Today can’t get any worse.

Outside the grocery store in some town I didn’t even get the name of, I’ve sat down on the bench to catch my breath. I shouldn’t have left Sentinel in the truck, but I’m so sick and tired of all the whispers about my service dog.

He’s so well behaved, but unless you look like death’s doorstep, people judge.

From the bench I can see the truck. I’ve left the windows open about halfway for Sentinel, just so he can breathe, though the air here isn’t as warm as California was. It’s almost chilly. And so very green.

Maybe I can get far enough away from everything to finally feel safe. Maybe the past won’t catch up to me here. Maybe I’ve finally made a clean break and I’ll be able to start over fresh. Just Sentinel and I.

I glance over at the truck. Sentinel is watching me, his huge dark ears perked forward as he studies me. There was a time when I was sure that this little German Shepard puppy would grow into too big of a dog for me, but he’s such a gentle, loving creature I can’t imagine life without him.

Okay. I’ve got this. I didn’t park far and I can handle this. After some lunch I should feel less faint. It’s a toss-up, though, sometimes eating makes me so tired I can’t keep my eyes open. Not a good thing when you’re driving.

I stand up and feel the sensation of falling as my blood pressure fluctuates. Damn it. I am not going to faint right here outside this grocery store in an unfamiliar city in an unfamiliar state without my service dog at my side.

I sit back down and put my head between my knees as panic settles into my bones like fire. The slow burn roars throughout my body as liquid fear courses through my veins. I can’t do this. Not here. Not alone.

And I hear him. Sentinel is barking, crying out as the world blurs into patchy green moss overtaking the pale concrete under my feet.

Breathe.

I take a deep breath as my dog continues to bark and cry. I want to tell him I’m okay. That I’ll be back in a second. That everything will be okay.

Except it won’t.

Nothing is ever okay.

Breathe.

“Miss, are you okay?”

I shake my head at the stranger, who I can only see as the one wearing some leather loafers. I bet it’s an older man, some kindly old gentleman from another generation when it was okay to talk to people.

Someone should let him know that this is the twenty first century and nobody cares about other people anymore.

“Should I call an ambulance?” he asks, and I shake my head, struggling to lift it to actually look at this person. His watery blue eyes are kind, and the shock of white hair on his head give me the satisfaction that I was right.

“I’m okay,” I gasp the words out, struggling to pull in a deep breath.

Breathe.

“Thank you,” I say, a bit more power behind the words.

He nods, looking unconvinced, but he moves right along into the store. And I breathe a sigh of relief. And I catch sight of Sentinel. He’s dancing back and forth in the window, tossing his head back to howl at me like I can’t hear him.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, feeling my lips tingle like I’ve had a ribbon wrapped too tight around my throat for too long. “I’m okay.”

But he can’t hear me.

And he sticks his head out the window as I watch on, worried about him. There’s no way he can fit through that narrow opening. He’s a huge dog. The window is open half way at most. And that fall will hurt him.

I shake my head at him, as if that’ll be enough to stop him. “No, Sentinel,” I say, my voice little more than a sigh as I fight back a nauseating wave of panic. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of some fishing boat as the ocean plays tsunami. Part of me wants to barf, part of me is afraid for my life, but most of me wants to be free of all of it.

With a loud yelp, Sentinel manages to wiggle his whole body free of the window. He lands on his feet, the shock of impact coaxing another yelp from him.

He races toward me.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see the little car. It’s a brilliant yellow, like a bee. And it feels like the whole world is slowing down. Sentinel races toward me, not seeing the danger bearing down on him. He’s focused on me.

The car suddenly sees him and I hear the squeal of bad breaks.

Sentinel suddenly seems to notice the danger, but he’s still focused on me as if he can save me with a look alone.

The crack of the car slamming into him reverberates through my whole being as my blood runs cold with horror.

“Sentinel!” I shriek as he hits the ground and the car whips off. I rush to him, feeling the agony of loss flooding my being. I’ve lost so much. I can’t lose him too.

“I can’t live without you,” I whisper as he lifts his great head and perks his ears forward, listening to my voice. “Sentinel,” I say, holding onto him as my whole world crashes and burns.

He whimpers, the little whine breaking my heart. He’s hurting. He’s in pain. And I have no way to help him.

And my dad’s voice filters back into my mind. I’ll kill the fucking mutt.

“I love you, Sentinel,” I tell him as his ears swivel. I’m vaguely aware of people, but it feels like they’re all standing and staring, or are merely going about their business as usual. I want to scream at them. How are they so calm and normal while my whole world is falling apart?