In the Blood [ON HOLD]

"We Need to Talk"

Her chest hurt. Her breath was short and she was trembling, sweat pouring down her face and into her eyes. Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes, she forced herself to lie flat on her back on the floor, waiting.

It wasn't a heart attack or anything equally fatal. It just felt that way.

She tried to breathe deeply, but her lungs weren't working with her yet, still dragging in shallow breaths, chest heaving as she hyperventilated. Her hands trembled uncontrollably and she balled them into fists, but all that managed to do was send the tremors up her arms.

Eventually the panic faded away and she slowly opened her eyes, feeling drained. After another moment, she used the backs of her hands to wipe the sweat away from her face and slowly sat up, every muscle aching and sore. Her jaw hurt from clenching her teeth for so long.

Looking at the TV, which was still on the news, she found she'd only been incapacitated for about ten minutes. With a small moan, she folded her legs up until she was sitting cross-legged, then she buried her face in her hands, rocking back and forth slightly.

It had been years since she'd last had a panic attack.

She tugged up the neck of her tank top, using the material to wipe the last of the sweat away from her eyes and off her cheekbones. After another moment, she was able to get to her feet and pull herself up the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister.

Still feeling like she was in a bit of a daze, she trudged into the first bathroom she found, peeled off her sweat-drenched clothes, turned on the shower, and stepped under the chilly stream. She gasped in a sharp breath as the cold water hit her, sweeping the sticky feeling on her skin down the drain.

After another moment of letting the cold ground her in her body, she reached behind her and turned the temperature over to a more bearable warmth. The water almost instantly heated up, and she caught herself marveling over that a little bit.

Back when she had been living with Grayson, they had gone a month or two every now and then with cold water because it was a choice between paying the water or paying the electricity bill. And before she'd moved in with Grayson, it had been an even more common occurrence. 

The heat and the water pressure were small miracles to her, and she hated them.

She hated him.

Shaking her head, wet hair slapping against her face, she quickly washed, then stepped out, looking around for a towel. A sour frown twisted her mouth when she didn't see one, staring blankly at the white, sharply sloped ceiling. She stood on the bathmat for a moment, dripping wet, then shrugged and walked across the cool marble floors, leaving a trail of water in her wake.

Praying to everything holy that he hadn't decided to come back, she made a quick dash down three steps and across the hall and dug into the boxes she had brought up here earlier. After a moment, she extracted a slightly damp towel and her frown turned to a scowl.

It was apparently just going to be one of those days.

She quickly dried off as best she could and dressed in jean shorts and a plain, red t-shirt, not worrying about hair or makeup. There was still an hour and a half until she had to be in class anyway, so she could let it air-dry, and she just purely didn't feel like wearing makeup. Her skin was nice enough that she could get away with it. 

Maybe she'd put on a little mascara before walking out the door, but she doubted it.

It was tempting to start painting again, but she knew that she'd inevitably get more paint on her, and would have to shower all over again. So she settled for curling up on the soft, mocha-colored suede couch that had been pushed into the middle of the room. It was more comfortable than it looked, and she sat up to avoid accidentally sleeping through her Medical Ethics class.