When I wake, my body remembers everything before I do. I wince as cold waves pass over my stomach, flipping it inside out. My eyelids are heavy and puffy, and when I am finally able to keep them open, it all hits me at once. I find myself bundling over to stop the contents of my stomach from pouring out at the thought. I know the memories I have of it are mine, and I know it was me who said the speech, but it doesn't feel like it was me at all. I can only remember what happened as if it was shot like an aerial photograph. I can see myself from the outside, like I'm watching myself from above. I watch myself walk up to the podium, I watch myself splay my hair back with my fingers. I replay myself pausing, taking a breath, and muttering 'no.' I replay her reaction, generations of shame pressed tightly into her scowl. I replay his uneasy smile, and the blinding camera flashes. A part of me believes it never happened, because I feel so distant to the boy on the makeshift stage. I don't remember how it felt, or the way the words left my mouth, I don't remember existing. Not at that moment.
When I fall back into my body I realise my hands are sweaty, and run them along my blankets to dry. I am in my bedroom. Yellow sunlight is pouring through the cracks of the curtains. My body is spun in a web of blankets. I go to move my legs but they feel fuzzy and numb. I am able to notice all of this, but it's weird because what I see and do seem to be out of place. My body is experiencing it, but I don't feel it. Like I'm a time traveler and everything I witness is happening in the past. There is a disconnect. I don't know what is happening, but everything is falling away from me and tumbling out of control. A panic rises in my throat, and I feel it take over my body. My veins are flowing with caution, and my limbs feel heavy. Something really bad is going to happen.
I pull my legs up to my chest and muster the strength to shift my body towards the corner of my walls. It feels a little safer, even if I can feel my heartbeat pulsing against my legs. I take a large gasp of air, and wrap the remainder or the blanket around my knees. From here I have a full view of the bedroom. The soft patches of light grasp my attention, and I watch as they dance around my room. They fall in long lines on my desk and project outward from the shattered snow globe. I trace them across my dresser and down to my school bag. A math textbook and a notebook are strewn on the floor. I know these items, I know they are mine, but I have the feeling I am in someone else's room.
I sink back into my cocoon just as my phone screen catches my eye from the other side of the bed. I try to make out the flashing notification and my stomach drops when I see the missed call symbol. I can only just read the letters 'Mom,' as I slowly reach to pick it up, tumbling towards it in the process. Scrolling down the lock screen, there are 100+ Instagram notifications, some emails, and multiple text messages. Some from people I recognise, others from people I barely remember.
A deep guilt flows through my body, a sharp chill running down my spine. I can assume it's what the entire world shattering across your shoulders feels like. I place the phone down, fall backwards, and curl up beneath the blankets. The dark is heavy and makes it harder to breathe. But it is quiet and empty, and I am able to pretend none of it happened just long enough to fall back asleep.
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"Wille?" I hear a familiar voice echo, shaking me from my sleep. I rub my eyes and instinctively ask who it is, the sound of my own voice startling me, like I forgot I could speak.
"Felice" she replies shakily.
There's a pause filled with the chirping of birds outside. "Can I come in?"
I take a breath. "Okay."
She walks in, immediately closing the door quietly behind her. I am facing the wall, and so I shuffle in my blankets to try and turn around, but then decide having eyes on me seems like too much, so I stay where I am. I feel her weight shift on the mattress.
YOU ARE READING
This is Not About Us
RomanceA continuation of Young Royals s2. Deals with the aftermath of Prince Wilhelm's speech and the the role the queer community plays in his story. TW for depiction of Depersonalisation/Generalised Anxiety Disorder