My heart would pound. The feelings coursing through my body going from butterflies to full on dragons in the span of seconds. No longer were they just some 'cute' nerves. It was now a full on anxiety attack. As if I developed some magical hypersensitive powers; I used to swear I could feel the adrenaline being released and begin to course through my already overworked veins. Pure icy cold energy was being shot through me and I had no way to stop it, no way to dam up the anxiety inducing hormone.

My breathing would also began to pick up and as I laid a shaking hand on my chest I would feel my heart begin to speed up as well.

That is why I despised first dates. Why I prefer casual and spontaneous get togethers, ones so surprising that my body has no way to psych itself out. I was a classic over thinker and this was just another page in a book titled 'Anxiety Attacks Induced by the Dreadful Social Encounters of a Teenage Girl".

Breathing exercises, meditation, journal writing, even art. None of it had even begun to give me any glimpse of control over my body and it's reactions. It had gotten to a point so debilitating that I resigned myself to the fact that I would die alone and single. I could not imagine a time in my life where the anxiety would be trumped by love, even if it was true.

;

That is, until I realized that not caring. Not giving a shit about anyones option but my own was the key. I learned to give myself little pep talks before stress inducing social encounters, pep talks that reminded myself that I was happy, and in no need of anything. If a guy wanted to take me out on a date, I would remind myself that I owed him nothing, that I would not and should not feel obligated in anyway to make myself into anything other than myself. If it wasn't going well, I shouldn't feel the need to keep responding to his texts and advances. If he was mean or rude or disrespectful I would not feel swayed by popular opinion to continue to see him.

And strongly enough, that small change in my attitude transformed my perspective. Sure anxiety was still something I had to live with, and sometimes even a sizable anxiety attack or two reared it's ugly head. Yet the fear that had plagued me everyday, living beneath the surface of my skin to taint every moment of my existence was gone. The pressure to live up to what society expected, what my friends and peers expected had been lifted from my shoulders. I felt at last like someone had striken off chains I had not known restrained me. I was now living the life I wanted to live….

…Up until the whole rock-time-travel incidence occurred of course. Now I'm convinced that I'm living the life that some really bored, deviant and possible sadistic higher being wants me to live.

But hey, at least I don't give a shit.

I turned away from him as I gathered my thoughts. Trying to grasp the threads of coherent-ness that seemed to escape me.

He sat quietly, choosing to look at the moon instead of bestowing the pressure of his gaze upon my being.

"I know this isn't what you want to hear but I honestly cannot tell you my past" I said in a whisper, "I'm not a criminal, simply a girl who is a little farther away from home than she's used to". I smiled at that last bit, appreciating the darkness for hiding the flash of my teeth at my understatement.

"Aye." he let out a breath, "I suppose I havna' choice but ta' accept tha'… I also respect ya' if I'm ta' be verra honest" he finished with a swipe of his hands on his kilt and stood up in a rustle of wool and leather. He turned and reached out a hand to me, and although it was a simple offer to help stand I felt in that moment that it meant so much more.

It was an offer to immerse myself even further in this adventurous life. To take a step I had never taken before and not only put my body and mind at risk, but my heart as well.

Back home I had gone on some dates, not seconds, usually finding a way to end contact with the boys. I had even participated in some party activity and had a few drunken kisses. My romantic life had been short and uneventful but I had come to the almost horrifying realization that I didn't think I would ever be able to commit to an individual, even with my new "don't give a shit"-lease on life. Out of those few encounters I had had, I hated the dates, hated the flare-ups of anxiety and social stress they gave me. The drunken and sloppy kisses that meant nothing were what I was drawn to, I enjoyed the casual encounters, the promise of thoughtlessly fun hook-up. I was independent, maybe too much so. I didn't have any desire to compromise my lifestyle, to share a sock drawer or DVR. I wanted decisions to be based solely on me, as selfish as it sounds. And so I got this idea in my head that maybe I would never settle down, never be able to open up to another human being that personally. All flash and no substance.

Yet here I was. Reaching for the hand of a kilt clad scot whose culture did not have a dating scene, but more of an arranged marriage/babies as soon as possible scene; a truly nauseating thought if I was being honest.

A part of me grasped eagerly at the hand that was surely attached to an attractive body and even lovelier face.

The other and probably more reliable part of my mind was screaming eternally at the death warrant I was signing for my shortly lived life.

We walked quietly back inside the castle, the distant sounds of revelry still echoed through the halls, drunken clansmen blanketed the stone floors, slumped here and there as if a sleeping spell had been cast upon all of them. Picking our way past them carefully before Scot left me at the top of the physician ward stairs. Reaching a hand up to tuck away an errant strand of hair and tugging on my ribbon before turning back for the main hall, a smile gracing his gentle face and leaking on to mine as I watched his strong back disappear around the corner; his kilt whipping against the stone as it followed.

I didn't want to overthink anything, not like I had done in the past; and so I buried the outdoor dinner we spent together in my head. Hiding it under distractions, withholding it's innocence and joy from the prying fingers in my mind who were begging to see it, to tear it apart with 'what-if's and 'maybe's.

Instead I would go to my cot, dress for bed and look forward to another day. But of course because I wanted that to happen, it was not meant to be.

As I made my way to the top of the stairs and took my first step down many things happened at once. I heard the soft tap of my shoe on the stone paired with a moan from the depths. I froze, not believing what I knew must be happening not 15 feet below where I stood.

But there it was again, this time joined with the rattles of bottles shaking, an image I did not under any circumstances want in my head. As I made to turn back the ties of my dress were yanked from behind and I stumbled back out of the staircase and into the torch light from the hallway. I whipped around immediately, fearing the unwanted advances of a drunken clansmen, only to find the kind face of Mrs. Fitz-Gibbons.

"Deary ye willna be sleepin' down there ta'night" she said with a slap to her hip, ushering me to follow her down the hall. Her small, plump form waddling down the stony walkway.

"If you could possible tell me where a blanket might be I can sleep in the kitchen for tonight" I said, not wanting to trouble her anymore, as I followed like a lost little duckling.

"Aye tha' willna work seein' tha' those drunk bastards will be in an' out o' there all night!" Again she slapped her hip, this time in annoyance at the intoxicated men trespassing in her domestic territory. "I've got a room made up for ye', it's about time ye' get a bed of yer own". We took a left and ended up outside a wooden door, in a hallway that seemed filled with them; the sleeping quarters then.

The bustling older woman unlatched the door and held it open, bidding me to go in, "This will be yer permanent quarters from now on," she gestured to the bed, "I think it's safe for me to assume that Claire willna be returning to the ward to sleep either so theres no need for ye to be alone." Before I could respond with my agreement and thanks she had left in a swirl of skirts and lavender, letting the door close and latch behind her.

I made sure that in addition to being latched it was also locked before examining my new residence. A large and almost medieval looking four poster bed sat straight in front of me, draped in velvets of deeps reds and greens. To my left was a crackling fire in a grate that could fit me if I bent my head only slightly, seated in front was a wooden chair and table; a vase with wildflowers perched upon it. On my right was a desk and chair, simple and beautifully constructed from a dark wood, stained with use. The floor was decorated with a woven rug, depicting the plants and wildlife of the Scottish Highlands; and peeking out from underneath the bed I could see the metallic rim of a chamber pot. I tried to suppress it but I definitely cringed when I saw that.

All together the room was more than enough and greatly appreciated after sleeping on a lumpy cot for weeks.

I stripped down to my shift, washing my face with the water pitcher and laid my lovely dress and slippers on the chair by the smoldering fire. Before the chill night air could wrap me in it's embrace I climbed under the sea of comforters, quilts and blankets and immersed myself in a cocoon of warmth.

Closing my eyes I made sure to avoid thinking of the night I had spent with Scot and instead found myself smiling as I recalled the noises I had heard on my initial way to bed.

I'd have to ask Claire about them in the morning.