Taking Control
After I had finished vomiting the majority of the vodka, I flushed the toilet and crouched down before it, resting my forehead upon the now-closed lid. Although I knew what I needed to do, my body would not obey my brain’s commands. It had curled itself into a ball of quivering flesh, salty tears leaking from my eyes. That had been my first experience with abject violence in my short life, and all of the death-related trauma from my childhood resurfaced in my mind, rendering me useless. What good am I if I can’t stand up for myself in a group of outsiders? Why didn’t I scream the second I saw them lounging in my room? Why didn’t I bite that one jerk’s fingers? I couldn’t think . . . I couldn’t fight . . . and now my incompetence may have cost me the Torstein . . . .
“Swani
