Step. One two. Step again. Three four. And again. Five six. Faster. Seven eight. Go, go. Nine ten.

Keep counting. Keep stacking numbers. Up, up. Build a wall. Build a wall so high nobody can see, hear, or touch you.

Sweaty palms. Heartbeat fast in my ears. Just a bit farther. Faster. I'm being chased. Hands clawing at my ankles, trying to pull me back.

Aching legs, tired lungs. But I'm still going. Still going.

And then I'm floating. Numb everywhere but my heart. ­Feeling the rhythm beating smoothly. No sound – just the rush of adrenaline. Then I start to feel my aching legs.

I hear the sounds of life again. I feel my wall of numbers silently and slowly breaking. I feel the adrenaline seeping out of my skin. I'm tired, but it's okay. I can slow down now. There are no hands trying to grab me anymore. I turn around.

It was worth it, I tell myself. And I know it was. I live for that moment of floating. I live for the moment when I am untouchable.