With the door shut, Renée leaned against it. She closed her eyes as her stomach churned around the single bite of toast she'd forced down while walking back. When she opened them again, the morning light caught dust motes dancing in the air that made the room look almost magical.
"If only anything was that simple. Open a door, go to a magical realm of escapism."
She pushed off from the door and made her way to the bathroom, legs slightly unsteady from unchecked anxiety. The face in the mirror looked about as rough as expected. Her shortened hair stuck up at odd angles even though she tried to tame it before she left the room.
And her complexion had a sickly cast that probably wasn't just the fluorescent lighting against her skin and the mirror.
The routine for coming out of these attacks was familiar by now. Fill the glass with water. Take small sips. Wait while focusing on the sensations. Let the liquid help ground her in the present while her body decided whether it would cooperate or revolt.
It was usually fine since she began dealing with it this way, but the stone feeling in her gut made everything feel unstable. Like a link to the other life where she lay there dying in such trauma. A feedback loop of stress.
Unfortunately, she knew from experience that rushing to the medications she brought would only make it worse. Retching the pills back up was a one time, uncomfortable mistake - and that was before being moved onto the extended-release dosage.
The toast grew cold on her room's desk as she stared at the envelope. She took sips while wondering which of them was really more trapped. The other people on the island right now… who would be going back to their lives in a few days with definite trouble from the incident in the form of missed work or social obligations - but a good story to tell later.
Or herself.
[Kind of an 'all of the above' moment, in my case. All those are my problems too. Minus the good story to tell part.]
Ten minutes. Twenty. The water stayed down and her stomach felt less like a rock. Only then did she retrieve her medicine bag from her carry-on. Since she was traveling, she had brought the official labeled bottles and other documents instead of her usual pill organizer.
The familiar routine of organizing her daily doses at the start of the week often provided an anchor to this world. Reality was banal… it wasn't giant creatures that didn't exist unless you made the mistake of looking up Thunderbird myths and legends.
"Or seeing footage of an Andean Condor for the first time. Though that was actually comforting for how *small* it was."
The Beta blocker came first - she'd already missed her usual evening timing. The enteric-coated iron supplement rattled out of its bottle like an accusation. Her doctor had been firm in his advice over the last years about Renée's body still paying with chronic deficiencies for years of poor eating habits.
The dissolvable B12 tablet followed, another attempt to manage old damage. She lined them up on the desk next to her emergency migraine medication, just in case the pressure building behind her eyes wasn't just from the hangover.
[One step at a time. Just like therapy taught you.]
She settled into the desk chair and checked her phone. Still early enough that the beta blocker wouldn't throw her rhythm off too badly. Another could reasonably be taken before she slept if she stayed up just a little. Or she could power through tomorrow with what remained in her system from this one to return to the proper schedule.
The water glass was nearly empty and her throat worked reflexively at the thought of swallowing something solid.
"Alright, lets do this."
She swallowed the main event and placed the B12 under her tongue until it dissolved. It was something to focus on instead of the feeling of the first pill in her gut. Her fingertips traced the edge of the desk while watching dust motes.
The circulation in her hands was sometimes still poor, despite trying to keep them limber. A legacy of those unhealthy years as well as some unwise career choices. Making sure to focus on ergonomics had not been her youthful concern.
[At least I'm trying to handle it all now.]
Six years ago, she couldn't have managed this routine. She would have been too proud, too scared, too something to admit she needed this careful medical ballet. Avoidance and hiding symptoms were her tactics. Now acknowledging it all was just part of her morning and bedtime routines.
Like brushing her teeth or checking her email.
Speaking of email - her editor would be expecting updates. Would probably be blowing up her phone when the news and her location clicked. The thought made her head throb. She pulled the migraine medication closer, just in case.
While hugging her head like she could protect it from the pain already inside, the sound of voices passed her door - other guests heading back from breakfast. Her fingers tightened around the pill bottle.
[Exactly why you need this. Take it and breathe. One step at a time.]
Before she could add it to the mix, a soft knock at her door made her freeze. She waited, but no voice followed it. When she finally checked, she found a large folded paper bag sitting on the floor. After looking around the hallway, she squatted and poked it before opening the precise fold.
Inside was a protein smoothie in a labeled cup from the resort's juice bar. Something that actually didn't smell of citrus or other tropical flavor… and looked gentle enough that even her current stomach might accept it. At least now that she was coming out of her attack.
[Leana must have noticed me leaving with just toast.]
The thought of the journalist's mothering almost made her smile. Though a flutter of internal worry struck about the source. This sort of gift might be from Carmen, instead who was also still in that room when she left. Which... complicated things.
Either way, she brought it to her desk and studied the pale pink drink.
"The food did nothing wrong. Well, the person sending it didn't actually, either. I'd be the bad guy here for accepting it."
A small pleading rumble at her core made her sigh.