Survive This and Everything will be Fine

Coming out story that gets interrupted by the zombie apocalypse. We had to pick a reoccurring theme or word. Clearly, I chose "fine".

I was not fine. I was 15 minutes early to the diner. My doctor said that I could control my anxiety with breathing exercises but what do people who don’t have anxiety disorders know about dealing with them? But I persevered as I tried to slow my heavy breathing. My arms pricked with needles as the blood left them to bring oxygen to more useful parts of me that I would need ready; in case I ended up choosing the flight option. Fighting seemed so terrifying. And by fighting, I mean coming out to my family. Well, more accurately would be coming out to my parents because I had already told my brother. I sat for 12 minutes of anxious agony while my heart leapt every time the door chimed with a false positive. When they eventually arrived I waved them over with a poorly acted everything-is-fine smile. My anxiety, that had by now grown exponentially, manifested itself as an inner monologue and was offering me (Quite unbidden) its opinion on the situation. 
Look at how happy they are to see you. See how pleased they are that you initiated this family gathering. They think that you missed them and not that you have news that will make their lives more difficult than your continued existence already offers. What a wonderful little daughter you are.
They’re not homophobic, it’ll be fine. They’re open minded individuals. We have a good relationship. Everything will be fine. 
Aw, take a look at you. You’re an optimist now then? Well how nice for you. Everything will definitely be okay then. Everything you fear will never come to fruition because YOU think everything is fine.
Shut. The f**k. Up.
I AM you, you a*****e.
No, you’re a dick and I’m f*****g done with you. EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE.
Whatever you say dearest. They’re talking to you, you better start pretending you’re listening and not trying to stifle a mental breakdown. 
I broke from my revere and attempted to follow the conversation. I had nearly caught the train of thought when what sounded like human hitting glass pulled our attention to the front of the restaurant. The cause of the sound was just what it seemed; there was a woman bashing on the pane of glass next to the entrance. Everyone in the restaurant, patrons and employees alike, had stopped whatever they had been doing and stared as the woman threw herself repeatedly against the glass. I occurred to me that she wasn't so much trying to smash the glass rather than just trying to get through it. Gradually people began to nervously titter and as it crescendo’d my anxiety accompanied it. 
ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod
I heard a muffled voice come from my brother beside me as he laid his hand on my shoulder.
“What?” The heart beat in my ears was making it hard to hear.
“You’re talking to yourself.”
I became aware of the fact that I had been mumbling, “It’ll be fine,” over and over.
Our attention was again grabbed by the woman, whose battering had increased in both frequency and strength. Just as we heard the window crack and a jagged spider web appear on the pane, a van haphazardly pulled into the parking lot and stopped abruptly as two men in hazmat suits rushed out and toward the woman. Sensing the movement behind her she ceased her battering and ran at the men. She got halfway toward them when a shot rang out and she dropped heavily to the ground, blood flowering from where her head hit the pavement. It was at this point that the restaurant came alive. People began screaming and running toward the exit and the sound of shattering glass was heard as a chair went through a window. My family and I sat in our booth. Silent and still; me holding my brother’s hand and my father holding my mother’s. Underneath the screaming, there began a noise: deep and hungry sounding. I can’t tell you how to know the difference between a scream of panic and a scream of pain but when you hear them next to each other you can tell. Then, added to the cacophony of screaming coming from outside, was a wet, angry, chewing sound. We were alone in the restaurant now. 
Oh s**t. Oh f**k. F**k f**k f**k f**k. Okay b***h, actually listen to me for once and everything WILL be fine. Now, move.
I pushed my brother out of the booth and grabbed his and my Dad’s hands and pulled them toward the kitchen. All four of us stumbled toward the kitchen and I began frantically looking for the cleaver. My family followed suit. I found the cleaver, my dad settled on a frying pan, my mother a rolling pin, and my brother a meat tenderizer (How appropriate). I barred the back door and then herded my family back into the front. 
“Ready?” I whispered. Everything was quiet now except for the shuffling of feet. There were no more screams.
At their nods, I yelled and the things outside growled. I don’t remember what happened next but I do know that it ended with the four of us standing there, panting and covered with blood. Lying before us were 23 bodies that were hungry no more. It seemed a good a time as any.
“Mom, Dad, I’m queer.”
“Okay.”
The sound of approaching helicopters filled the pregnant silence and an amplified voice instructed any survivors to make their way to the rooftop.
Everything was fine.

Author's Note

This is for a creative writing assignment, any constructive criticism would be appreciated.