social terrors

The skin she saw was a pale white, and when juxtaposed with her dark locks, reminiscent of a fairytale. Her heart pounded hard enough to be seen through the tight cotton covering her chest. She shook, violently. She wanted to cry out for help, for someone to hold her close and walk her out of the situation, but she fought the urge. In the party she sat still, alone on the couch. The environment surrounding her moved in a choreographed chaos, a dance of lovers and drunkards. Any place but there would have been paradise. The music shouted profanities loudly into the crowd of loners looking for life. 

Her hand rubbed her opposite arm slowly, a calming mechanism. It picked up pace steadily, rubbing faster, harder, faster, harder, was she breathing, faster, it hurt wonderfully, harder, she looked down. Her upper arm was red and raw. Again. She stood in a panic and pushed through the crowd, not hearing those calling out for her. Tears stung, bees buzzing. Her mind felt both empty and overfull and dammit, this was too much. She was her own rubefacient. She was her own monster.