Inhale... exhale...
As to how many times I did the breathing exercise, I did not know. I was never scared of elevators until today. Maybe it was not being confined to a small space but the floor and office it was leading me to—our office, the department I shared with Jeremy, and his girlfriend, Ms. Xana, my super annoying manager.
When I woke up today, I was hoping to skip work. Pretending to be sick was easier than to put on an act in front of Jeremy that last night was nothing but an experiment of my what-ifs. Or his way of trying to stop me from whimpering. I could hardly explain why I was crying or had that extreme sorrow inside me that weeping seemed not enough. There was a large hole in my heart and my brain as if someone drilled it on purpose.
Before I went to San Rafael, I wa
