Cliff Face - Indicator
Every one of my muscles is shaking. Every single molecule. On the bathroom sink, right next to Brian's electric razor, is a little plastic indicator that could decide the rest of my life. Water flows out of the icy pipes and I splash it on my face, numb from cold now. I don't look. I don't want to look.
I go into the kitchen, grab a sponge, start wiping down the stove, throwing dishes into the sink, putting papers into neat piles, straightening the centerpiece. But my hands are shaking too badly and the vase of flowers tips, rolls, then there is glass shimmering on the tile. The crash breaks my trance.
Back in the bathroom, I pick up the indicator. It swallows everything. My vision shrinks to a pinpoint and a foreign pulse fills my head. It is everywhere. Plus. Plus. Positive.
The buzzing in my veins gets stronger. There are no thoughts, no room for them. Brian is still sleeping in the bedroom and I find myself quietly packing a bag next to him. I leave the glass on the floor and the little pink indicator on the sink. I grab my purse, shove some money into it, (I don't know how much,) close the front door quietly, and the buzzing stops.