Subdue-X

A Flooded History

“They’re dropping like mayflies—” the voice on the speakerphone droned, indifferent, as Christian rubbed his eyes, leaning heavily on his desk. His hand shook as he hung up, and without warning, he whipped the phone across the living room. The sound it made as it hit the wall was sharp, cutting through the oppressive silence. I flinched.

Christian collapsed backward onto the velvet couch, his movements heavy and exhausted, like he was being weighed down by something unseen. I turned my head away, the sight of him unbearable, and caught my reflection in the window. The sky outside was a muted gray, a few clouds drifting lazily as if time itself had slowed. The evening felt… wrong, like the air had thinned, and everything was just waiting for the inevitable collapse.

The silence that filled the room was thick and uncomfortable, trickling through the cracks of my mind like a slow, steady leak. It had been days—days without sleep, without freedom. The walls of this room had become my cage, holding me in with every locked door, every barrier I couldn’t break. Christian said it was for my safety, but all I felt was suffocated. I’d been trapped here, every second stretching out painfully slow, my mind fraying at the edges with the lack of sleep and the weight of isolation.

If I stayed perfectly still, didn’t move, didn’t breathe too loudly, everything would stay intact. It had to. The world felt like it was made of brittle paper, fragile and crumbling, and one wrong move would tear it apart. But this couldn’t go on. I couldn’t stay in this room another minute, not with the way the walls seemed to pulse, like they were closing in on me. The ceiling felt like it was bowing under the pressure. I needed to get out. I had to.

The glass bedroom door creaked open, and I heard Christian’s bare feet drag across the floor. I dared a glance in his direction. He looked terrible. His shirt was baggy, hanging off him in defeat, and his Nike shorts looked out of place on his usually controlled frame. His eyes were bloodshot, swollen from rubbing them raw. His footsteps seemed to press too hard into the floor, and I watched, horrified, as the ground beneath him seemed to give way, bending inward, like he was walking on a trampoline, sinking deeper with every step.

“Chris—” I hissed under my breath, eyes wide, terrified to even shift in my seat. The floor wasn’t right. Nothing was right.

I had to think. There had to be a way out. My eyes darted toward the window—always locked, reinforced. But I’d seen him leave the glass door unlocked earlier. It was my only shot. If I could just get there, if I could distract him long enough…

“Stay still,” I whispered again, trying not to let the panic show, but I could feel it bubbling up, choking me.

His eyes flickered open a bit more, confusion crossing his face. “Why?” His voice trembled, though he didn’t raise it. Even the sound of it made the air feel sharp, like it was slicing into me. I winced, slapping a hand over my ear. Too loud. Everything was too loud.

He looked around the room, his head turning slowly as if seeing it for the first time, shaking his head like he was trying to shake off the haze. My foot tapped the carpet—just the tiniest movement—and I watched in horror as ripples spread out from where it touched, like I’d dropped a stone into a pond.

“I need to get out,” I thought, my mind racing as I tried to keep still. The sleepless days were gnawing at me, turning my thoughts into fragments, but the one constant was the overwhelming need to escape. The plan formed in bits and pieces, as disjointed as everything else felt, but I held onto it. If I could just make it to the door, if I could get away from Christian’s constant watch, maybe I could breathe again. Maybe I could sleep.

“It’s just the medication I gave you,” Christian whispered, his voice dragging like he was half asleep. His eyes were barely open. “When was the last time you slept?”