Bronchitis

Apparently, I have bronchitis. It has settled deep in my lungs. Now that I know it is there, I can almost feel it. I try to take in a deep breath, but my lungs constrict before I can. A cough forces its way out my throat, sending a burning through my lungs. I slap a hand to my collarbone as if that will somehow heal me. Swallowing the burning, I wince. Swim practice has been especially difficult. The chlorine floods down my throat, adding to the burning. I gasp in air after a swim set, my rasping breaths capturing the attention of the people around me. I awkwardly glance down at the water and try to get my breathing under control. My face gets hot, from embarrassment, fever, or lack of oxygen I have no idea. I can tell that my skin is turning a brilliant shade of red.

"You doing okay?" my friend asks.

"Yep, I'm fine," I try to say, but my words come out in a harsh whisper. I try again, flashing a smile that I hope is convincing. She nods uncertainly. Gulping in another breath of air, I force the smile to stay plastered on my face, reminding myself that I will be just fine later.