Ten minutes.
I stare at the dark room like it's personally betrayed me.
Ten minutes is not enough time to make good decisions.
"Oh my God," I whisper, already moving. "Oh my God, oh my God—"
I fling the duvet aside and bolt upright, heart racing like I've been given a five-minute warning before a life-altering event. Which, honestly, feels accurate.
I scramble out of the bed, nearly tripping over my own feet mirror. My phone sits abandoned on the bed, the screen dark now, as if it hasn't just detonated my entire night.
"Okay. Okay," I mutter, as if my dark might talk back and offer guidance.
One step. Two. Three.
Why am I pacing?
I slow down, my limbs suddenly awkward and uncoordinated, I feel like a sloth moving in slow motion despite the frantic energy thrumming beneath my skin. I pause in the center of the room, taking a shaky breath. Then, with a sudden surge of… something, I dart to my closet.
