Angst by Victoria Sawyer Read Free Book Online Page A

can dash
out of here to the restroom.  I hate that something private like that has to be
explained to a relative stranger. I have to pick up the in-store phone and make
a page, asking the manager to call me back, then wait until he finally does and
then ask him to come to the booth. Even then he might not be able to come right
away and I really feel like I need him to come now . But I hate to use my
one call of the night right now, just 45 minutes after Michelle left.
    I try to stand the sensations, try to fight off the
feelings, but it’s bad, flu-like and miserable. I want to lie down and curl up
into a little ball of sobbing, terrified, sick, dying girl. But I can’t. I’ve
got to stand it. I absolutely cannot allow myself to be embarrassed completely
in front of everyone in the store by freaking out because I’m trapped. I
can’t let anyone know. I must not.
    I try desperately to count the cashier till in front of me,
my hands shaking, knocking nickels and dimes around, finally dropping the debit
slips in a snowfall of paperwork all over the floor. Emotions of futility and
despair roll up from my feet to my head, heavy with dread and I feel like I’m
far away, wrapped in smothering hot, damp cotton, tears pricking at the back of
my eyes. I’m not strong enough for this. I want to go home, to feel safe from
these feelings. There is no joking now, this is serious shit and I can’t escape
it. Not ever.
    My eyes are almost overflowing and I blink furiously trying
to stop it. I’m a quivering mess and my stomach rumbles again, knives piercing
me in the side, breath caught in the back of my throat. I swear there is a
membrane covering my windpipe and I can’t drag in one deep breath of air. I’m
smothering, oh God , my chest feels tight and I try to drag in a breath
and I’m on fire, burning with embarrassment, belly piercing me again and again,
heart thudding, slamming, about to explode.
    I try to hold back the overflow of moisture that is
threatening to creep down my cheeks and make it obvious to others that
something is wrong. I don’t want anyone to know I’m feeling this way and I know
that if I pick up the phone now and make that page it will be my only escape of
the night. I have one shot and I’d better not waste it. After my one chance,
another will seem excessive and annoying to the manager.
    I pick up the phone, indecision eating away at me like stomach
acid, should I call or not? I evaluate how I’m feeling. Trapped, nauseous,
sick, ill, twisted, frantic, all wrong, definitely over the top crazy. I
push the call button, about to speak into the phone when my stomach releases,
the pain easing away for a moment. I sink down, half sitting on the low counter
next to the lottery machine, cradling my mid-section, rocking back and forth,
my arms wrapped tightly, the tears finally seeping over. I shudder with relief,
with fear, with uncertainty. Thank God there are no customers around right now.
    After a few minutes I unwrap a bit and hang up the phone,
pulling a tissue from the nearby box to dab at my eyes. Last just a little
longer, I beg myself, dragging deep breaths of air into my straining lungs. This
is hell.
    #######################
    Somehow I made it through tonight. I’m home now, but it
was bad and I ended up calling the manager to take over for a few minutes. Somehow
I made it through the rest of night without calling again. But it was an entire
evening on the edge of mental breakdown disaster. Sometimes for a few weeks I’m
able to forget what the full-on mind/body fuck that is my personal hell feels
like. Sometimes I can live for a little while with just a few passing twinges
and nothing excessive. But when I do feel that excessive over-the-top
terror-sickness, it attacks my body and mind and it makes me start to dwell on
it all over again. It’s like some horrible drug has been released into my
bloodstream, crippling me. I don’t want to dwell on it. I don’t feel like
spending the next