“Nothing’s wrong.”
“I don’t believe that.”
She wraps her arms around herself. “I’m just tired. Work stress.”
“Bullshit. You love your work.” I move closer. “What’s going on, Sam?”
“Do you ever feel like you’re living a lie? Like everything you’re doing is built on something fake?” she finally responds.
It catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.”
“I just feel like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. And eventually everyone’s going to figure it out and realize I don’t belong here.”
“That’s ridiculous. You absolutely belong here.”
“Do I?” She finally looks at me, and her eyes are full of something I can’t name. “I’m not like you. I didn’t grow up in this world. I don’t understand half of what you do. I’m just—I’m just me.”
“Just you is exactly why you belong here.” I take her hand. “You think we want some perfect society woman who knows all the rules? We want you. The real you.”
She looks like she might cry. “What if the real me isn’t who you think I am?”
I squeeze her hand. “Whatever’s going on, you can tell us. We’re not going to judge you.”
She pulls her hand away. “I should get back. I’m cold.”
That evening, I’m in my room changing for dinner when the pain hits.
It feels like someone’s driving a knife into my chest and twisting.
I stumble to my bed and sit, pressing my hand against my sternum. My left arm tingles. My vision blurs at the edges.
Not now. Please not now.
I fumble for the hidden cabinet, hands shaking so badly I can barely open the panel. The pill bottle falls to the floor. I grab it and shake out three pills.
Four. I take four because three aren’t working anymore.
I swallow them dry and wait.
The pain doesn’t ease. It intensifies. My heart is racing. Too fast. Irregular. Like it’s forgetting how to beat properly.
I lie back on the bed and focus on breathing. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Slow. Controlled. The pills take forever to kick in. Or maybe it’s only minutes.
Time warps when you think you might be dying.
Finally, gradually, the pain starts to recede. My heartbeat settles into something closer to normal. The tingling in my arm fades. I lie there staring at the ceiling, drenched in sweat.
This is getting worse. Much worse.
I force myself up and into the shower. Wash away the sweat and the fear. Get dressed for dinner.
By the time I head downstairs, I look normal. Tired, maybe, but normal.
No one needs to know.
