Hourglass: A Tale of Anxiety Part 2

“Remember the value of slowing down; constant speed can feed anxiety and wear you down.” — Rick Hanson

This story is one of many in 🎗A Mental Health Awareness Month initiative🎗 held by Fictionry.com

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Rachelle

~~~

With a yawn, I glance at my phone: 11:20 PM. Ugh, my drawer count took longer than expected. Now my entire night routine is being thrown off! Getting off work twenty minutes late, or 1200 seconds, means that I’ll get home by 11:50, and that cuts into my nighttime routine, which delays my bedtime.

How am I supposed to rest peacefully if I don’t go to bed at the correct time?

Or, heck, keep the wrinkles at bay without scrubbing the day’s grime off and applying my creamy deep sleep refining mask that takes half an hour to absorb?

Fidgeting with my keys, I dropped them into a small puddle. With a sigh, I rub my temples. My feet feel heavy, my head is spinning, and now my damn keys have soaked up God knows what!

Could this day get any worse? I think to myself, bending over and retrieving my disgusting keys.

When I stand up, I feel something hard and cold pushing against the back of my head, and then an audible clicking sound.

Oh my God, it’s a gun!

“Don’t turn around,” a gruff voice ordered. It sounds male, and their breath tickles the back of my neck. It reeks of cigarettes and old beer.

Pulse throbbing, I reply feebly, “O-okay…”

“Good,” He remarks, pushing his weapon into my skull harder. “Empty your pockets, every last cent. Then toss your car keys over your shoulder. Any tricks or funny business, and I pull the trigger; you got that?”

“Y-yes, I got that.” I stammer, trembling slightly as I pull my nightly tips out of my pockets.

The mystery thief scrambled, grabbing at the bills and coins like a lifeline.

Great, 57,600 seconds worth of hard work, and it all goes to some sketchy punk.

Resuming his position behind me, he barks, “Toss your keys, now!”

With a flick of my wrist, I toss them behind me. Then I hear a grunt and a metallic thud. My keys must’ve hit him somewhere.

“Ow, you stupid bitch, that hurt!” He roars, clicking his gun again. “You better not move until I leave!”

Shaking my head wildly, I sob, “I won't, I promise!” Tears form in the corners of my eyes.

“Close you eyes until I leave, got it, stupid bitch?” He growls, shuffling over to his ill-gotten vehicle.

Full of fear, I obey, slamming my eye shut as tightly as I can.

A minute later, I heard my car starting and then driving away, leaving me alone in the pitch blackness of night.

~~~

Heart racing with pure panic, I exit the police vehicle and dash upstairs to my apartment. The call, interrogation, and paperwork took forever, making me get home at 3:00 AM!

I’m mortified! I’ve never gotten home an hour late, let alone four hours late!

Frantically, I pace around my apartment, still wearing my uniform, sweating profusely, and hands twitching.

My schedule has gotten completely disrupted. I What am I supposed to do?

I dedicated years and years to carefully timing every routine and task, guaranteeing that no time was wasted during their execution, and now?

It's all gone.

As if the concept itself was made of smoke to begin with.

Should I call Mom? No, she’ll just make things worse.

Brew a cup of tea and try to relax? No, I’ll probably drop it and scald myself, sending me to the ER with horrible burns.

Take a bath and try to refocus? No, that’s a terrible idea. Soaking in my filth will make me feel antsy and gross.

Ugh, none of these ideas fix any of my problems!

Then it dawns on me: cleaning!

It’s always made me feel centered in the past, so why not?

With a smile, I wipe my tired eyes and grab my cleaning supplies.

Cleaning is, to me, soothing because I can control every aspect of it. Also, my apartment will look incredible when I’m done.

Yeah, this is the best option.

~~~

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and incidents are fictitious and the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, organizations, or events are entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Thank you for reading this eBook. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.