for being scared.
There’s nobody in the waiting room, and that’s a huge relief. As soon as I sit down, though, the office door opens, and a young man walks into the waiting room. He doesn’t look at me or Romy as he heads outside. I guess he’s Heather’s one o’clock. He looked normal enough, not weepy or tremulous or crazy. It’s strangely comforting.
A woman in her thirties with straight blonde hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, wearing a long cardigan over an ankle-length dress, pokes her head out of the office. Her gaze immediately lands on Romy, and she smiles warmly, then looks at me. “Stella? I’m Dr. Gregory.” She walks out of her office and offers her hand. “You can call me Heather.”
“Hi,” I say as I shake it.
“Romy can come in with you if you want, or you can come by yourself.”
I look over at Romy. “Go ahead,” she says. “I’m right out here if you need me. I’m not going anywhere.”
With that settled, I trail Heather into her office. She’s got a sitting area set up in front of her desk. Her diplomas are on the wall, as is her license. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out one of the hundreds my dad left me—the money Daniel refused to take will be paying for this therapy. Heather takes the money and puts it in a little box in her desk. “As I told you over the phone, we can use your insurance.”
“I’d prefer it this way,” I say. Maybe this way my parents won’t be able to snoop about my diagnosis—they won’t have any ammo to give their lawyer if it comes to that, though I’m hoping this will defuse that particular bomb anyway.
She shrugs, then asks me about the panic attacks. We talk a little bit about the fall, but then she asks me questions about all sorts of things, my social life, my mood, my habits and preferences. I realize I’ve always been a bit anxious in crowded places—or situations where I feel stuck and can’t escape—and tend to avoid them. She tries to get me to describe the panic, and what I’m afraid of, and how it starts.
“It comes out of nowhere,” I tell her. “It comes up on me so fast that I can’t control it.”
“Tell me about one specific time, to give me a sense of it?”
I want to draw my knees to my chest, but it would be pretty rude if I put my shoes on her furniture, so I grip the edges of the chair. “It happened the last time I went out in public. I tried to go to an art exhibit, and I lost it, in front of everyone.”
Her brow furrows. “You said you hadn’t been out for eight weeks. How did you gather the courage to go to that kind of an event?”