1 #4
My pulse begins pounding against my throat as every thought I’ve held back all evening crowds in at once.
The class. Klein. My GPA. My father asking why I chose an elective outside my discipline if I wasn’t prepared to excel in it.
The fries sitting in my stomach. The shorts that fit perfectly this morning and feel too tight now.
Ryan looking at me as though I’m intelligent enough to sit across from him tomorrow and have an opinion worth defending.
I press my palm against my sternum and force myself to breathe quietly. Someone could enter at any second, and the possibility of being heard crying inside a bathroom stall makes the panic climb higher.
“Stop,” I whisper.
My mother taught me years ago that composure is a decision. Shoulders down. Chin level. Breathe through the nose so the chest doesn’t visibly rise. Never let anyone watch emotion take control of your face.
I follow every instruction, but my body refuses to cooperate. My lungs pull too fast. Heat crawls beneath my clothes, and the waistband of my shorts feels unbearable against my skin.
I stand abruptly and turn toward the mirror mounted inside the stall door.
The woman reflected there looks fine.
That should help.
It doesn’t.
I turn sideways and lift my shirt enough to inspect the line of my stomach.
The soft skin below my navel looks different beneath the fluorescent light.
Everything always looks different beneath the wrong light.
Larger. Less controlled. Every perceived flaw becomes evidence that I’ve been careless, and once I find one, I can’t stop searching for the next.
I flatten my palm against my stomach, then pinch the skin between my fingers.
Disgust comes so fast it feels practiced.
I release it and lower my shirt, but within seconds I lift it again to check whether I exaggerated what I saw. The second inspection is worse. It always is.
“Fucking pathetic,” I whisper at my reflection.
My throat closes around the words.
I know Bliss would be furious if she heard me.
Aura would unlock the stall herself and refuse to let me leave until I took it back.
Ryan would stare at me with that quiet, cutting focus of his and ask whose voice I was using because he already understands too much about the thoughts I pretend belong only to me.
I drop my shirt and grip the sink when another wave of dizziness passes through me.
I didn’t eat enough before the wine. I know that too.
My body has been warning me for hours with the headache behind my eyes and the weakness in my legs, but listening would mean admitting the control I’m so proud of is only another way I hurt myself.
The panic loosens gradually, leaving me exhausted and cold.
I wash my hands, hold my wrists beneath the water, and count until my breathing begins to match the numbers.
At the mirror, I repair my lipstick and smooth the hair near my temples.
My reflection looks composed beneath the fluorescent lights.
My hair is sleek, my eyes are bright, and my cheeks are warm from the wine.
Nobody looking at me would see anything except the version of Charm they expect.
I study my face until I’m sure the strain has disappeared, then return to the bar.
Ryan is sitting with the Fury men, but his attention shifts to me as though he felt the instant I stepped into the room. For one terrible second, I wonder what he sees. Then he lifts his beer in a small salute.
I raise my hand in response and make myself smile.
Bliss appears in front of me when I return to the stool and places another basket of fries on the bar.
“You need to eat.”
“I already ate one.”
“That was twenty minutes ago.”
Aura returns and sets down her tray. “You disappeared into the bathroom and came back looking suspiciously calm.”
“I’m tired.”
Bliss leans closer. “Your eyes look weird.”
My breath catches.
“Like she’s been crying?” Aura asks.
“I haven’t been crying.”
Bliss studies my face long enough to make me grateful for the low lighting. “You look pale.”
“It’s dark in here.”
“It’s always dark in here,” she replies.
I choose another fry and bring it to my mouth before either of them can look more closely. The guilt rises before I’ve finished chewing, but I swallow and reach for my water.
Aura rests her hand briefly over mine. “You don’t have to be perfect at everything, Cee.”
The tenderness in her voice makes the lie harder to hold.
“I know.”
Bliss squeezes my shoulder. “Klein can survive one student who doesn’t reorganize Victorian literature for her personal convenience.”
“I’m not reorganizing it.”
“You will after Ryan teaches you what any of it means.”
“I know what literature means.”
Aura’s smile returns. “Then tomorrow should be easy.”
I look toward the back table again.
Ryan is listening to Cade, but his attention shifts to me as though he felt my eyes touch him. He raises his beer once more, confident I’ll appear tomorrow because he understands something I’ve spent years refusing to admit.
I never walk away from anything that might make me better, even when my need to be better has already begun destroying me.