Friends With Time ⌛ (Tyler Galpin x Reader)

Day 77

Day 77:

A scream in bubbles tears itself from your throat as white-hot pain rips through your side, clouds of billowing blood gushing up as you plunge down, barely holding on to the jutting barnacles that ripped open your side.

Don't let go, you think hazily, don't let-

A swimming shadow crosses in your vision. Shark.

The blood.

You fumble at your belt with gasping breaths, yanking off all the weights as you kick up, up, ignoring how it feels like your side is tearing in half.

You have to get out before the sharks come, but you can't just swim up. You'd get the bends. You have to resurface safely. Where were you supposed to wait to resurface? For how long? Everything is pale and nightmarish as you press forward, yelling soundless bubbles up to the surface, shuddering in the black, praying you're going in the right direction.

One... two... you count, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you see spots when you open them, three... four...

There are more sharks now. You can't see them, but their whip-thin tails snap at the edge of your vision.

You struggle in a gasp, the water pressing at your mouth. Your heart slams against your chest.

Almost to the surface, you think, gasping in a breath and kicking up, higher and higher until the water has sunlight in it again and you can see it glinting off the eyes of the sharks that snap and swim closer up to you, the blood from your side surrounding you in a cloud of red.

You have to get the surface. They're too close, it won't matter if you resurface too quickly if you can't resurface at all. You slash your arm through the water, gasping in breaths that set your side on fire, letting out a cry of bubbles as you push towards the deck.

The wound will depressurize if you can get out of the water. You'll bleed out if you can't stitch it up. The first aid kit is in the living room, you can figure it out-

You shout as something brushes under your arm, thrashing away as the swarm of circling sharks presses closer and-

Your fist grips the handle of the deck, and you pull yourself up on the deck, gasping in the air. You lay there, struggling to breathe on the wooden deck.

Your head feels woozy, stuffed full of fabric, the world sparking in different colors as you fumble with shaking fingers to unstrap all your equipment, suppressing a shriek as the oxygen tank rolls over the cuts on your leg.

You press your forearms forward, dragging your body across the deck, stumbling down the stairs, into the living room.

There's a blood-red trail across the white carpet, and for a moment, all your dazed head can think is that it's going to be hard to clean that up later. Why are you down here, anyway?

The world feels tinged with red, hazy and cold. Like the ice bath, you think, and your lips tremble with bitter laughter. You'll die here, instead.

The world suddenly snaps back into reality, and you scream, hurling yourself forward and grabbing the first aid kit. The components blur inside your vision.

"I'm going to pass out," you mumble to no one, breath heaving faster and faster in a panic as you squeeze your eyes shut and move towards the submarine door. The monster will keep you awake. He's sewn himself up before, he told you, he'll know how to tell you how to fix it.

You manage to get the door open with a ragged, choking gasp, pushing yourself forward as you tumble down the stairs. A tinny, bright sound shrieks in your ears. There's a thump as you land at the bottom.