Kriia slumped in the too-bright, over-sterilized hospital waiting room, wedged uncomfortably into the rigid plastic chair, her body thrumming with heat and exhaustion. Every inch of her face ached—from the pressurized throb behind her cheekbones to the raw, chapped edges of her twitching nostrils. Her breath kept catching in her throat, rising in sharp, gasping hitches that never reached the release her body was begging for.
“hh-HHHhh… h-hehh… H-hh’—!”
Her crimson hair clung damply to her flushed cheeks, and sweat beaded along her brow despite the chill crawling over her skin. A thin, humiliating ribbon of clear, watery mess had begun to leak from one nostril, trailing down the slope of her philtrum and catching just above her trembling lips. She sniffled, a congested, gurgling sound, and wiped it with the heel of her palm—but it was already back a moment later.
Her chest rose and fell with every torturous false start, each breath drawing in just enough air to stoke the unbearable tickle deep in her sinuses, but never enough to push it over the edge. Her glowing purple eyes were glassy, fluttering shut as she tilted her head back slightly, jaw slack, mouth open, waiting—praying—for the sneeze to come.
It didn’t.
“Hhh-huhhh… huhh-hh—nnnghh…”
She whimpered beneath her breath, too worn out to be embarrassed anymore, one trembling hand curling around the crumpled tissue in her lap like a lifeline. Her other hand braced on the armrest as she rocked forward slightly, desperate for relief, nostrils flaring, her whole body wound tight like a spring.
And still—no release. Just more pressure. More burning. More mess she couldn’t keep up with.
Across the room, a nurse called out a name that wasn’t hers. Kriia didn’t even lift her head. She just sniffled wetly again, defeated, whispering through chapped lips:
“F-fuckin’ hurry ub…”
