Submerge

H A B I T

The water scalded my skin, steam rising around me as I stood under the showerhead. My fingers rubbed my arms in rhythmic, desperate scrubbing, each stroke growing more frantic. I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, letting the tears blend with the water streaming down my face.

Morning light seeped through the bathroom window, casting soft shadows on the walls. I had woken up in a cold sweat again, heart pounding from the nightmares that haunted my sleep. The water provided a brief escape, a few minutes of feeling like I could wash away the fear and filth that clung to me. I stayed until the water turned cold, shivering as I finally stepped out, skin red and raw from my relentless scrubbing.

The school day was a blur. Whispers followed me down the hallways, sympathetic looks from classmates who knew something was wrong but didn't dare ask. My mind wandered, unable to focus on anything but the memory I was trying so hard to erase. By the time I got home, the anxiety had built up to an unbearable level. I threw my backpack to the floor and headed straight to the bathroom, tearing off my clothes and turning the water on as hot as it would go.

I stepped into the shower for the second time that day. I stood under the spray, trying to drown out the noise in my head, hoping the water would somehow wash away the fear that had taken root deep inside me.

Night fell, and with it came the darkest thoughts. I felt the panic rising, the bile burning in my throat. The only solution was another shower. The third of the day. I crept to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the light, and turned the water on again. The familiar ritual of scrubbing and crying, trying to cleanse myself of something that water couldn't touch.

After what felt like an eternity, I stepped out, my skin numb and wrinkled from the heat. I wrapped a towel around myself and sat on the edge of my bed, my damp hair sticking to my forehead. My body shook with silent sobs, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

Despite everything, I still found myself reaching out to Marco for drugs. It was easier than facing the unbearable weight of reality. The numbing escape was the only thing that seemed to offer any respite from the constant ache inside me. But there was always a price to pay.

One evening, I met Marco behind the old warehouse. It was our usual spot, far enough from prying eyes but close enough to get away quickly if needed. Marco was already there, leaning against his car with a cigarette in hand. The moment he saw me, he smirked and tossed the cigarette aside.

"Hey, Mason. Looking for a little something to take the edge off?" he asked, his tone dripping with insinuation.

I nodded, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah. You got what I need?"

Marco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small baggie of pills. "Of course. But you know the deal."

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against my arm in a way that made my skin crawl. I forced myself to stay still, to not react, but my heart pounded in my chest.

Marco's touch lingered, his fingers tracing a path down my arm. "You know, Mason, you're looking a little tense. Maybe I can help you relax."

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. "Just give me the stuff, Marco."

He chuckled, slipping the baggie into my hand. "Sure, sure. But first, a little taste." His hand moved to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His lips met mine, the kiss forceful and invasive. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened.

"That's it, just relax," Marco whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

I did as I was told, letting my mind go blank, focusing only on the promise of escape the drugs would bring. When he finally pulled away, he gave me a satisfied smirk and patted my cheek.