Breathing Hard

Breathing Hard

I hear the panting, hard and heavy. I can feel the dampness of the breath on my neck. The hard sobs racking through the body, each silent sob more deafening than the last. No sounds are needed for me to hear the pain, the terror. I could see the heartbreak, the horror in the blacks of his eyes. I am fighting the overwhelming urge to join in the screaming. My own eyes are filling with tears, tears of incompetence, tears of stress, and tears of not being able to keep the demons at bay. I feel like I am to blame, it is my fault. I started this. I am sure my heart is beating out of my chest. I consciously try to ease my breathing hoping if I am calm, it will help him. He is gripping so tightly, his tiny fists twisted in my jumper, the softness of the wool no match for his grip. He twists it further and tries to bites at it. My chest heaving too, but I can see and feel his rise, like a tidal wave pushing further each time. His face post box red, the clear drool dangling and mixing with his tears, congealing on the light fluffiness of his sleep suit. Winnie the Pooh’s face slowly becoming engorged with wetness.  My tears are stinging my eyes, my head spinning, my heart beating, my pulse deafening in my ears.