I dash to the bathroom across the hall and barf.
Twice.
Leaning against the stall wall, I flush away my vomit and slump to the cold floor. I hug my knees to my chest, making myself as small and tight as possible.
I’m okay
I’m okay
I’m okay.
Against my fingertips, my pulse races in my neck. One hundred forty.
I breathe in deeply, then release the air slowly, slowly.
Until slowly, slowly, my heartbeat fades from the back of my head.
The rhythmic pulsing gathers itself again in my chest.
Little by little, I reclaim my body.
But not my mind.
It’s still spinning, churning out unwanted thoughts.
It’s getting worse.
You’re getting worse.
And then, the biggest thought, the one that screams the loudest each time my mind and body betray me:
What if you’re going crazy?
Just like her.
What if…you’re already gone?
