VIPER || Oscar Piastri

Chapter 133

[POV: Andreanna Saunterre]

I wasn't in the bathroom long before I realised I shouldn't have locked myself in so tight a space.

It's okay, it's okay, I kept repeating.

At first, I thought it was just the heat. That there were too many people crammed in one room; too many to allow for proper ventilation. Then I thought maybe it was the closeness of the little tiles all lined up around the four walls surrounding me. They seemed to be pressing in, almost, and the air seemed to snag in my throat. My chest kept rising, falling, rising again, too fast, like I'd been running. I hadn't. I knew that.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay.

My hands braced the sink, palms slick and shaking, and my reflection morphed in the mirror — pale face, wide eyes, mouth trembling.

Just slow down, I thought. Just slow down. In, out. In, out. But every inhale scraped like glass, every exhale vanished before it had even left me. It's fine, it's— Nothing's wrong. Nothing's wrong, just calm down! Shit!

My legs wobbled, and I dropped onto the closed toilet lid, gripping my knees hard to stop them from shaking the way they were. It was throwing me off; My fingers tingled, then went numb, like I was too cold, but also way too hot.

It's okay. It's okay! It's literally so okay! Why—?!

I pressed the heel of my hand against my sternum as if I could steady something that way, but my skin felt clammy, and my throat wouldn't open the way it should.

Any second now! Any second, I'll be fine again.

I dragged both hands up to cover my face, pressing down hard like I could hide inside the dark space between my palms. But my fingers were shaking so badly they barely stayed put, trembling against my cheeks, against the corners of my eyes.

My lip started to quiver, that humiliating, telltale sign.

Oh, come on, I thought, biting down hard, trying to pin the tremor still. Don't be pathetic. I spent so long on my mascara. Don't ruin it now, you idiot. But the heat behind my eyes surged anyway, and before I could stop it, a tear broke free, tracking down my cheek. I smeared it away with the heel of my hand, frantic, but another followed, and then another, slipping under my lashes no matter how tightly I squeezed them shut.

I could already picture the black streaks cutting through both sides of my face. All that effort, wasted.

I shouldn't be in here. God, I shouldn't be crying in a bathroom just because someone said something nice about me.

But my breath still hitched in broken gasps, each one sharper than the last, and the tears wouldn't stop no matter how hard I willed them to. I swiped at my cheeks with my fingers, smearing the wetness into my skin, then grabbed for the tissues on the counter.

He didn't do it to hurt me. He's probably wondering where I am.

The paper shredded in my hand, too thin against the dampness, leaving flecks clinging to my lashes.
"Stop it," I whispered, though the word shook as it left me. "Stop it, you—"