She needed to just get through the next minute; then it would get better.Another minute passed.Why wasn’t it getting better?Rose lay on the floor in the middle of her room, stomach down. The carpet, rough against her swollen cheek, had become a strange friend. She focused on the abrasion of the fibers, using the little scrape of pain to pull her through to her next breath, then her next.It would get better. She had to believe that. She was doing everything right so far. Seclusion. Bath. More seclusion. Quart of ice cream. Nap. Okay…attempt at nap. More seclusion. Lying on the floor. Crying into the carpet.Damn it, it had to get better.The rub was, she’d done this before. More than anyone on the planet, she knew the drill about making a mistake, then dealing with the self-hatred shit storm from it. This time she was even prepared. This time she’d declared herself the disaster before Mark could. Didn’t the universe give credit for that? Didn’t the agony dagger cut you a break for saving someone from yourself, when you made the decision?
