I can’t feel my hands or feet.
Lurching toward the door, I run down the hallway.
Curling over the toilet bowl, my body takes over.
Breathe,I tell myself.
Slow your breathing.
But it’s easier said than done.
Nothing can stop the whirlwind once it’s begun.
The bathroom seems so small, so hollow.
Has it always been this dark?
A shadow moves behind me in the doorway.
He turns the light on but I wave my arm for him to turn it off.
Too fucking bright.
“Got you a bottle from the fridge,” he offers quietly. “Might help.”
“To drink beer?”
“No, to hold it. Cold things help Damo when he has anxiety.”
“Damien has panic attacks?”
“Heaps of them. But don't tell anyone, he's a bit weird about people knowing.”
The vortex continues to swirl.
His voice usually calms me, but tonight it feels jarring.
Now that he’s gonna be taking off up north, I feel so untethered.
Pacing next to the window, the light reflects off the bottle.
Noticing that the beer in my hand is the same brand my dad drinks, I lunge for the loo.
Here comes an encore of everything I’ve eaten since noon.
Yuck, now I need to rinse my mouth with Listerine.
I do it twice to get rid of the taste.
Fear ripples through me in waves.
I still can’t decide if Porter's presence is a comfort or a trigger.
Every time he looks at me across the darkened bathroom, I think of Christmas.
Of the empty room that will soon echo next to mine.
Stop being so fucking needy,I scold myself.
