I force my hands into my pockets, where they continue to quiver unbeknownst to Kara, who thankfully decided to take lead on our expedition through the familiar hallways of our apartment building. Level four of nine is where we are. This is a mistake because we live on level five. My throat's too dry and my voice is too weak to alert her to this flaw however. Even if I could, I doubt I would, seeing as though any glance at me can tell that I'm sort of a wreck. My head throbs and pounds like there's something deep within my skull trying to split my cranium open and slither out through my scalp. It has since we stepped off the elevator.


I shut my eyes as hard as I physically can, and shift all my weight onto my left side, which causes me to fall shoulder first against the wall. I hit it with a thud, which accomplishes the opposite of what I meant to do as Kara spins around on one heel and sees me slumped over, shoulder still pressed up against the beige painted wall. I pull my hands out of my pockets and try to push myself off the wall but I lose my nerve and let my hands slip off the wall and fall back to my side as I slide further down, closer to the ground. Having the side of your face pressed against the bland vertical patch of Plaster of Paris does wonders for a bruise. I of course mean that 100 different shades of sarcastically.

"You okay?" she asks, approaching my slumped over, curled up body. In response, I let my head roll backwards as far as I possibly could, until I was staring straight up. The top of her forehead is the only part of her entire body I can see; instead I'm focusing hard on the ceiling. Eyes locked on a sea of blank nothingness that swirled endlessly above me. Hands jittery like I stuck jumper cables on my fingertips.


"Hey, I'm talking to you!" She shakes me wildly, and at some point in the whiplash inducing flurry of motion it registers with me that I should probably stop playing dead and respond before she turns my brains into little more than a syrupy mixture vaguely resembling what it was originally. I blink a few times, ultimately coming back to reality. I didn't even have to move my head, where it landed after she finally decided that her previous course of action was going nowhere leaves me with a prefect view of her face, even if it's at an awkward angle.

"Huh?"

"You alright?"

"Fine. Never been better." I grab her wrists and pull them off my shoulders.


My hands continue to shake as my weak grip on her's sustains. She shakes her head and frowns slightly, knowing exactly what it meant. God dammit, I'm not looking for some pity party today. My clutch loosens on its own and my hands fall down to my side. More accurately: my left hand does that. She grabs my right hand out of mid air and helps me back up to my feet. My head still aches; I'd almost think it was a nice summer day a couple years ago. That would, at the very least explain why my head initially felt about ready to explode. Now, the shaking didn't do anything to help it, but at least I have something to blame.

"You're a really shitty liar, you know that?"

"Really? I was thinking of taking up a career in politics. Dang it!"

"And you're weird as fuck. Seriously; having some kind of addict breakdown one second, making jokes the next? Pick a fucking mindset and stick to it, please."

"Sheesh. Tell me how you really feel, why don't you?"

"I just did," she says. No snideness, no irony, just a blank expression. I would facepalm at this point, but slapping any part of my head right now sounds about as appealing as poking a rabid Grizzly bear with a stick. I don't know how it being rabid would make the experience any worse, seeing though I'd likely end up getting mauled to death during that encounter and wouldn't have a chance to succumb to the disease but adding rabies to any description of an animal makes its presence that much more unsettling, I guess.

Instead, I press against the bridge of my nose with my left thumb and index finger.


"Relax, I'm not actually that stupid."

"You sure play the part well."

"Do you want me to punch you the face?"

And just like that: I'm silent. She takes that as answer enough and starts back up down the hall again, and my overwhelming urge to get off this floor ASAP kicks in and I utter almost breathlessly: "We, we're on the wrong floor."

"How long have you known this?"

"Since you pushed the button," I try to say nonchalantly by adding a whistle to the end of it, before I realized that I can't whistle. She rolls her eyes and turns back towards me, if only to blow right by me in a beeline for the elevator. I don't make an effort to pick up speed; I merely walk down the hall towards the elevators. Even with my slow speed, it doesn't take too long to get to where the center of the hallway, where the elevators were. As I approach the area, I see Kara waiting for the doors to slide open.


Whatever. I walk up next to her, but of course as soon as I do, the elevator doors slide open and she rushes inside at the same pace before sticking her arm across the doorway to keep it open long enough for me to walk like a normal person behind her.

"I fuckin' hate you," is what she greets me with as I step inside and she pulls her arm in.

"I hate you too," I assure her in the most pseudo romantic voice I can muster before slumping against the wall clutching patches of hair along the sides of my head. She rolls her eyes at the first part, yet they're widened by the time by back hit the ornate wooden carving directly behind me. I hear a couple of popping sounds and sudden relief of tension I didn't even know existed in my lower back subside.


"Seriously, are you okay?"

"Does it look like it?" I ask, my patience all but present.

"Nah."

"That's because I'm not."

"See? Admitting it is a start."

"Which Twelve Steps magazine did you get that one out of?"

"All of them."


I lean over and tap the button labeled five, causing it to light up in a garish shade of yellow. Tapping the wood lined wall with a barely clenched fist, I hope and pray for some kind of elevator music. I don't know why the looping parade of blandness sounded appealing right now, but I guess anything beats the awkward silence that seemed stuck in.


Criminy, I need to cool it.

"What did you even have to do so early in the morning?" I ask, hoping to spark up some conversation to further distance the episode from myself. My hands are still slightly shaky and my head feels like it was bashed in with the might of 100 angry sledgehammers with minds of their own. Still; anything to get my mind off it is exactly what I need.

"Oh, you know - work stuff. Oh wait, you wouldn't know..." she says with a snicker.

"Right, I wouldn't know a thing about tripping, falling face first to the floor and screaming 'Ow fuck' before awkwardly getting up and scurrying out of the apartment at eight AM."

"Shit, you saw all that?"

"You're surprised?"

"I really shouldn't be, but I am."


The door slides open once more and Kara steps out of the tiny room we've been trapped in for what felt like an eternity. I don't move. Not one inch. I barely even breathe. My heart's racing, steadily increasing in pace as the seconds tick away. Each breath I take becomes more and more shallow. The headache's even more intense; I can feel my ear drums are about to explode. I want to move, but my legs won't move.

And then they do.

I take a huge step forward, dropping me down into an almost lunge like position and forcing me even further off balance and try to do the same thing with my other leg.


I fall into the side of the doorway, hitting the right side of my head against the metal frame before stumbling forward and ending up on my knees on the right floor.