Excerpt: Twelve China Cups

Shaking her leg nervously, Sarah Palmer sat in a doctor’s office. Doing so had become something Sarah was more than really used to. The waiting room was even more familiar. She had begun to hate it as a small child: shuttling to and fro the offices in a borrowed car, the monotony of it all, and of course her mother’s endless nervous fidgeting. Now, though, it was the smell that got to her. The sterile nature of it quickly nauseated her, and she had to step out. Sitting there, in that beige-wallpapered office, brought back too many unpleasant memories.
The smell haunted her even outside the office. She knew all too well where the bathroom was located, and found it without a problem. Weak, she practically crawled into a stall, and kneeled in front of what had become her porcelain god. As the waves of vomiting came and went for several minutes, she was overcome by mental intruders, and retreated into a shelter inside her own brain