Free Bitter Sweet Beginnings by Tara Oakes Page B

with a boy is not even an option to me. Because of that fear, I rarely accept anything beyond a second date. It’s easier to make random excuses, however untruthful, to avoid the type of affection that will lead to sharing my life with another. It would only lead to their discovering my secret and then hightailing it out of there, far away from the mentally unstable freak that has nightly panic attacks.
    I convinced myself long ago that I was only protecting myself and my heart from the inevitable.
    So now, lying here, awaiting the calmness that will eventually overtake me as the episode passes, I struggle to remember the details as they once again fade.
    The damp sweat beading on my skin has long since chilled, slowly drying and disappearing along with the cause of its outbreak. I sigh loudly, thankful it has passed, relieved that the rest of the night will pass uneventfully.
    I sip from the glass of water set out on my nightstand just hours before. My throat is raw from the effects of the dream, and so the liquid works some sort of magic on the aching flesh as I swallow.
    My breathing has slowed. My pulse evens. I take the ribboned hair tie from the bedside drawer and clumsily tie back my thick wavy hair from the sweat-moistened nape of my neck. A chill has taken over, and I slip my feet back under the crumpled blankets that had been strewn about in my fit.
    I smooth the crisp linens, straightening the bedding before settling back into the well broken-in pillows. It’ll be easier now. The threat of dark shadows no longer lingers over my sleep.

    ~*~

    No!
    Ring all you want. I will not answer.
    I toss over onto my stomach to easily pull up at the sides of my oversized down-filled pillow, covering my head like earmuffs. Another ring. Another swear word is mumbled under my breath into the thick fluffy pillow.
    Four more rings to go as I silently count down to when the answering machine will automatically trigger itself to end the torturous sound. I have to remember to change the ringer settings-- three rings should be enough, I think.
    The last of the mechanical tolls chime before the listener hears my generic yet specific greeting to leave a message. The possibilities are pretty limited as to who’s listening to my pre-recorded missive.
    Mom and dad don’t call before nine unless it’s an emergency. I’m not scheduled to work today, so the chances that anyone at the coffee house is ringing me are slim. I stopped seeing Paul weeks ago. I think it’s pretty safe to say that he won’t be calling after the way I left things between us.
    I put my money on Courtney or Nina.
    The rumbled clicking makes way through the plastic speaker of the nearby phone base on my nightstand.
    “Wake up sleepyhead!”
    Yup, it’s Court.
    “We’re leaving my place now. That gives you less than thirty minutes to get out of that bed before I drag you out of it myself.”
    Ugh. I drop the pillowed corners from the sides of my face. I know her well enough not to underestimate her threat. I do recall a specific morning about six months ago when she did just that… dragged me out of my bed.
    We had impulsively signed up for some boot camp-styled workout course together during a moment of bloated weakness. I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the prospect of sweating my pants off by some over-muscled, over-proteined, two-bit drill instructor with a thirst for making women so sick from exercise that they vomit outside on the sidewalk. No, thank you. I chose to sleep, instead.
    Courtney literally rolled me out of bed at 5AM to tumble on my hard wooden floor in order to make sure we got to the class on time. I suffered through the ninety-minute obstacle course and bull horned commands only to stop by the Dunkin Donuts on my way home and officially withdraw from the class on their website later that day.
    All it took to convince Court to join me in my boot camp mutiny escape plan was an iced coffee and a jelly doughnut.
    “We’ll bring a thermos