Jensen keeps talking, his voice muffled as if through a wall. My mind fights for attention, summoning a memory... a memory of Mom or her death orsomethingbut it’s like itdoesn’t know where to look.
I must’ve processed this grief, this raw pain last year. I had to. When Mom died, I probably fell apart over and over again before I accepted she was gone. And now I’m being forced to do it again?
That’s cruel.
Losing my memories is fucking cruel, but reliving my mother’s death is infinitely worse. I’d give up every othermemory of the past two years in exchange for remembering how I dealt with it and moved on after Mom died.
I don’t want to feel like my heart is being torn apart piece by piece... like I’m slowly being fed through a meat grinder. As if my lungs are collapsing.
Which is why I refused to before. If this happened at the hospital, Dr. Phillips would’ve shoved a needle in my neck, sedating me before I could process the grief.
I buried those emotions deep within and now they’re geysering out, the paralyzing sense of loss puncturing the surface.
I scream.
I cry.
I’m so disoriented.
Back and forth, I swing from here to the memory that’s still out of my reach, so close, yet so far. I whack Jensen’s chest, blink, and I’m in his arms, my hands holding on for dear life.
How did I get here?
I blink again, finding myself halfway across the stage.
Blood drains from my face, every breath a struggle, my nose buried in Jensen’s chest.
Something’s wrong with me.
My heart pounds my ribs and fear wrings out my guts. Trembling all over, my head not far off exploding from the sensory assault, I grasp Jensen’s t-shirt, afraid I’ll collapse if I let go.
The performance goes on, but I’m not acting. I think I’m floating in and out of consciousness... in and out of the past I can’t see. I don’t know how much time passes before the scene transitions into the comfort part, lullingmeinto reality.
It’s over. The scene, the disorienting pull, the sensation of drowning while still pulling down air.
A weighted silence falls around. It stretches and stretches and stretches some more until a slow, measured clapping starts.
Not a student. Ourprofessoris leading the charge, her eyes wide in stunned disbelief. Everyone’s face mirrors hers as they join the applause.
“Impressive,” Angela says. “Very impressive. You make a great team. Excellent work.”
I let out a shaky breath, wiping my cheeks as I step out of Jensen’s embrace.
“Shit, girl. You were fucking amazing!” He beams, eyes sparkling, white teeth peeking between his lips.
A half-laugh, half-whimper escapes me. My hands shake, and it feels like there’s no blood in my upper body.
I’m cold, nauseated, and... scared.
I had a panic attack at the hospital but this... this felt different. Surreal. I inhale a few steady breaths, counting my heartbeats to calm down.
“Hey, you good?” Jensen cocks an eyebrow. “You’re looking a little green. You’re not gonna puke, are you?”
“No,” I whisper, my throat dry. “I just... I mean, that was... quite the experience.”
Not how I’d choose to break down, but despite the unexpected detachment from reality, I feel lighter.
12
