Pinned beneath the unbearable weight of the car, I can’t move. The pain in my arm is excruciating. My nostrils fill with the acrid stench of smoke. Strobes of red and blue lights glitter in the broken glass. Dizziness and panic twist together in my belly, turning sour like sickness. Except… Wait. This isn’t real. It’s the nightmare. My brain’s playing her stupid games again. In the hazy place between wakefulness and sleep, I try to remember the coping exercises my therapist, Erica, taught me.
