Panic, by Jessica Belton
Your burning ears are the first indication that something is wrong.
As is the beating of your heart smashing violently against the bones of your ribcage.
The steam of the shower shrouds you, the heat causing pink hues to paint your cheeks.
You shake your head to stop the sea of black from overtaking your sight.
It doesn’t work.
The hot water rains along your shoulder blades, dripping down your skin and skidding off of your stomach. Heavy breaths break from your mouth as black and blue spots push their way into your line of vision.
You whimper in the hopes that the train of thoughts swirling along the edges of your mind are only the result of overthinking. But the feeling of dizziness that intensifies proves otherwise and you stumble out of the shower, hair still soaked in conditioner.
The cold air of the rest of the bathroom attacks the heat of your skin. You wrap a towel around your shoulders and sit on the tiled floor as a choked sob breaks free.
A shiver encompasses your body as you reach out a hand for your phone, shaking fingers texting for help.
Shame and water coat your skin and you squeeze your eyes shut, to block it out—the first panic attack in four years.
Jessica Belton is a writer from the north who loves the simplicity of flash fiction.