Smith
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My fingers press harder against my neck, waiting for my pulse to slow down. The longer I check, the faster the throbbing becomes. It seems as if my heart has turned into a cheetah chasing after its prey. And that prey is running pretty damn fast.
Air fills my lungs and sits for a moment. I wait until a slight ache fills my chest before releasing my breath. After doing this once or twice more, my heart rate drops but the weight on my shoulders remains. A few deep breaths can't make that mass disappear, I'm afraid.
"Are you okay," a familiar voice booms before there's banging on the door. I flinch at the loud noise, causing my pulse to begin hammering again. A groan threatens to escape my throat, but my esophagus tightens up in time to stop me. "Are you pooping?"
I rather be blowing up the toilet than having to calm myself down enough to not feel dizzy. "No." Anxieties mix with hunger, which seems like a dangerous combination. My stomach grumbles and spasms, creating a storm in my stomach and mind. "One second."
After unnecessarily flushing the toilet and fake rinse my hands, I leave the bathroom. My best friend waits by the door, tapping her foot like an impatient mom. Dayanara sighs dramatically in relief, exclaiming how I took a million years. How long was I gone? It mustn't have been longer than 5 minutes, right?
"We need to finish the bedroom connected to the garage," the girl instructs, leading me towards the mentioned area. "Diego should be finished setting the tarps down."
Dayanara's long, black hair sways as she walks due to the pep in her step. I'm not sure why her hair is down. There's been far too many accidents where colors have coated her mane and refused to come out, even after a deep scrubbing.
We enter the room, seeing Diego struggling to spread out the flimsy, clear tarp across the floor. I eye the boy, trying not to scowl at his presence. Why does he have to be in here?
A white, paint-stained shirt hugs his toned arms, complimenting his bronzed skin. Black curls stick to his sweaty forehead, making the urge to fix his messy hair unbearable. How could he function with a clump of hair above his eyes? My eyes linger for a moment too long for my liking, but that doesn't prevent me from silently assisting Diego with spreading the plastic.
We begin painting, each picking a different wall. Dayanara and Diego start near the same corner while I go to the opposite end of the room. We don't speak, which, unfortunately, allows my mind to swallow me whole.
I try to keep my breathing quiet, but my loud mind makes that almost unachievable. The entire time, I force myself to hold my breath for a minute or two at a time in order to not start gasping at my own thoughts. Why does my brain decide to consume me at every waking minute of the day?
"Smith."
I turn, my eyes widening at the scowl on my best friend's face. The accent in Dayanara's voice becomes more prominent as she scolds me. I blink at her harshness, finding it hard to breathe with her yelling. What did I do wrong? Why is my best friend yelling at me? Is she mad at me?
"Huh?"
"You forgot to prime it."
Oh shit. This is the 3rd time this month I've forgotten to prime a wall before painting. If Mr. Velador finds out, I'm toast. I can kiss my job good bye if I continue messing up. Why can't I do anything right?
