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I clenched my teeth. "Right," I deadpanned. I focused on my coffee to avoid saying how I really felt.
My mind wandered, and I began to worry about my mother. Was she wondering where I was? Or was she sitting in front of the television like a zombie, as usual? In her depressed state, she might not even notice me gone.
"Where's my phone? My stuff?" I asked.
"At the hotel, why?" Sasuke asked.
I frowned. "I need to make a phone call," I said.
Sasuke let out a barking laugh. "Not likely." He leaned in across the table, taking my hand and squeezing it a little too hard. "Are you forgetting what's going on?"
How could I?
"I haven't," I replied, pretending his grip wasn't causing pain.
"Good," Sasuke said, finally letting go.
I winced.
This guy was a psycho. Laughing and smiling one moment and then threatening and dark the next. My heart fluttered in my chest, getting faster and faster as the reality of my situation sunk in.
Great, that's exactly what I needed right now - a panic attack.
I tried to calm my breathing and failed miserably. My hands were shaking, so I hid them under the table as the waitress came over with our food.
The sight of eggs and toast made me suddenly want to vomit.
"I... I need to go to the washroom," I said.
I didn't wait for permission to leave. I slid off the booth's red vinyl seat, brushed past the waitress, and ran to the washroom.
"Uh, yeah, her stomach's been bothering her all day."
I heard Sasuke say something to the waitress as the door slammed behind me. It sounded natural, as if he and I were friends. Lying was second nature to him. Second only to killing, maybe.
I stumbled into the washroom, dry heaving as I went. My vision blurred, and my body was slick with sweat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I gasped, collapsing on the cold tile floor. I hadn’t had a panic attack this bad in a long time.
I thought I'd overcome this. I maxed out my credit card going to therapy. It'd been months since I unraveled like this.
Memories of the funeral rushed back to me. The stifling silence. The smells. The way everyone looked at me and my mother with pity.
Rebecca was supposed to be with me. She wasn't supposed to be dead. Everything was supposed to work out for us.
Instead, I was on the bathroom floor of a diner, hugging my knees close to my chest and gasping for air.
I tried to calm myself down. “Breathe,” I murmured, closing my eyes.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Again.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Again.
