Byler Oneshots

He is not into me (Part 35)

Will:-

Blur, was all I could feel.

Jokes aside, I didn't believe them. No, I couldn't believe them. Mike was with me last night. We made plans. We were supposed to go to the beach today. He promised he'd come and pick me up in the morning. He promised he'd text me!

Text me.

My phone.

Mike.

I stumbled backward before they could say anything else and rushed to my room. My heart pounded in my chest as I hurried to my bedside table, my hands trembling as I snatched up my phone.

Mike. Mike. Mike.

I dialed his number.

No answer.

I called again.

Still, nothing.

And again. And again. My breathing became more frantic with each call.

But nothing.

Until, slowly, the realization began to creep in like a cold, sinking weight in my chest.

Mike is not okay.

Mike is not here.

Mike wouldn't answer because...he can't.

The thought hit me like a brick wall, and suddenly, I felt like I was no longer in my room. My body moved without me; I sank down onto the floor, my back pressed against the bed, but it was like I wasn't even there.

Everything felt distant—like I was watching my life from behind a foggy window. The sounds around me faded, becoming muted. My breath caught in my throat, and my chest tightened, but I was too numb to cry, too frozen to scream.

I just sat there, staring blankly at the wall, my eyes fixated on nothing. It was like I had been thrown into another dimension, where time didn't exist. My mind couldn't process what I knew was true.

Then, without realizing it, the tears started falling—slow, silent. They rolled down my cheeks, one after the other, dripping onto my hands.

But I didn't notice.

I didn't even feel the sting of them. All I could feel was the emptiness expanding inside me, hollowing out every thought, every sense.

And the only word that echoed in the silence of my mind was Mike.

*********

I don't know how much time passed when I heard my door creak open. I didn't move, didn't lift my eyes from the spot near my chair; to be honest, I couldn't.

"Honey!" It was Mom's voice. She sat beside me, her presence a gentle comfort despite the chaos. She wasn't crying anymore, and I wasn't either.

"He's in the hospital now," she said. The words cut through me like a knife. My heart raced so fast I felt like it might burst. "He's in the intensive care unit," she continued.

I stared at her, the shock hitting me like a wave. Before she even spoke, my mind had already spiraled into every possible worst-case scenario. My brain tortured me with the thought that he was gone, that he was no longer with us. The fear gnawed at me, louder and louder.

Then, when she finally said it—hospital—it didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense. My chest tightened, and I couldn't stop myself from asking, "He's in the hospital? He's not...?"

Mom's eyes widened as she quickly shook her head, understanding my fear. "No, Will. No, he's alive," she said, her voice soft but firm, trying to ground me. "He's alive."