Page 15 of Deep In Love
Am I all right?
No.
I can’t escape the swirling in my gut, the anxiety and trepidation. I want to be great—no, remarkable—and the pressure, the stakes I place on myself, threaten to consume me today.
Some days, I can meet the expectations head-on and tackle them, but on others, they pummel me until I’m ragged and defeated.
Today, I am being pummeled.
Mateo still has a hold on my bicep, and I gently release myself from his grip.
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not the same asbeing fine,” he retorts, and I don’t know why, but that pulls a smile from my lips. Maybe it’s because he didn’t ask what’s bothering me, or why, but instead pointed out a flaw in my logic.
I escape into the office and fall into my desk chair to hide from him and his suspicious behavior this morning.
Of course, he follows me and settles into his desk.
He hums while he works, flipping through papers and tapping against his laptop keys.
Settled in the normalcy, I find a steady rhythm and power through my tasks, checking them off one by one until I’m on the last of my list: my meeting with Cheryl.
I collect my things—laptop, notebook, water bottle—one by one to delay the inevitable, and Mateo pauses his work, rises from his seat, and bolts to the door.
As he disappears from view, he calls out, “Have fun in your meeting!”
It will be a miracle if I make it out without throwing up.
My foot taps beneath the oak desk in the middle of Cheryl’s office. Towering bookcases span the back wall, overflowing with dusty textbooks and long-forgotten novels. Soft light filters through the window, cranking the heat in the room and worsening my anxiety sweats.
I glance down at my smartwatch.3:04 p.m.
The last four minutes have been my personal hell. I’ve watched in silence as Cheryl searches for her glasses, then her special pen, followed by her notebook.
If I didn’t know any better, I would say she’s stalling.
“I finished grading the midterms for BIO 201,” I say to fill the quiet.
“That’s great,” she replies, laser-focused on the door.
A claw clip pulls back her salt-and-pepper hair, and though it’s eighty degrees outside, she’s wearing a purple turtleneck, paired with a chunky teal statement necklace. Matching orchid-purpleglasses perch on the bridge of her nose as she reads something on her phone, huffs, then sets it down.
“And I addressed some of the comments on the manuscript. I’m still working on the statistics, but the introduction is done.”
“Wonderful.”
She isn’t focused on me, but rather, continues to watch the door, like Bill Nye the Science Guy will spontaneously appear in the threshold.
Each passing second adds to the discomfort beating in my chest until I’m squirming in my seat.
Her phone dings, and she snatches it, reads a message, peers at me, and then responds on her phone.
Sweat dribbles down my back, and her manic smile aimed in my direction sends a tremor through my body.Why is she looking at me like a villain in an action movie?
The skin around my thumb stings as I scratch at my cuticle.
“Did you have fun at trivia with Mateo?” she asks, returning her phone to the table beside a small sign that reads “How can I kelp you today?”
