ASSUMPTIONS [H.S.]

chapter 47

"Talk about a guy who can't take a hint. Doesn't he know you're with Niall now?" I scoff, spritzing hair spray in the locks.

"Don't know, don't care." She waves off, her tone as cold as ice.

"That's the spirit. You should—" I start my sentence, but get cut off by a knock on my dressing room.

"30 minutes. Come down in 20, please." The crew worker peeks her head through the door gap, notifying me I should finish getting ready. My stomach flips upside-down.

"Thank you." I smile at the notifier, turning back to my phone. "Alright. I think I should go. Love ya!"

"Of course. Break a leg up there. Love ya!!" She yells out in an extremely enthusiastic tone.

After I hear the phone hanging up, I look straight into the mirror and stare at my reflection for over a minute. I pay attention to the way my shoulders inflate and deflate with each breath I take and try to blink slowly to calm my nerves.

Relax, Amber. You can do this.

The more my eyes keep flicking from my reflection and the clock on the wall, the more my stomach keeps turning.

Letting out an overly-tense breath, I turn around and start pacing the room.

My mind tries to remember any tasks to complete that may calm me down.

My eyes scan over the messy room, glancing at every piece of furniture ahead. I stumble upon my suitcase which surprisingly has yarn stuffed into the inner sleeve from the trip to Manchester.

I scoop out the crochet hook, finding random fibers and looping them together with the tool. With no idea what I'm making, I create 3 strange squares, each in a different pattern and color.

I stop making the craft when I realize my hands are too shaky, and the objects keep slipping through my fingers.

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine.

I keep repeating reassuring phrases in my mind, but they get lost somewhere in the chaos of my anxiety.

Tears caused by immense anxiety well up in my eyes, and I feel like the only thing that could relieve it is to cry it out. For the sake of my make-up, I try to hold them in as much as I can, even though some strange kind of panic settles in me.

My chest starts to feel heavy like it's sinking, which is usually a sign of a panic attack, but, weirdly enough, I haven't felt this exact way ever. I can't tell if it is one or isn't.

I've found myself sitting on the ground now, but my eyes flick to the huge bowl of hard candy, and I take a fistful of the colorful lollies, popping them all in my mouth one by one and trying to taste each fruit flavor, but it all just melts together and creates a sugar explosion.

In fact, the sweet flavor gets too much for my stomach, and it keeps twirling around my abdomen making me immediately rush to the bathroom.

Still holding back tears, I clutch the toilet bowl while emptying the contents of my stomach. A small whine escapes my throat because even though everything in my guts has been thrown up, the feeling of impending anxiety crash and a rush of panic are still left there, making it even worse.

I force myself to rise to my feet after flushing the toilet and brushing my teeth quickly. I rinse my mouth with mouthwash and try to reapply the red lipstick, but my trembling hands won't let me. Lipgloss it is, then.