Am I really ready to do this?
I'm sitting next to my window, feeling the warm breeze of an August morning, yet I'm shaking. If I'd stayed up all night it would have made no difference to my exhaustion. By the morning the bed sheets were in a knot and aside from a few fit-full half hours of vivid dreams, I barely slept at all. My brain is constantly searching for details I could have possibly missed out and possible evidence that could further prove that my story is right. My stomach shifts uneasily and I notice that the hands that I am hugging myself with are pinching into my skin. I released my hands but then I couldn't figure out what to do with them, so instead they clasped and unclasped each other as if in constant need of touch and reassurance.
“Sandra, are you ready?" Arthur's low
