Remedial

Ichor from a Ricci

                  "I think I'm dying."

Zowie rolled over quickly and her feet hit the cheap, white, fuzzy rug right next to her bed. She held her stomach, grabbed a pair of cotton underwear from the top drawer, and rushed to the bathroom. She pulled her tight pants down and sat on the toilet.

"I need new birth control," she moaned. The blood overstimulated Zowie. The feeling of heaviness in her lower stomach brought her down.
The constant anxiety of bleeding through her pants made her uncomfortable and brought up past agonizing memories. Zowie's head felt like it was swelling.

  After everything was settled, she stood up and looked in the mirror. Her face was a deeper red than the blood between her legs. A vicious wail filled the apartment and her right fist was filled with shards. "More blood to deal with."

Zowie met with her friend, Ephigenia, at Rabbit's Cafe after four. She was munching on her chickpea masala bowl, when she brought up buying a new mirror. "I was thinking of getting a round one. Rectangles can be so boring."

  "Getting sick of all your decor again?" Ephigenia inquired with a grin on her face.

  "No, no. It's just broken."

  "Oh, that sucks. How did that happen?"

  "Well, I was trying to fix that broken towel rack-and you know me, I'm clumsy at times-and it just kind of hit the mirror." She sipped her chocolate hemp milk shake.

Ephigenia didn't suspect a thing. Zowie was an aficionado on hiding her worst of moments. Her emotional turmoil remained undetected.

  "How's work going?"

  Zowie put down her shake. "It's going good. But I'm not camming today for obvious reasons," she responded, referencing her menstrual cycle. "How's the shop?"

  "The same, I guess. Just the regular teenagers thrifting to look like their favorite 90's celebrity. My Etsy is doing pretty well. I've been having a lot more traffic."

Zowie gave a nod. She studied her surroundings after her eye caught a man who she thought she recognized. Thankfully, it was a false alarm. Her heart had now slowed down. "I have some studying to do this evening," she rambled, to get her mind off what had happened. "She give us too much crap to do." She was referencing Mrs. Williams, the professor for the abnormal psychology course.

   "Those psych classes are hard,"  Ephigenia added. "My classes are an emotional struggle, not an academic one." Zowie smiled and rolled her eyes. "There's a party near Alec's place Friday night. You haven't been out in a while, so I was thinking you'd want to go."

  "Uh-I don't know. We'll see."

   Zowie and Ephigenia parted ways 17 minutes later after a quick hug goodbye. Zowie walked to the bus stop and began to clutch her phone with force. She always did this when she was nervous. Her breathing became ragged, but subtle enough for no one to notice. Her mood didn't budge on the ride home. She was thankful no one sat next to her. They would have been out of their right mind if they had. Zowie's eyes scanned the vehicle. She identified who seemed safe and who seemed tricky. She quickly labeled every passenger and had a vendetta against some and wished to have tea with the others. Her eyes were squinted, but fully aware. Her lines of her lips drooped. Her face stayed this way until she exited the bus. Even when an older man in his 40's told her to smile.

   The grisly walk home caused her anxiety to be pushed to the limit. There was really nothing wrong with the street or the sidewalk or the houses or the people. Just being alive was agonizing. All she had to do was walk one block home, but she felt that she was going to black out. Zowie kept going though and finally made it to the door of her building. She pressed the code in, moving slowly to each number, but pressing each harshly. "Finally," she sighed, her agitated mood finding a way into her tone of voice. She trudged up the stairs.

   She unlocked her apartment door and threw her things on her unmade bed. Zowie sat on the toilet with a theatric sigh. That's when the crying started. As fluid left both hemispheres of her body, she began thinking about him. Her low volume turned into roaring sobs. "How could I be so stupid?" she blubbered. Her heart was hurting.

After her business in the bathroom, she grabbed her phone and slid to the floor, on the side of her bed. Zowie turned on an EP named, "Self Titled." Timothy's vulnerable voice had become her own autobiography. While she cried and while she sang along with a cracking voice, she started thinking about what she would tell her therapist tomorrow.

   Zowie yearned to tell her therapist all of her problems. But, she was never able to go into much detail because she knew she would start crying. Crying in front of someone was a no-go. Zowie was easily embarrassed and easily shyed away from intimacy. Her therapist had even pointed out that it was sometimes difficult to talk to her since she didn't open up much. Of course her therapist knew the general gist of things and how Zowie dealt with things, or really, how she didn't deal with a single thing. But Zowie didn't show much emotion, nor could she identity her emotions cause she was too used to hiding them.

   Slowly, her life began to deteriorate. Old memories kept her caged. Her fears since birth had kept her chained. Her one bedroom apartment was her only place where she could experience life. The only place where she was brave enough to show any feelings. She was safe in this quaint apartment all by herself. Isolation was becoming her goal. Her dreams and aspirations were disappearing as she slowly became accustomed to limited contact and rare social interaction.

                     "I want to die."