[ She's been sleep-walking. As far as she knows neither Raleigh nor Yancy have noticed ( yet ). Some nights, she comes to her senses in the kitchen, the fridge pulled open and her staring at the bottle of orange juice that the always keep stocked for Rals. Sometimes, she finds herself outside, in the yard, hands stinging and nails ruined from digging up a hole.
Tonight, she bolts back in the house because she'd woken up in the middle of the street in nothing but one of Raleigh's sweaters, and as a panic attack claws it's way up from deep inside her chest, she all but tears the her bag from where she's hung it on a hook on the wall and pulls out a pack of clove cigarettes that she's taken to keeping for moments like this.
( Naomi hasn't smoked since she got pregnant with Yancy. Gave the habit up cold turkey because she could, because it wasn't something she'd needed, just something she'd liked. She's been smoking a steady two packs a week since she started sleep-walking, since the panic attacks started to be a regular thing. She makes it a point never to smoke in the house, washes her hands thoroughly after every stick, makes sure she showers the smell out of her hair and dumps her clothes in the wash. )
She can't breathe, though. Needs that nicotine hit to bring her head back to her shoulders as she cries at the bottom of the steps, no sound escaping her but that of ragged breathing. ]
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[ She's been sleep-walking. As far as she knows neither Raleigh nor Yancy have noticed ( yet ). Some nights, she comes to her senses in the kitchen, the fridge pulled open and her staring at the bottle of orange juice that the always keep stocked for Rals. Sometimes, she finds herself outside, in the yard, hands stinging and nails ruined from digging up a hole.
Tonight, she bolts back in the house because she'd woken up in the middle of the street in nothing but one of Raleigh's sweaters, and as a panic attack claws it's way up from deep inside her chest, she all but tears the her bag from where she's hung it on a hook on the wall and pulls out a pack of clove cigarettes that she's taken to keeping for moments like this.
( Naomi hasn't smoked since she got pregnant with Yancy. Gave the habit up cold turkey because she could, because it wasn't something she'd needed, just something she'd liked. She's been smoking a steady two packs a week since she started sleep-walking, since the panic attacks started to be a regular thing. She makes it a point never to smoke in the house, washes her hands thoroughly after every stick, makes sure she showers the smell out of her hair and dumps her clothes in the wash. )
She can't breathe, though. Needs that nicotine hit to bring her head back to her shoulders as she cries at the bottom of the steps, no sound escaping her but that of ragged breathing. ]