Close Your Eyes. Amanda Eyre Ward
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I said.
‘How long ago was this?’ said Jane. She held a cheap Bic ball-point, a pad in her lap. I felt alarmed, wondering what she would write down, how she would distill me into sentences.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. She peered at me questioningly. I stared at her large brown eyes, and the room grew hazy.
‘I love him,’ I whispered, a familiar dread rising in my chest, making me feel feverish. ‘I’m really hot.’
‘You feel hot?’
‘Yes,’ I said. Jane was intent, looking at me through what seemed to be a room of smoke. I cleared my throat and tried to shake it off. ‘I’m very dizzy,’ I said.
‘You’re feeling anxious?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And I’m feeling really hot.’
‘Breathe,’ said Jane. ‘How else do you feel?’
I took a deep inhalation, but the woozy feeling remained. ‘What’s wrong with me?’ I said.
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