Her breathing wouldn’t settle.
In through her nose.
Out through her mouth.
Again.
This was manageable.
It had to be.
The dashboard clock ticked forward one minute at a time. Each second felt louder than the last.
Savannah pressed her forehead briefly against the cold leather of the wheel and shut her eyes.
Focus.
Drive.
Get home.
She started the engine.
The drive home felt longer than usual. Every red light stretched. Every slow car in front of her made her jaw clench. Her chest felt too tight for her body. Her nails dug crescents into the steering wheel.
By the time she pulled into her apartment lot, her hands were shaking again.
She killed the engine and sat there, breathing hard. She tried to talk herself down, tried to swallow the heat crawling up her throat, but something inside her was already cracking under its own weight.
She went inside.
Shut the door.
Locked it.
Dropped her bag on the floor, where it fell sideways.
The quiet was wrong.
Too empty.
Too much space for her thoughts to echo.
Her coat hit the back of the couch and slid to the floor. She kicked her shoes halfway across the living room. The first one hit the wall with a thud. The second bounced off the side of the table.
None of it helped.
Savannah grabbed a stack of mail off the counter. Useless flyers. Credit card offers. She slammed them down again hard enough to scatter envelopes across the floor.
Still not enough.
She slammed the fridge shut when she opened it and realized she didn’t want anything inside. She slammed the cabinet after reaching for a glass and pulling her hand back like it had burned her.
The apartment absorbed all of it without complaint.
She dragged both hands through her hair and paced the length of the kitchen.
Too fast. Too tight. Too much noise in her head.
