Becca reels across the room as the panic attack hits, waves of nausea and terror roiling.
Naturally, her pills are in the bedroom, on the other side of the endless stretch of floor-to-ceiling windows, and getting to the wine in the kitchen would be not much easier. She whimpers with another flare of fear, backs into the farthest corner and lowers her eyes to the floor, the only way she can not see the expanse of open air on the other side of the windows. So much for opening the drapes to let some light and fresh air into the place.
The worst thing about panic attacks, she decides, is their ability to take even the comfort of your own home away from you. How do you feel safe when twenty-two floors up is twenty-one too many?
Ivy at Uncharted hosts the weekly Six Sentence Stories flash fiction linkup and blog hop. This week’s cue was “up.” Fun sixes from other writers are at the link. Join us!