Page 1 of Under Pressure

Chapter One

Mia

“Concentrate on thesteady inhalation and exhalation of your breath.”

I follow the woman’s soothing voice on the screen, filling my chest with a lungful of icy air, then slowly release it.

“Clear your mind of all negativity. Let go of all that no longer serves you.”

Okay, I can do that. Self-doubt be gone. I banish thee from all recesses of my mind.

Nice try. Did you just up and forget about Dr. Price’s upcoming internship and the fact that you haven’t got an interview for it?

I said be gone. Besides, today’s the last day for notifications. I could still have a chance.

You seriously believe that? There are way more qualified students vying for it than you.

I take another deep breath, ignoring that crippling voice in my head, doing my best to empty my mind and follow along with the tiny blonde on my TV, her eyes closed in peaceful tranquility on some tropical beach.

I glance out the window of my apartment, the snow falling in droves across the New England landscape. Not that I have a view of said landscape. More like a view of the complex’s dumpster. Still, it’s a nice dumpster. It has a trash compactor and everything.

Wait, I’m supposed to be meditating, not focusing on dumpsters. I shift on my yoga mat, my knees aching from sitting cross-legged for so long, but I’m willing to fight through the soreness if it means peace of mind. I need to be more proactive about managing my anxiety if I’m going to make it through this next semester. I’d let things slip over the past couple months, which culminated in an anxiety attack the morning of my final exam last month for Somatic Psychology that could have derailed my entire future.

Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but failing that final wouldn’t have looked good on my college transcripts when I apply for graduate programs next year. Or for securing any internships that will give me that ever elusive “experience” I need.

“If thoughts arise, simply set them aside. Tune in to the stillness that resides within you.”

Oh, crap. I forgot again. I clear my mind, focusing on the chill in the January air, the soft rustle of my fleece jacket against my leggings as I move into a more comfortable position, the rise and fall of my chest as I settle into a rhythmic pattern of breathing. Hey, this is pretty nice. And that voice has quieted. I should do this more—

“Mia! Why is it so cold in here?”

Kelsey’s bedroom door opens, her skimpy pajama top and shorts not exactly winter appropriate. Then again, my roommate never enjoys following anyone’s rules but her own.

“You had the thermostat set to eighty,” I say calmly, trying to get back into zen mode. “The electric bill will be insane if you keep it that high.”

“I’ll pay the difference,” she grumbles, marching over and savagely tapping at the thermostat screen until it’s in the high seventies. She lets out a sigh as the heater kicks on, visibly relaxing, and sprawls out on the couch, pulling a plush blanket over her bare legs. She runs a hand through her professionally straightened and dyed blonde hair, turning her attention to me. “Are you meditating again?”

Trying to. But someone keeps interrupting. How are you ever going to get better if—

“I’m finished,” I tell her, rolling up my mat and shutting off the TV. I’ll just try again later.

My phone pings with a new message and I pick it up off the coffee table, nearly dropping it when I realize what’s on the screen. “Oh, oh!” My fingers fumble to open the email from Dr. Price, scanning it frantically, trying to make sense of the words.

I skip the pleasantries, going straight to the meat of the message. “An interview slot will be available for you at three p.m. this Tuesday to discuss your study proposal…” I whisper to myself, then let out an excited shriek.

“What is it?” Kelsey asks, sitting bolt upright. The blanket falls off her and onto the floor and I absentmindedly pick it up, tucking it back around her legs.

“The interview. I got it.” A thrill of delight courses through me. Dr. Price’s Stress Lab is my top pick for where I’d like to do my psychology internship. His specialty in stress and the effects it has on mental illness aligns exactly with my own research goals.

“Oh, that.” She flicks her hand casually as if to dismiss it. “Of course you were going to get it. I don’t know why you worry so much about these things.”

I don’t bother to explain to her for the hundredth time that my brain is just wired that way. Believe me, if I could stop the intrusive thoughts, I would.

“What are you going to wear?”

I keep the smile that wants to break free at bay. Of course that would be her first question. I’m not concerned with my outfit so much as what I’ll say during the interview.

…Oh God, what am I going to say?

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