In Riptides

11 | nightmare

L I A

I didn't think Matt's level of jealousy could peak any higher than it did on New Year's Eve.

As he leads me through the festival grounds with a wide, fast stride I'm struggling to keep up with, I think about that night again. One week to the day, when he had me in that bathtub. When we both heard Nate through the door.

A glimpse of light in that pit of hell, he was calling my name and I wanted to yell back. I wanted him to break down the door and pull Matt off me. I wanted to be heard.

Matt had told me to shut up, his fingers pressed to my throat as he listened close. Listened to the desperation in Nate's voice, his knocks, his footsteps. I think it excited him; hearing Nate, knowing he was only separated by a slab of wood. Helpless. I think it made him feel superior in all his jealousy, like he had won me

And again, I was paralyzed, and I let him leave just like I let Carter leave. I let Matt win.

His hand is locked on mine, fusing me to him, blood on his knuckles. I don't know if it's his blood or Nate's. I can't get my thoughts in order, they're stumbling with my steps, racing with my heart. Can't catch my breath, can't find my balance. I register the green of the porta johns in the surrounding blur and I try to slow down, my feet skidding on the grass.

"Matt," I squeak, so soft, so weak, tugging his hand. "Matt."

"What??" he snaps hard, spinning around to a stop. His face is blemished with spots of drying blood and discolored patches, his eye already swelling.

"Can I—Can I just use the bathroom before we leave?" I stutter.

He looks to the sky in annoyance before he starts walking again. "You can wait."

I try to plant my feet, pulling back. "Please, I'll only be two minutes. I really need to go. I'm sorry."

He stops and glares at me with a tight jaw, his fingers finally loosening. "Two minutes."

I pace to the rows of porta johns so fast my legs feel like they're going to give way. I can do this. I can get myself together in two minutes.

My lungs overwork as flashes of Nate on the ground screech into my head, Matt hitting him, kicking him. Nate fighting back with his broken arm. So determined. Unstoppable. Fighting for me. He would do anything for me, and I left him on the ground. How could I leave him on the ground?

Not paying attention, not looking where I'm going, I suddenly collide with a body and stagger back. I've just walked straight into a girl and knocked the blue slushie she was holding all over the front of her shirt. 

"Oh my god." I watch her watching it drip. "Crap, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Hey, no worries, I needed to cool off anyway." She laughs.

I feel it all cumulating, the tears breaking the floodgates, igniting a surge of hyperventilation I can't stuff down anymore. "I'm sorry."

I'm so tired of saying sorry.

I rest my hands on my knees, trying to remember when Nate talked me through a panic attack in a surf lesson, what I'm supposed to do, feeling the little control I have slipping through the cracks in my body. The girl's hands are on my shoulders, and I think she's trying to calm me down. I think it might be working.

"It's okay. It's all good," she hums, light, lifting my eyes to her. "Whoa. Angel face," she remarks, looking at me in awe.

My vision has cleared enough for me to notice that her pupils are dilated like eclipsed moons, so much so that I can't even tell what color her eyes are. I'm pretty sure she must be on some sort of drug. I take her in as my lungs ease. She looks a little familiar, but I can't place her.