This is Not About Us

Comedown

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.