The kind of misery that makes breathing feel like labor.

I don’t remember waking up.

All I remember is opening my eyes and realizing I never really slept. My face felt stiff from dried tears, my throat sore, my head pounding like there were stones jammed inside it.

My homework was spread across the floor—sketchpads, printed photos, pens with no caps, half-erased drafts. It looked like a battlefield.

Maybe it was.

I crawled toward my desk, feet dragging, hair tangled, shirt wrinkled like I’d been sleeping on it instead of wearing it. I didn’t even bother checking the mirror. I could feel it anyway—the swollen eyes, the gray skin, the...