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eyes hold.  My ragged breath hitches as I suck in a great big gulp of oxygen before forcing it slowly out.
    Even though he’s dropped my arm, I’m still gripped by a tidal wave of anxiety as it crashes over me, threatening to drag me under.  The slight trembling turns into bone shaking tremors.  My chest feels like it is being squeezed by a vise.
    I can’t breathe.
    I have to… I have get out of here.
    In another moment I’ll be choking on my panic.  I can feel the familiar tendrils coiling inside me.  The last thing I need is to lose my shit in front of all these drunken strangers.
    Without another word, I spin on my heels before frantically shoving my way through the thick press of bodies until I find myself at the front door.  Staggering outside into the brisk night air, I inhale deep gulps of fresh oxygen as I stumble my way down the sidewalk like some drunken idiot.  I need to put as much distance between me and that God awful party as I can.  Even though I try desperately to settle the frantic thoughts rolling through my head, it’s impossible.
    It’s way too late to rein in all my out-of-control emotions.
    Bending over, I promptly vomit my dinner onto someone’s overgrown front yard.  The only bright side I can find in this mess is that my pile of puke probably won’t be the only one gracing the lawn come morning. 
     
    Chapter Three
     
    A low groan rumbles its way from deep within the mountain of covers and quilts.  “I don’t feel so good,” the voice finally croaks, “I think I might have the flu.”  
    I snort with about as much derision as I can muster.  Which actually is quite a bit.  “What you technically have is called the twenty-four hour booze flu.”  I singsong the words gleefully just before yanking open the thick, ugly blue curtains covering our dorm room window which allows bright sunlight to filter in.  I seriously can’t summon one ounce of pity for someone who knowingly inflicts this kind of pain onto themselves.  Brooklyn whimpers in response before trying to burrow even further down into the abyss of blankets and pillows piled high on her dorm issued twin bed.  “Come on, up and at ‘em, sunshine.  You’ve got class in forty.”  Then I pretend to wince, not that she can see me do it, as I add with false pity, “Oh, and don’t you have calculus this bright and fine Friday morning with Professor Ling?  Yeah… that’s really going to suck for you.  He’s difficult to understand on the best of days.  Good luck with that.”
    “No,” she continues to moan or maybe she’s groaning, who can really tell?  “No class.  Can’t go.  Not today.  Too sick.  Head pounding.  Might throw up.  Must sleep.”
    “I do believe you told me that your partying wouldn’t get in the way of attending classes, Brook.  Remember?  I made you promise me that before agreeing to move in with you.”
    And yes, I really had secured a verbal agreement from her regarding just this sort of situation.  After last year, I’m not interested in partying at all.  My sole objective is to focus on my classes.  But moving in with Brooklyn, who I’ve known forever, seemed like a far better choice than playing Russian roulette in regards to random roommate assignments. 
    “No,” she mumbles before smashing another pillow over her face, “I never promised any such thing.”
    “Sure you did.  I’ve got it in writing somewhere around here.”  Eyeing her, I move loudly around the room as I prepare for my nine o’clock class.  Finding a protein bar, I open the wrapper and take a big bite.
    “Bitch,” she mutters from under the covers.  Well, I think that’s what she mutters.
    I grin at the mound of pillows and blankets.  “But I’m a lovable bitch, right?”
    Most of the time.
    Probably…
    She grumbles something unintelligible that I can’t quite decipher.  I’m not sure if she’s agreeing or disagreeing with that statement.  But since she’s in the midst