Submerge

N O V O

Alone in my room at Nathan's apartment, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the small pill in my hand – the supposed key to temporary relief from the pain. The grief was a constant companion, and I was desperate for even a brief respite. With a deep breath that felt more like a sigh of resignation, I swallowed the pill, chasing it with a gulp of water from the glass on my nightstand.

The wait was agonizing. I sat there, watching the clock, half-expecting something monumental to happen. 

And then it began. A warm sensation started to spread through my body, a tingling that seemed to radiate from within. It was like a light had been turned on in a room that had been dark for too long.

Suddenly, the walls of my room seemed less confining, the air less oppressive. I felt a surge of energy, an inexplicable joy that bubbled up from nowhere.

The grief that had been a weight on my chest felt lighter, as if it had been pushed to the background.

I stood up, my movements feeling fluid and free. There was a newfound appreciation for the little things – the way the fabric of my shirt felt against my skin, the vibrant colors of a poster on the wall, the distant sound of a car passing by outside. 

Everything was heightened, more intense.

Music from Liam's room filtered through the walls, and it sounded different, somehow richer and more profound. I found myself singing along and tapping my foot to the rhythm, a sense of joy bubbling up inside me. 

The weight of guilt and grief began to lift, replaced by a feeling of lightness and a connection to the world around me that I hadn't felt in so long.

After a while, Liam knocked on my door, his voice laced with concern. "Mason, you okay in there?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, trying to sound normal, but my voice was too bright, too cheery.

Liam opened the door, peering in with a puzzled look. "You sure? You seem... bubbly."

I sat up, attempting to appear casual. "Just enjoying the music," I said with a laugh that sounded forced even to my own ears.

Liam didn't look convinced. He stepped into the room, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "Mason, if there's something going on, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

I nodded, trying to maintain the façade. "I know, Liam. I'm just... trying to have a good night, that's all."

Liam watched me for a moment longer, his expression a mix of suspicion and worry. "Alright, man. Just... take care of yourself, okay?"

He left, closing the door behind him, but I could tell he was still worried. The concern in his eyes was evident, and I felt a twinge of guilt for causing him more stress.

--

The morning light filtering through the blinds felt harsh and unwelcome.

I awoke with a start, my head pounding and my mouth dry. The afterglow of last night's euphoria had vanished, leaving me feeling hollow and disoriented. The ecstasy, which had seemed like a temporary solution, had turned on me.

The initial rush of happiness, the sense of connection to the music and the world around me, now felt like distant memories, replaced by a profound sense of emptiness.

Pulling myself out of bed, I shuffled to the bathroom. The face that greeted me in the mirror was a pale, haunted reflection of my former self. Dark circles under my eyes, skin pallid and lifeless – I hardly recognized myself. 

The apartment was quiet, Nathan and Liam probably already up and about their day. The thought of facing them, of pretending everything was normal, felt overwhelming. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to wash away the traces of my poor decision, but the water did nothing to erase the gnawing anxiety and the deepening sense of despair.

I made my way to the kitchen, hoping to find it empty, but Nathan was there, nursing a cup of coffee. He looked up as I entered, his expression shifting from surprise to concern.

"Mason, you okay? You look... rough," he said, his voice laced with worry.

I forced a weak smile, "Just didn't sleep well," I lied, avoiding his gaze.

Nathan studied me for a moment, "If there's something going on, Mason, you can tell me. You know that, right?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The concern in Nathan's eyes was a stark reminder of the responsibility I had towards him, the unspoken promise to try and get better.

"I'm fine, Nathan. Really," I managed to say, even though every word felt like a betrayal of his trust.

Nathan didn't seem entirely convinced, but he didn't push further. "Alright, if you say so. Just remember, I'm here if you need to talk."

I mumbled my thanks and grabbed a piece of toast, not really hungry but needing to do something to appear normal.

--

It was one of those nights when the grief felt like it would swallow me whole, the memories of Emma and the guilt of her loss crashing down like relentless waves. I wandered the streets, each step heavy with a mix of anger and sadness. I needed to feel something, anything that would break through the numbness that had taken root in my soul.

The streets were filled with people, the usual nightlife buzzing with energy. I found myself drawn to a crowded area near a bar where people gathered to drink and let off steam. It was the kind of place where tempers flared and fights were almost a nightly occurrence.

A group of guys stood nearby, laughing and talking loudly. They were obviously drunk, their words slurred and their movements erratic. As I walked past them, one of them bumped into me, sending me stumbling.

"Hey, watch it!" I snapped, my frustration boiling over.

The guy turned, his expression a mix of anger and surprise. "What'd you say?" he growled, his friends now turning their attention to me.

I could have walked away, but something in me didn't want to. I wanted to provoke them, to push them to the edge. Maybe it was the anger over Emma's death, maybe it was the guilt, or maybe it was just a need to feel pain that matched what was inside me.

"You heard me," I said, my voice dripping with defiance. "Watch where you're going."

The guy's friends laughed, egging him on. He stepped closer, his breath reeking of alcohol. "You got a problem, kid?"

"Yeah," I replied, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. "I have a problem with idiots who don't know how to walk straight."

That was all it took. The guy lunged at me, and I didn't resist. His fist connected with my jaw, the impact sending me crashing to the ground. Pain exploded across my face, but I didn't care. I welcomed it, embraced it, as if it was some sort of twisted absolution.

The next few moments were a blur of fists and kicks, my body a canvas for their rage. Pain shot through me, but it felt distant, like I was watching it happen to someone else. I knew I was outnumbered, knew I was going to lose, but that was the point. I wanted to be beaten, to have something external that matched the internal pain I carried every day.

As consciousness slipped away, I felt a sense of relief. At least now, I didn't have to feel anything. But before the darkness took over completely, I heard a voice, faint and distant, calling for help. A shadowy figure appeared, kneeling beside me, their words a blur.