Days blur past out of Avery's reach. Tamika drowns her in work, Valerie invites her to tea too much, her parents ask her too many questions. It all melds together into one amorphous blob of time that she can't make heads or tails of. Except for the stress, the obsessions and compulsions.

Drink earl grey in Valerie's office: she's trying to poison you, spit it out into that plant.

Scrape stubborn algae off the sides of the near-empty snail tanks: wash it out again, microscopic pieces of glass you dislodged will kill the snails in horrific fashion. Wash it, come on!

Have dinner with Mom and Dad: all this moping and crying around is disgusting, they're going to kick you out if you don't apologize to them. Do it.

Every day, Avery goes to work, comes home, rushes through dinner, and collapses into bed. She cries, she falls asleep, she wakes up. Days pass one after the other, but she's not sure how many. Then, as if breaking through water to suck down a much needed breath, it all screeches to a halt.

Damp towels and dirty clothes pile around the bathroom, while soaps, hair gels, and a pile of used tissues lie strewn over the sink countertop with all the care of a curious young raven. Through puffy, swollen eyes and smudged glasses, Avery stares at herself in the mirror.

Hair juts from her head at odd angles; blood settles into fresh scabs on the edges of her nostrils; plum-colored circles hang under her eyes. She clutches at her unsteady heart, where her nails scrape against skin and leave behind hot streaks of red. How long is it going to be like this?

Oboes and clarinets ring out from her phone on the sink counter: the screen blares to life in the unlit bathroom and a notification slides into view tagged with an image of Sophia. An image that is more coils of black hair than her actual face.

Sophia: Hey, if you're able, would you mind letting me know you're alright? I know you said you're working through something, but the radio silence has been a bit nerve wra—

Avery's eyes conjure water from the depths of a supposedly dry well. Tears bubble into her vision and — arms dangling unmoving at her sides — she stares at her face as it contorts. Teeth tremble and clatter. Lips curl inward. Vision blurs and clears with erratic timing.

She can feel it all, but it's distant. Like she's behind the wheel of a car flying down a winding backroad. The three-ton monster starts to veer off course, but her hands refuse to move. To stop dangling at her sides useless and limp. I don't deserve it. I don't.

The thought plays back to her until the bright light of her phone's screen dims, then blinks back to darkness. Her blank stare stays locked on her face, lit only by the morning sun pouring through the doorway to her bedroom. Why am I so useless? Why can't I move? Why am I even crying?

The phone screen lights up and another message appears.

Sophia: Sorry, I shouldn't have sent that. Just being impatient. Take your time!

The spell breaks, all the numbness flows away and threads of control reconnect her to her extremities. She scoops up the phone and hurriedly types out a reply to Sophia.

Avery: No, no. You're fine. I'm sorry for taking so long. I'll text you soon.

It doesn't even take a couple seconds for another message to arrive with a burst of oboe and clarinet. Sophia: Alright, talk soon!

Avery's eyes dart back to her messy-haired reflection. She wets her hand and combs at the oddball strands still reaching for the sky, but it only kind of works. She twists away toward the door. "Whatever."

Did you turn off the sink?

Tendrils of compulsion leap from her heart and twist around her legs, anchoring her to the spot.

It's too much, it's instant. Her heart threatens to burst one moment, and she whirls back around to face the sink the next. She taps the handles in alternating series three separate times and whispers. "Left-right, left-right, left-right."

Constricting tendrils disappear. With a sigh, she hurries out the bathroom door before she can get stuck again. I could have tried harder... tomorrow maybe.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

----------------------------------------

Ahead of Avery, Tamika pushes through a set of double doors with a barrel of diced tilapia swinging by her side. The doors open out onto a wide open room. Humidity weighs down the air above exposed waterways that wind through the space and connect separate pools to each other. Inside the shallow water, stingrays of all sizes — except extra large — flit about through the channels from pool to pool and in between decorative rocks that spot the bottom.

It's beautiful, but distant. Sweat prickles at Avery's neck thanks to the humidity and her own anxious flux. She plods along behind her bucket-swinging boss and pours over how to say what she wants to say. Today is the day. The day she declares —

The day you declare that everyone's expectations were a waste of time. They're going to hate you.

Her plodding falters; her foot catches a nearby railing and she skips on one foot to a stop.

Tamika glances over her shoulder, "You okay?"

I can say it. I can do this.

Tamika stops and faces her, waiting with bucket dangling.

Avery's stomach stirs, grumbling and shifting in anxious circles. She straightens up from her awkward, unbalanced squat and speaks above quivering knees. "I don't think I can do this."

Tamika plucks a piece of diced tilapia from the bucket and plunges her hand in a nearby pool. One stingray dashes over without hesitation, glides over her hand, and the meat disappears.

"There you go, Johnathan." Tamika says. "See? They don't bite. No reason to be afraid of them."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know, but just spit it out. We've only got about five minutes before Valerie finds us and starts yelling to help with the school event. I'd like to decompress with these guys without you brooding over the whole thing."

She'll hate you. Apologize for even bringing this up, for wasting her time.

The compulsion eats at Avery, nibbling away at her resolve. She forces her knees to steady and the words to form in her throat. "Um — It's just... I just feel like I can't do this kind of work. It's too much."

Tamika lowers the bucket to the floor and turns her full attention to the stingray, stroking him along his back. "This is about Larry, then? That's just the cold feet, Avery. Everyone gets them the first time they go through that. Give it a few weeks and you'll be right as rain."

"I — yeah it is. Are you sure?"

Tamika snorts. "Nope! Not a clue if I'm right, but that's how it was for me. Have you convinced yourself it wasn't your fault yet?"

"No. Not really —" Avery starts, before a thought cuts her off.

She's making fun of you now, see? Stop trying. Apologize.

Her heart falls into a pit and her breath goes with it: she bats a hand through the air, dismissive. "Never mind, actually. You're probably right and it's just cold feet, I shouldn't have bothered bringing it up."

Tamika rolls her head to glare at Avery; her dreads bounce and sway with the motion. "Now now, don't be like that —"

The double doors they just came through burst open. Valerie's squat form stumbles through and stands still, a few escaped strands dangle in frizzy, gray strips near her face. She clears her throat, tucks the loose hair behind her ears, and walks toward them, trying — but failing — to hide her heavy breathing. "I need you all out in the lobby now."

Tamika winks at Avery and lowers her voice to a whisper. "We can finish that talk later. I've got this." Still stroking the stingray's back, she lets her head fall with a shake and calls out. "We're still on break, sorry Val. You're going to have to find someone else to handle it for the next five minutes."

Valerie huffs. The unescaped hair in her bun puffs up like she's an angry cat — more likely it's just the humidity. "Avery?" She says.

Electricity scrambles between Avery's heart and lungs in a buzz of anxiety, caught needing to answer Valerie, but wishing her confession wasn't interrupted. She casts glances between the two women. "Uh— ah... sorry, we're on break..."

Frustration forces wrinkles across Valerie's forehead and she throws an arm behind her at the now-closed double doors. "Come on, you can't leave me out there alone." Her tone shifts more toward pleading than demanding. "Please. There's way too many of them."

The scrambling grows more intense; it won't let Avery speak.

Tamika pulls her hand out of the water and flicks it by her wrist, sending water droplets showering over the pool. "Our hands our tied, sorry Val. If only you had hired more staff, what a darn, crying shame that is. Maybe you should write to management about it?"

"Tamika. You know well and good that we all have to pitch in here and there to keep this place running, especially in times of emergency." Valerie says.

"You not knowing how to deal with kids isn't an emergency, but I'll cut you a deal." Tamika wipes her hand down her jeans, leaving behind the water she couldn't fling as a darker, navy-blue streak. "Catered lunch tomorrow. And we pick the place."

Valerie clasps her hands behind her back. "We always order from Cob and Carl's. There's no where else I like as much, so that will have to do."

Tamika shrugs. "We're not getting your gross, cardboard pizza; you're getting two mini-breaks worth of time: eight whole minutes. So take it or leave it, the price isn't changing. I'll figure out what you owe me for this waste of a minute later."

"Fine. Fine! Where?"

"You're on, Avery. Close the deal."

Anxious electricity turns to ice in a flash. A lose-your-breath-and-freeze-up type of surprise. The two argue all the time and used to keep Avery on the sidelines, argued past and referenced, but not included. When did that change? Staring out over the pools and waterways, she wracks her mind for what to say. "Can we do sandwiches and cupcakes from New Interlude?"

Tamika perks up and nudges Avery's shoulder with a fist. "Oh! I love that place! Have you tried their dessert crepes? I —"

The rest of her boss' words disappear into a horrific realization. Wait, I don't know how to deal with kids.