Clémence

The defining feature of social anxiety disorder, also called social phobia, is intense anxiety or fear of being judged, negatively evaluated, or rejected in a social or performance situation.

Clémence

My name is Clémence, middle name Marie and last name Roux. I am 19, I go to Imperial to study Psychology. Temperature rising. Summer is coming and like every English university student, I am currently studying for my final exams. And I have just studied a year’s worth of lectures in about 5 hours, I don’t care if my test is in a few weeks and that cramming isn’t good for my brain but if I don’t say ‘fuck it’ and do it now, I will never study.

It’s currently five-thirty a.m., and being the great athlete I am, I get up from my desk chair, stretch my legs. I grab black leggings, a random crop top and throw on some running shoes. I look at myself in my mirror and somehow think I look decent. That mirror is dirty. I grab my keys, ‘forget’ my water bottle, and head out to the elevator.

“ding” —is the sound that elevator makes when it reaches my floor.

I press the button with my knuckle, hoping that elevator goes straight to the ground floor, and anyways, who else is heading out at this fuckin’ hou-

“ding” —is the sound the elevator makes when the doors open a few floors down, opening up, revealing a rather tall guy.

“oh, uh, good morning” he says, looking quite surprised, he too must’ve thought that anyone going out at five-forty six a.m is absolutely mental.

“hi” I say sounding breathless, and I haven’t gone on my run yet and my lungs are already giving up. Trying to break the silence, I let out a little laugh and ask “ so, what you doing up this early?”

“Just getting some fresh air, maybe wait for Starbucks to open so I can get some some work done. What about you,… whatever your name is?”

“A run. I’m going on a run. And my name is Clémence.” I bet he can sense hesitation in my voice. He looks at me holding back a laugh, he holds out his hand, I’m guessing for me to shake. I don’t shake it, and he looks slightly embarrassed and borderline offended.

“The name’s Will. Where’s you-” he was cut-off by the elevator doors opening at the ground floor of the building.

“Will, you were saying?” I turn around to see he’s not there, but instead, out the door, on his phone, laughing and talking. I let myself out the building, turn to Will, wave goodbye and resist the urge to flip him off.

I run off, not in the ‘ I’m scared, help!’ way but at a steady 10k pace. And I barely, kept that pace for a good thirty minutes. I turn left into a street, and at the end of this street, my favourite bright green sign, Starbucks. I breath in and out, calming myself down before I grab that door handle and push, only for it to be a pull door. I get to the counter and order “a venti cold brew, one pump of vanilla and extra shot of almond milk” and turn to pick from the abundance of tables, they’re all empty except my favorite one. The table in the corner next to window, with the comfortable chairs, and on one of these chairs is Will, with a computer in front him. He’s staring at me. I’m staring at him. He smiles and waves.

“Clémence! Long time no see.” He’s still waving, but now, he’s waving with both hands. And arms, he’s waving with both his hands and arms.

“Sorry, who are you?” This was a joke but Will didn’t get it at first.

“Oh” shit, he looks offended. His face dropped. He smiles again. He probably got it. “Have you got a twin?” He’s joking back.

“Nope, I’m a sextuplet.” I joke again.

He mumbles something, blushes and looks me in the eyes. Intense prolonged eye contact, proves he’s socially comfortable.

“so… What are you working on?” I break the silence, eyeing his brightly coloured Mac.

“Editing.”

“You’re a photographer?” I question, sounding almost disappointed, maybe he’s an artist. I fucking despise art.

“Nope” he pops the ‘p’, “I’m a med-student, I’m editing my class notes. And you, what do you do? Other, than running.” The boy’s a med-student.

“I’m a psych student at Imperial.” I answer at the same time my name is being called by the tired-looking barista. I stand up to get my drink and get to the door, and for no obvious reason, I rush to get out of this empty coffee shop.

“Till next time, Willy!” I almost immediately regret that ridiculous nickname, but I smile and wave anyways. I get out and put my AirPods in. I play Dizzy’s Bleachers and get going back to my apartment.

I just realized it’s a long way home and my shins hurt. They hurt a lot. Actually, everything hurts. And for that reason, I get to my apartment forty five minutes later, press the elevator button with my knuckle, and wait for a seemingly endless minute. I get off at my floor, get to my door, open it, close it, and get straight into the shower. Once I get out, I smell of coconuts and vanilla, my hair is dripping and I reach for my fluffy black towel. I head back to my room put on the most comfortable sleeping attire: a lace ensemble and over it, a pink silk robe.

I then sit at my desk to check my class schedule. I only have four lectures this week, three of them on Tuesday and one on Wednesday morning, so not a very busy week, my dad’s sending me money on Monday and I need to run a few errands on Wednesday. I put on some music, and get up. Time to clean up, because clean space means clean mind and I need to cleanse my mind of some sinful thoughts. And after cleaning my room, I get under the covers and get some sleep, it is in fact much needed. Hopefully this nearly empty schedule will allow me to study and maybe even relax.