Break Me

16

A thick fog enveloped my mind. At first, everything felt distant, as if I was trapped in a dream I couldn't wake up from. My eyelids were so heavy, like they had been glued shut, but I forced them open slowly. When I did, a bright, blinding light pierced the fog, stabbing through the thin veil of consciousness I was barely holding onto.
I winced and squinted, trying to adjust to the harsh light. But the more I tried to focus, the more it seemed to intensify. It hurt to see, to think, to breathe. Nothing made sense.
Where am I?
The question echoed in my mind, weak and slithering like a snake through the confusion, but no answers came. There was only disorientation, a strange feeling of weightlessness combined with a terrifying sense of paralysis. I couldn't move. I tried to raise my arm—at least, I thought I did—but nothing happened. Panic started to spread in my chest like wildfire, threatening to choke me.
I looked down, trying to make sense of what was going on, and that's when I saw it: wires and tubes. Dozens of them, snaking out of my body like invasive vines clinging to me. IV lines, oxygen tubes, machines beeping all around me. I wanted to scream, but when I tried, only a ragged croak escaped my throat.
What the hell?
I tried to pull at the IV in my arm, but a sharp pain shot through me, stopping me in my tracks. My heart raced, matching the insistent beeping from one of the machines hooked up to me.
I was trapped. Trapped in this strange room, trapped in my body, and trapped in a fear so intense I couldn't breathe. The sterile smell of antiseptic hit me hard, making my stomach churn. I fought against the restraints that held me down, against the helplessness weighing on me.
Then, I heard it—a voice calling my name.
"Trevor! No!"
It was urgent, filled with panic. I knew that voice. I knew it, but my mind was too foggy, too slow to connect the dots. It was like trying to piece together a puzzle underwater.
"Trevor!" The voice was closer now, more frantic, more desperate. "Please, you need to calm down!"
I looked around, but my vision was blurry, my surroundings a swirl of sterile white and shadowed figures. Then, all at once, the room flooded with movement—doctors and nurses rushing toward me. Their faces were masks of concern and urgency. I felt hands on me, gripping my arms—firm but trying to be gentle. I tried to fight, but it was no use.
"Trevor, we need you to relax," a nurse said, her voice soft but edged with authority. "We're going to take care of you. Just hold still."
Hold still? How could I hold still when I didn't even know what was happening? My chest tightened, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The beeping grew louder, each pulse syncing with the frantic thump of my heart. I tried to push them away, tried to break free of the tubes and wires.
I didn't hear the rest. I was too busy fighting against the restraints, trying to tear myself free from the machines, the tubes, the invasive feeling of being hooked up to something that controlled me. I didn't want to be here. I couldn't be here.
A doctor stepped in, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Trevor, you're safe, but you need to calm down. We're going to remove you from the ventilator. You can't keep fighting like this."
Ventilator? I was on a ventilator? The panic surged again, my breathing becoming more erratic. They were holding me down, talking about sedation, and I couldn't stop the wave of terror that crashed over me.
No, no! Don't sedate me! I need to know what's happening!
The doctor's voice was calm, steady, but firm. "Focus on my voice, Trevor. We're going to remove the ventilator now. You'll be okay, but you need to breathe slowly."
Breathe slowly? That was impossible. My breath came in shallow gasps, my chest heaving with the effort. They were going to take me off the ventilator, and what if I couldn't breathe on my own? What if I suffocated right here, right now?
"On three," the doctor instructed. "One... two... three."
Before I could even process the countdown, hands were on my face, removing the ventilator tube. I gasped, the sudden rush of air filling my lungs. It was a strange sensation, like my body didn't quite remember how to breathe on its own. But I forced myself to focus, to inhale and exhale, slow and steady, even as panic threatened to choke me.
"Breathe, Trevor," the doctor urged. "Just breathe."
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the simple act of breathing. In and out. In and out. Slowly, the panic ebbed, though it didn't disappear entirely. As the fog in my mind began to clear, something clicked.
Ellie.
The thought hit me like a truck, jolting me back to reality. I needed Ellie. I needed to know she was okay. I needed her here, with me, holding my hand, grounding me.
"Ellie?" I croaked, my voice hoarse and barely recognizable. "I need Ellie!"
But instead of the soft voice I was desperate for, a different one broke through the haze.
"Trevor?"
I turned my head toward the sound, and in an instant, everything sharpened into focus. There, standing in the doorway, was Ellie. Her face was pale, drawn, and her eyes wide with fear and something else—something deeper, more painful.
"Ellie..." I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion. The sight of her hit me like a punch to the gut.
She rushed forward, her hands trembling, her voice shaking. "Trevor, oh my God... You're awake!" She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing my arm, as if she wasn't sure I was real.
But I was real. This was real. And the shame that came crashing down on me was like a tidal wave. How could I have put her through this? How could I have been so reckless, so thoughtless? I had hurt her—again.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice small and broken, barely able to mask the embarrassment and confusion gnawing at me. "How did I get here?"
Ellie's eyes filled with tears, and she bit her lip, trying to hold them back. "You overdosed," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "You've been in a coma for six days."
Overdosed? The word hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. It didn't make sense. It couldn't make sense. But as the pieces slowly fell into place, I felt the crushing weight of reality bear down on me.
Six days. I had been unconscious for six days. I stared at her, my heart aching with guilt. How could I have done this to her, to us?
"I'm so sorry," I whispered, my throat tight with shame.
Ellie shook her head, wiping away the tears that fell freely now. "What matters is that you're alive."
But it didn't feel like enough. Nothing about this felt okay. I could see the pain etched into every line of her face, the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her hands shook as she reached for me. I had done that. I had put her through hell. Again.
"I need you," I whispered, squeezing her hand. My voice was raw, thick with emotion. "I can't do this without you."
She held my hand tightly, her eyes filled with determination despite the pain. "I'm not leaving you."
I felt a lump rise in my throat, my heart swelling with a strange mix of hope and despair. I didn't deserve her. Not after everything. But I needed her. More than I could ever put into words.
The door creaked open again, and Daniel stepped into the room. His face was ashen, his expression a mixture of relief and worry. When his eyes met mine, something softened in his posture, though I could still see the concern lingering.
"Trev," Daniel said quietly, his voice steady but strained. "You scared the hell out of us."
"I didn't mean to," I replied, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Daniel crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. He stopped at the foot of my hospital bed, his hands in his pockets, eyes locked on me. His usually calm demeanor was strained, his jaw tight as if he was fighting to keep control of something simmering beneath the surface.
"I know you didn't mean to," he said, his voice steady but laced with tension. "But this isn't just about meaning well, Trevor. You almost died."
His words cut deep, sharp and brutal in their honesty. I flinched, feeling the weight of what I'd done settle like lead in my chest. I had almost died. If the police hadn't found me... I didn't even want to finish the thought.
Ellie, still clutching my hand, glanced at Daniel, her lips pressed together tightly. I could tell she was trying to hold it together, trying to be strong for me, but the cracks were showing. I had put her through this—again—and the guilt gnawed at me, relentless.
"I know," I whispered, my throat tight. "I'm sorry."
Daniel's eyes softened for a moment, but only a moment. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking at me with a mix of frustration and concern. "We've been down this road before, Trev. You keep saying you're sorry, but nothing changes. And this time... this time, it almost cost you your life."
His words hung in the air, heavy with a truth I didn't want to face. He was right. I had been here before—caught in this vicious cycle of promises to do better, only to fall back into old patterns. It had almost killed me, and worse, it had almost destroyed the people I cared about.
Ellie's hand tightened around mine. I turned to her, feeling my chest constrict with emotion. I didn't deserve her kindness, her love, but I needed her to understand that I wanted to change, that I needed to change.
"I can't lose you, Ellie," I whispered, my voice thick with desperation. "I'll do whatever it takes. Rehab, therapy, whatever. Just... please don't give up on me."
Ellie's eyes filled with tears again, but this time there was something more—something like hope, fragile and flickering like a candle in the wind. She wiped her cheeks and nodded, her voice soft but determined. "I'm not giving up on you, Trevor. But you have to fight. You have to want this."
"I do," I promised, my voice breaking. "I want this. I want us."
For a long moment, the room was silent except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor. Daniel crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching me with a guarded expression. I knew I had a long way to go before I earned his trust back—if I ever could—but the fact that he was here at all meant something. It meant that maybe, just maybe, I still had a chance.
"You're going to rehab again, right?" Daniel asked, his tone more of a statement than a question.
I nodded, though the word itself felt foreign, heavy with all the weight and meaning it carried.
"Yeah," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Daniel's gaze softened just a fraction, but there was still an edge to his voice. "This isn't just about going through the motions, Trevor. You need to take this seriously. If you don't—" He paused, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting my eyes again. "If you don't, you won't get another chance."
I nodded, swallowing hard. The severity of the situation wasn't lost on me. I knew what was at stake. My life. My relationship with Ellie. The fragile hope that maybe I could claw my way out of this darkness and be the man she needed me to be.
"I'll take it seriously," I said, my voice trembling. "I swear."
Ellie's hand squeezed mine again, and for the first time since I woke up, I felt a glimmer of something—hope, maybe. It was faint, almost drowned out by the crushing weight of guilt and shame, but it was there. And as long as it was there, I had something to hold onto.
"I love you," I whispered to Ellie, my voice cracking. "I'm so sorry I put you through this."
She shook her head, her eyes shining with tears. "I love you too, Trevor."
Her words hit me harder than anything else. The thought of Ellie walking away, of losing her because of my own mistakes—it was unbearable. I had to make things right. I had to.
Just as the silence between us grew heavier, the door opened again, and a nurse stepped in, her face kind but professional.
"Trevor," she said gently. "We need to run a few more tests and monitor you for a bit longer. I'm afraid your visitors will have to step out for now."
Ellie looked reluctant to leave, her hand still holding mine, but Daniel nodded and stepped forward. "We'll be right outside," he said, his voice softer now.
I nodded, watching as they both turned to leave. Ellie gave me one last look over her shoulder, her eyes filled with so much emotion that it nearly broke me. But I couldn't let it break me. Not this time.
As the door clicked shut behind them, I closed my eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. The room felt colder, emptier without them, but in that emptiness, I found something else—resolve.
This was my last chance. If I didn't take it, if I didn't do everything in my power to fix the damage I'd caused, I would lose everything. Ellie. Daniel. My life. And that wasn't a risk I was willing to take anymore.
The road ahead was long, uncertain, and terrifying. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I could find my way back.