Phobia.

 

Shuffle shuffle.
Stop.
Be quiet. don’t make a scene.
Gasp gasp
You wonder what happened to the air conditioning you felt earlier.
You Protest a little too loudly when she is apologising about taking a minute out.
She doesn’t hear you though,so you are stuck there,muffled whines and a resolve not to panic.
You try to hold still and not panic.
Where has she gone, you sigh.
This was exactly your fear. In a bid to create a distraction for yourself, you try to start to hum a tune. But the shuffle playlist in your head is not very cooperative in coming up with a song that didn’t have dark and end in it.
What is taking so long ??!! You wince to yourself.
It suddenly hits you that you can’t feel your fingers anymore. So you start to will yourself to wiggle them. Your subconscious remembers the scene from Kill Bill where Beatrix Kiddo wiggled her toes out of paralysis and it makes you giggle. You are even surprised by this. How are you able to be amused in this your current situation. That scene will forever be funny you resolve.
Suddenly there is a catch in your throat, a breath that won’t get in your lungs smoothly. Of course you forget all your resolve not to panic.
Oh my god! I know I should not have been laughing, you worry ,swinging your arms wildly,trying to rip them free.
You hear a rip and that appeases your consciousness.
You will your eyes open.
Darkness.
Everywhere is still dark.
Apparently the senses exaggerated the sound of the rip.
‘What nonsense have I gotten myself into’, you have just succumbed to panic mode.
Your eyes are still open, you decide since you already willed them open, you might heighten your anxiety shutting them again.
You are prancing the perimeter of the room that can be reached, feeling it first with your toes before deciding on taking the step.
The catch on your breath comes again , this time without any warning , so you give in to the panic that it brings.
Your hands are splaying wildly in the air and you are trying to rip yourself free. You are feeling like the oxygen is running out so you start kicking too.
You knock something heavy down.
That brings you the attention your moaning didn’t bring you.
Your attendant rushes right in, ‘is everything okay?’, she asks.
You don’t answer , you just signal to the blouse over your head.
She comes to help, while apologising.
You decide it’s her expertise in the trade ,the ease with which she helped you out.
When you compose yourself and catch your breath, you assess the damage to the changing room, not so bad,you grin.
Your attendant is apologising and all you can get yourself to say is, the blouse is too tight.
She has a better suggestion, a zip that doesn’t need you to put the clothe over your head,you agree that is ideal, apologise again for your mess and offer to replace the broken lamp. The lamp had been your saving grace,you joke. ‘If it hadn’t been knocked down and broken quite loudly ,I’d probably be on the floor now,unconscious maybe’. She refuses your offer,’ you are a customer darling, I should have known better’,she says.
You fix another pick up date for your clothes and start to leave.
The other staff are staring as you walk by and you blush a little.
‘What happened?’ you swear you can hear them whisper to the madam behind you. “she couldn’t take off her blouse” was the reply. ‘Only?!’ came someone’s reaction, like how did that justify your “vandalism”. You are a little pleased to hear the lady come to your defence, ‘it was my fault’, she said,’ I made the blouse too tight’.

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