''Half an hour left''

That’s what I tell myself, that’s what I always tell myself. But my heart is still pounding and my hands are still shaking, I’m rubbing them violently against my legs, my fingers clasped around the tops of my thighs whilst I struggle to keep up appearances. The rancid taste of vomit crawls up my throat and into my mouth. The realisation that my bladder is not completely empty sends a shudder down my spine so quickly and so powerfully that I actually begin to feel faint.

''What if I piss myself? Oh fuck, what if I piss myself?'' I tear my legs from the ground and force them into my torso and bend over as best I can in the seated position. The pressure sooths me and I start to…

Don’t look at the clock.

It’s been thirty seconds. My breath has become short and violent like a fish tossed from water, the girl next to me slides on her seat and coughs .Our eyes meet and I can see I’m distracting her. I can’t quite catch it but there’s something about her. Her disapproving glare, her forced smile, her normalness. It makes me to review my own situation and I realise how ridiculous I'm being.Once again I fix my eyes on my paper,I shake my pen and begin to write. The sweat from my hands acts as a weak adhesive and turning the page has become awkward.

I make it hard for myself, I always do.