The unfortunate sleep.

It only takes fifteen minutes to work through a panic attack. That’s what Dr. Wells told Renee during their last visit. She was unsure about this. Was it medically proven, scientifically sound fact, or convenient new age theory?

Either way, she was twelve minutes in and it felt like fear was eating her from the outside out. Feeling moisture gather in her palms, she smoothed them on her jeans and looked down into her bag between her feet. Somewhere in there was hidden a vial that promised relief in the way of total fog. She couldn’t afford fog.

As her macro-economics professor began his review for finals, she closed her eyes and rolled her head around slowly, oblivious to the people jammed in the hall around her. Three more minutes. She willed herself to calm so she could take copious notes.

Renee woke with a start, the knot in her stomach completely gone. Unfortunately, as she quickly noted, so were her classmates and exceedingly dull professor. Nothing says panic like sleeping through final prep.

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