Two nights ago, it was handfuls of popcorn. Yesterday, she was picking all of the marshmallows out of my Lucky Charms like an actual psychopath.
Which is maybe why tonight…I can’t even get to sleep. I toss and turn for hours, jolting awake every time I drift off, my heart hammering in my chest, my sheets wrapped tightly around my body.
Feeling trapped, I push my covers off and stare around at the dark room, my eyes landing on the Polaroid picture. I can barely make out the red brick house behind it.
Sighing, I climb out of bed and go over to the window, the light from the street lamps just outside bathing my skin in a warm yellow glow.
Everything on the other side of the glass is eerily quiet and still, even for this time of night. Not a single car passes by. Not a single person walking on the street.
I peer across the way, to another apartment building, and find some comfort in the flicker of a TV screen, a few stray lights on, but the anxiety still claws at my chest.
How long will I be stuck in here?
How long will the world be like this? Without any clear future, the “normal” of a few weeks ago impossible to go back to.
I didn’t even like going out that much, but I’d kill to set foot in a coffee shop. Or a bookstore. Or even go to the movies. Heck, I’d even splurge and spend a week’s worth of grocery money on an overpriced popcorn drenched in butter and a soda that’s mostly ice.
I wonder when it will even be safe to go to a movie theater again? Or a concert? Or a—
Like Mia can sense my inner turmoil, I hear the music begin to blare from the kitchen. The singer has barely started singing before I bust out of my room, skid around the corner into the kitchen, and grab the speaker, poised to smash it into a hundred pieces.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mia says, her blue eyes wide, her hands outstretched like she’s just come across a rabid squirrel and wants it to know she means no harm. “Allie. Put the speaker down.”
I hesitate, holding it over my head for a second before slamming it down on the kitchen table between us, the music cutting out abruptly. “Then stop playing music at three in the morning, Mia! Jesus, do you have an unlimited supply of batteries or something?”
My hands wrap around the wooden chair in front of me. “I am tired. I am tired of being woken up every single night. I am tired of taking classes online, and not being able to go outside, and not knowing when things will be okay again. And I’m tired of being stuck in this stupid apartment with you.”
She throws her hands up, exasperated. “Well, if you hate me so much, you should’ve just gone home to quarantine. I mean, you’ve been miserable since you came back from Christmas break. I thought you’d jump at the opportunity to get out of here.”
Home. The red brick house, Jericho on the front steps. The exact thing I’ve been trying not to think about.
The word instantly sends my heart rate into triple time, my chest constricting, the panic attack I’ve felt haunting every waking moment for the last three weeks of lockdown finally blindsiding me. I take an unsteady step back and reach out to grab the wall.
Mia’s demeanor instantly changes. Her blue eyes study my face, her dark eyebrows furrowing as she steps around the kitchen table, moving closer to me.
“Hey, Allie…”
I turn on my heel, folding my arms tightly across my chest, trying to contain it…trying to keep it in…but it’s no use. I start to shake, my teeth chattering as I pace back and forth across the living room, everything too raw. Too bright.
You’re okay.
Everything is okay.
I register Mia in the doorway of the kitchen, her face filled with concern.
“Talk to me,” I manage to get out, my breathing coming out in staggered gasps, the white walls closing in as I walk back and forth across the hardwood floor. Back and forth.
“Um. What’s your favorite color?”
“Yellow,” I say as my eyes jump around the room. Faded carpet. Lamp. Striped socks. Hole in the toe.
“Birthday?”
“October twenty-third.”
“Coffee or tea?”
“Uh,” I spin around on my heel. Flat-screen TV. Worn gray couch. White Converse by the door. “Iced coffee, hot tea.”
I pull at the collar of my oversized T-shirt, and Mia strides over to the window, yanking it open, the cool air drifting across the room. I go over and slide down on the wall underneath it, the wind tugging at the top of my head, strands of my blond hair whipping around my face. Mia sits down next to me, a few inches away, her hand resting on the worn wood in-between us.
Something about her being so close calms me.
Reflexively, I reach out, my fingertips sliding into the palm of her hand, the skin smooth and warm and comforting.
“What’s your favorite season?” she asks as our fingers intertwine, grounding me.
“Fall. I like when the leaves change.”
“Same,” Mia says, her thumb softly tracing circles against my pointer finger, around and around, over and over again. “Favorite movie?”
“Booksmart.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a jumble of scenes from the movie dancing behind my eyelids as I try to focus on my breathing without accidentally causing myself to hyperventilate. I count silently in my head as my lungs rise and fall.
Four in. Hold for seven. Eight out.
Four in. Hold for seven. Eight out.
I can feel the panic slowly begin to fade, becoming more and more manageable with every exhale, the tightness and pressure in my chest and head gradually starting to release its grip.
“Which of my friends do you hate the most?”
I almost crack a smile at that, a backward baseball cap and brown eyes popping into my head. “Tom.”
“Queso incident?”
I nod my confirmation. “Queso incident.”
“That’s
