>I stand, panting and grasping the sink, staring up into the mirror. Head swirls and knees buckle. Anything in my stomach makes it's way up and out. A glance up reveals my worst nightmares.
>It's starting. The scratch was enough. No. I'm a fighter. I choke back another heave and hold on for dear life. My body is racked with shakes and shivers. I feel myself slipping.
>I bite it back as best I can. Deep breaths and focus. The muddy waters of my mind still and congeal. I'm still here. My face in the mirror stares back at me, pupils wide and mouth ajar.
>I focus, grasping back control of my muscles and stand stock straight. I'm not a statistic. I'm Naomi. I may not be the class rep, or even a highschooler anymore but I sure as hell am not one of those... beasts.
>I rip the bandage off and slam the small scratch under the sink, running water over it. The stinging pain rings clear and true through my head. As I finish I toss the horrid wrapping aside and prepare to step back out. They need me.
>I huff and walk out of the little park bathroom, back into our encampment. I do a mental checklist of things that need to be done today.
>Check supplies, check radios, organize recovery effort, find a mate...
>I forcefully slap myself. I can fight this. It's not an impossibility, others have overcame it as well.
>I go about my chores, the business keeping my mind occupied and not allowing it to wander, to threaten to leave. A creeping exhaustion, deeper than ever starts to take me as I check in with a small group from out-of-state, caught up in this little plague.
>I quickly excuse myself and head back to my own tent and collapse, sweat pouring and vision swirling. I take a large swig from a nearby bottle and notice it's...leaking.
>As I turn it over I notice my claws have dug into it. The nails now long and sharp. I drop bottle and shoot to my feet.
>I give myself another glance over and...
cont.