After a slow count to sixty, I’m able to stand and leave the stall. My hands still shake as I splash cold water on my face. Knowing that I would be soaked in stress sweat, I packed my deodorant in my purse this morning, which I now reapply generously.

In the mirror, I’m the worst version of myself—helpless and scared. There’s no makeup on my face because I didn’t want it to run and smear if I ended up crying. But this also means there’s nothing to cover the dark bags of a sleepless night or to smooth out the blotchy redness of my anxious cheeks.

Needles always do this to me.

“It’s not the same thing. This isn’t like Mom. You won’t disappear.” My voice rattles over the words. “You’re in control.”

But saying it doesn’t make it true.

I bend at the waist, pressing my forehead into my palms as I grasp at composure.

“It’s worth it. It’s all worth it.”

I’m saving Marcus. Well, really, I’m saving Ben, but it’s all connected.

Still, knowing that the reason is altruistic doesn’t remove my animalistic fear. That tiny metal device destroys me. It makes me feel dirty.

I slide my trembling fingers into my purse, pull out my phone, and navigate to Marcus’s number. My thumb hovers over the Call button.

I want my brother to talk me down, to calm my shattered nerves. That’s always been his job.

He got me ice packs for my bruises and covered my eyes during scary movies. He hugged me when I was crying and defended me when I was bullied. He made my meals and picked me up from school. His steady presence was the anchor in a stormy childhood.

But I don’t press the button. He has a real job now, and it’s not taking care of me. Every day, he suffers because of something real, and here I am, falling apart because of a standard checkup.

It’s time to stop putting my irrational fears on him.

Unfortunately, deciding not to bother my brother doesn’t make leaving the restroom any easier. The idea of walking three blocks in a torrential downpour, so I can catch a bus that will in turn drop me off another four blocks from my apartment is depressing. Even though I’m successfully holding the tears back right now, I’m not sure that miserable commute wouldn’t put me over the edge.

I need to be calm. I need to be in control.

Maybe it’s not the healthiest solution, but I’ve recently found one way to get both of those things.

My phone practically dials itself, and he picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, Holly! What’s up?”

“Hey, Ben. Are you busy right now?”

“Not really. Just got out of class and was about to grab lunch. Why?”

“Is that offer for a ride still on the table?”

“Send me your address. I’ll leave now.”

Ready at a moment’s notice, like he’s Superman. Pairs well with my current damsel-in-distress situation.