Jo could feel the eyes on the back of her neck, the penetrating gaze of a hundred patrons, all of their attention on her. ‘Stop staring at me. Stop staring at me. Stop staring at me.’ She dug her fingers into her hair, the sound of a hundred voices melding together into a sinister, panic-inducing cacophony reminiscent of cackling laughter. Jo’s breath caught in her throat and her heart began to pound in her chest. Someone bumped into her, sending the drink she had been nursing spilling across the counter. More unwanted attention was drawn to Jo, whose breath began to come in gasps. ‘I have to get out of here. I have to–’ She pushed herself to her feet and sprinted out the door. 

Jo stepped into the cool afternoon air, the feeling of eyes boring holes into the back of her head as the building loomed threateningly over her. The alcohol that she’d imbibed made everything seem so much more. The smell of cigarette smoke and the sound of much too loud music assaulted her senses, causing the panic to wrap itself tighter around her lungs. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ 

Jo pulled at her shirt, struggling desperately to breathe as she collapsed to the ground, breath coming in uneven gasps. Fumbling for her phone, she struggled to unlock it, her alcohol-muddled mind barely managing to open the keypad. Reaching up she ran her fingers through her hair as she struggled to remember the number for the crisis center. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Jo squeezed her eyes shut as she racked her brain for the number. She began typing in what she hoped was the number, vision blurring with unshed tears as she jabbed her thumb into the call button, pressing the phone up against her ear. 

It rang once, twice, and then on the third ring, someone answered. “Hello?” A tired voice spoke from the other end of the line. 

Jo struggled to catch her breath before managing to squeak out the words. “Is this the crisis support services help line?” 

The sound of fabric ruffling could be heard which was followed by the voice speaking. “No. I think you have the wrong number.” 

Jo’s stomach dropped out as panic further constricted around her lungs. “Oh. I–” Her words caught in her throat. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

“Do you, uh, want to talk?” The voice spoke up before Jo could hang up.

“I wouldn’t want to bother you.” 

“You aren’t. I’m offering.” There was a slight pause. “I’d feel bad if I just left you.” The voice spoke and Jo sniffed, reaching up to whip her nose with the back of her hand. “So, what’s wrong?” 

Jo could barely breathe as she rocked back and forth, running her fingers through her hair. “I’m kinda, no actually, I’m really drunk and I’m having a panic attack.” Jo forced herself to take a deep breath. “Everyone is looking at me. I can feel their fucking eyes on the back of my goddamn head. I just want them to stop looking at me.” She tugged at her hair, forcing breath into her lungs. “Make it stop.” 

A beat of silence was followed by the person speaking. “I can’t. Sorry.” Jo sniffed, hunching her shoulders, trying to make herself look as small as physically possible. “But we can talk and maybe it’ll make you feel better?” 

“About what?” Jo ran a self-soothing hand through her hair, tilting her head to the side. 

“How about…” The voice on the other end hummed. “What do you do for a living?” 

“What?” Jo scoffed, tears drying on her cheeks. “Not even gonna ask my name first? Just straight for the bank account.” 

“So, she can laugh!” The woman on the other end laughed. “I’m glad you still have a sense of humor…”

“Jo. My name’s Jo.” 

“Well, Jo, what do you do for a living?” The woman on the other end laughed which was soothing to the anxious artist. 

“I’m, uh, an artist,” Jo mumbled into the receiver. It was a little less embarrassing than saying you were chronically unemployed.

“Oh, glamorous.” 

Jo actually managed to laugh. “Sure, if you call never leaving the house and living off week-old Chinese food glamorous, then yeah. I’m living it up.” 

“Hey, at least you can draw. I can’t even draw stick figures.” 

“I’m sure you could if you tried… it's not that hard.” 

“Maybe but I don’t have the time to try. I barely have time to…well lets just say I have a pretty busy life.”

“Thank you.” 

“What for?” The woman on the other end spoke, sounding genuinely curious. 

Jo sighed, leaning forward and placing her head between her knees.”For talking to me. You didn’t have to, so thank you for that.”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep if I’d just left you like that.” 

“But you didn’t have to.” 

“I guess you’re right. I just think it was the right thing to do.” 

Jo rubbed the heel of her hand under her nose trying to wipe the snot from it. “Right or wrong I’m thankful.”

“Do you have a way home?” The concerned voice echoed through the speakers. 

“I’ll, uh,” Jo looked around the empty street. “Probably just walk home…”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. I think it could do me some good…” 

“Well, you know what’s best for you.” The woman laughed into her ear. “If you're okay, then I’ll let you go.”

“Thank you…” After a beat of silence, the line went dead. Letting out a stuttering breath, Jo clutched her phone in her hands as she looked around the nearly empty street. Pushing herself to her feet and shoving her phone in her jacket pocket, Jo pulled the fabric around her chest as she began the trek home.