Lyta needed control. Her medication was merely taking the edge off of her migraine, and the ever-present pressure of other minds wasn't going to go away. Dragging herself out of bed, she cleaned up a bit and grabbed her yoga mat, headed for the gym. If she was lucky, it would be moderately quiet...at least quiet enough for her to get a grip.
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This morning? Not so much. So she went down to the gym to beat on something. And she had been doing such a good job of avoiding her roommate lately, too.
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