Page 1 of When You Left Me Speechless

CHAPTER 1: ANXIOUS IS MY BASELINE

POPPY

What. The. Fuck.

My chest feels tight. The small hallway feels like the walls might close in and crush me. I wish I could take off this fucking shirt because it is now suddenly too warm to be wearing the light-weight sweater I picked out this morning.

An hour ago, I got an email that seemingly will change my life if I can’t figure out a solution.

My phone rings, and I breathe a small sigh of relief when I see my best friend’s name on the screen.

“Hello.” My voice trembles like I’m on the verge of tears, and I shift on my very uncomfortable chair.

“Oh, babe, you sound like you’re totally freaking out.”

“I am totally freaking out, Lacey. You know anxious is my baseline and this is doing nothing for my nerves.” I try to calm my leg, which is bouncing up and down.

“Have you talked to the Wicked Witch of the West yet?”

“No, not yet. I’m waiting outside her office, and I am one second away from a full-blown panic attack.”

“Okay, take some deep breaths and try to relax.” Shepauses, and I attempt to slow my breathing.Breathe in for four. One…two…three…four. Hold for four. One…two…three…four.Breathe out.“I helped you make it through the second grade talent show debacle. I’m going to help you make it through this too,” she laughs.

Tears roll down my cheeks, and a small laugh escapes my throat at the memory. “What would I do without you?” I take another deep breath and wipe the tears away with my sleeve.

“Well, for starters, your whole family would have had to move because no one would have ever let you forget walking on stage with your dress tucked into your underwear. The whole Collins clan truly owes me a lifetime of thank yous for saving you that day.”

I laugh a little harder and for a split second, I forget the real reason she called. A door slams down the hall and jolts me back to reality. Panic fills my chest once more. The sound of my blood rushing past my eardrums starts to roar, and that tight feeling in my chest returns.Breathe. God dammit. Just breathe.

“Why am I panicking about this meeting? Gosh, I just can’t seem to shake this bad feeling I have.”

“You always have a bad feeling,” she deadpans. “Come on, what’s the worst thing that could happen?”

I hate that question. Mostly because I have always been really good at answering it.

Knock on the door at night? Definitely a murderer.

Have to take an airplane? Definitely going to fall out of the sky.

Spring externship canceled at the last minute? Definitely not going to graduate.

“Um, well, she could tell me there is nothing she can do for me, and then I won’t graduate. I will be doomed to having to sell pictures of my feet and my used underwear on the dark web for the rest of my life.”

Lacey’s laugh rips through the phone. “Hey, that’s a perfectly fine career. I have no doubt you would make afortune, but she has to help you, right? She’s the head of the speech therapy department.”

The door to my left swings open, interrupting our conversation. “I gotta go. I’ll see you at home. Love you.”

“I love you more,” she answers as I hang up the phone, almost dropping it, and earning a glare from the woman standing in the doorway. Her face is worn with wrinkles, her gray hair is in a too-tight bun, and her mouth forms a straight line under her nose. I don’t think this woman could smile if she wanted to, and I wonder how she was ever a practicing speech therapist. She is not exactly what I would call warm and fuzzy. “You may come in, Ms. Collins,” she says, making my stomach twist.Breathe in for four. Hold for four. Breathe out.

I follow Dr. Williams into her large office. She gestures toward an upholstered chair covered in an outdated and worn fabric. I quickly sit and start nervously twirling a piece of my hair.

Her office is void of any personality she might have. Random textbooks line but don’t fill the large shelves behind her desk. University-issued art, that I assume has nothing to do with her interests, hangs on the walls. A thin layer of dust coats the fake ivory covering the tops of the bookcases.

“Ms. Collins, I do not have all day,” she snaps as she rounds the large mahogany desk in the center of the room, sitting in a tall, leather desk chair. “Please get on with what brings you here to meet with me.” Her words are abrupt and cold.

“Oh yes, well, um, thank you for meeting with me.” I stumble over my words. I tuck my hair behind my ear and try to sit up a little straighter. “Well, as you know, I was supposed to start my last clinical externship a week from Monday, and it might not happen. Um, I mean, it’s not—” I take a few deep breaths. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

She sighs. “Ms. Collins, are you trying to tell me your spring externship fell through?”

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