She twangs the elastic mercilessly against her inner wrist, and the compulsion subsides.
She can do this… everything will be fine.
Within a minute, the feelings resurge. That gnawing sensation in her gut, a rising flutter of panic in the chest, the short, shallow gasping for air.
She twangs it again, harder. This has worked before and it will work again.
It does. She masters the rising tide, breathes more easily. All will be well.
Or will it…?
The sensations overwhelm her. Disappointment, regret, shame… yearning.
Ripping the band from her wrist she plunges through the shrubbery after the man.
First Friday Fictioneer post of December 2020. This weirdest of years will soon be behind us, Many thanks to Rochelle for her continued efforts on behalf of this happy band of writers.