Clara felt a knot tighten in her stomach as Mark, the new marketing intern, mentioned the summer of '98. It was the year she'd gone to Camp Wisteria, a place she tried to forget. The image of the old, chipped sign, the smell of damp earth, everything came flooding back. Her palms started to sweat.
"I spent my summers at Camp Wisteria," Mark said enthusiastically, as he loaded his plate with cookies. "Best place ever!"
Her breath caught. She quickly excused herself to use the restroom, her heart pounding in her chest. The small space seemed to spin.
Inside the restroom, she splashed cold water on her face, the mirror reflecting a pale, drawn countenance. She noticed her hands trembling. She leaned against the cool tile wall, the harsh fluorescent lights blurring. Memories, unwanted and sharp, surged through her mind. The smell of chlorine, the echoing laughter of other kids, the feeling of being utterly alone.
Back in the break room, she avoided Mark’s gaze, busying herself with filing paperwork, the sound of the stapler echoing in the suddenly silent space. She felt a growing feeling of dread, a sinking sensation in her core. She couldn't focus. He kept talking, oblivious, and she just wanted to scream.