I shake. My breath coming in short, shallow gasps as my lungs refuse to fill with air. My fingers clench, my hands balling into fists as I will myself to stay quiet. She can't be dead.

I shake. Every muscle in my athletically toned body showing. I run my hands through my hair, attempting to get a grasp on the situation, on life. But it's no use.

Abby is dead. And I can't do a single thing about it. A volcano of salty tears finally erupts, flooding my face.

I shake. They'll know something's up. They'll know I'm not strong, I'm not who they think I am. Every thought brings another layer of clouds coming to rain on my parade.

I shake. Every ounce of my darkly colored body now shudders with every staggered breath.

Abby's dead. Abby's dead! I tell myself. Why won't the words make their way through my thickly padded skull?! She's dead, She's dead! Accept it! I try to convince myself, slamming my palm to my forehead.

They'll be here soon. This has been too long for a routine bathroom stop. I need to get out, I need to move now.

But I can't. No amount of coaxing, swearing, or force is enough to put my paralyzed muscles into motion.

I can only imagine what I look like, a 220 lbs football player lying crumpled on the floor like an idiot.

"Hey, you okay dude?" The guys question while knocking on the locked door.

A miniscule yelp makes its way out of my mouth, barely audible, but it's enough.

The boys shout, banging on the door until it finally caves under their weight.

I want to yell at them to stop. I want to say I'll be out in a second. But I can't.

So I shake.