I felt like I was going to puke. My entire world was falling apart, again. And it was all my fault. Again. I was going to get fired tomorrow from the best opportunity I ever had. I wasn’t going to graduate early, possibly not even at all. There’s no way I would get another PR internship at this school. Probably not at any other school either. My boyfriend? I didn’t know, was he even my boyfriend? Whatever he was, there was photographic evidence of another girl with her tits pressed tightly into his chest while she kissed his cheek. After that picture, he sure as shit wasn’t my anything. I quickly screenshotted the post in case it disappeared. I’ve watched enough episodes of Cheaters to know to save the evidence.

I had to sit down. I took a few steps, looking for anywhere to sit. I couldn’t find anything, so I sat right in the middle of the sidewalk and brought my hands to my temples, using my thumbs to rub out the tension. Coeds went around me like I wasn’t even there. I was trying so hard not to cry or vomit right there on the sidewalk. Is this what a panic attack felt like?

I tried to breathe in and out. I was gasping for air, but it was like my lungs couldn’t fully expand. I was just panting without relief. Oh gosh. This was why I couldn’t get distracted. This was why I couldn’t relax for even a second. I was toxic. I was fucked up.

“Amanda?” A soft voice broke through my panic. Slender arms wrapped around me, and I was yanked up off the ground. My roommate stared at me. Her red hair was a wild mess of curls, and her eyes were full of concern. She decided what to do in a split second. “Let’s get you inside, okay? Let’s go home.”

I wordlessly let her guide me up to our apartment. She didn’t ask me questions; she was just there. It wasn’t until I was sitting at our kitchen island with a cup of tea in my palm that she spoke up. “Panic attacks are such a bitch. Do you feel the warmth of the heat from the cup on your palm?” she asked. I drew what little energy I had to my sense of touch.

“Y-yes,” I croaked.

“Do you see my crazy ass outfit?” she then asked, her voice growing more and more animated with every syllable. On the street, she treated me like a wild animal, approaching cautiously. That caution was fading now. My eyes took in her purple jumpsuit, and I smiled.

“What are you wearing?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

“We aren’t talking about me. Can you hear the cars outside?” she asked.