Expulsion gave Liam Barrett a dangerous choice. Needing to transfer for his final year, he'd known immediately where to go. It was a distantly familiar place that'd taken everything from him; had once ruined him so absolutely and twisted his persona...
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Bordering on a state of sleep and awareness, young Liam wavered between vague twitches of his fingers and suspension in nothingness. The static stretched inside his skull, his head feeling like cotton. He couldn't feel the rest of his body. Everything was dark but noises sometimes floated to the surface, muffled murmurs in a made-up sounding language.
ㅤHe fell back into sleep again.
ㅤAfter an unknown stretch of time, he woke up firmer, aware of his arms and hands. Unlike his light cloudy mind, his limbs were heavy like lead. On a few occasions, he made out some words—a familiar voice murmuring into his ear. He fought to will himself to move—to be noticed—to alert others he was close. But nothing moved.
ㅤIt went dark again, leaving him nowhere. And, when he stirred again, he could finally bend his stone fingers. It wasn't much, just a twitch of muscle. But something immediately tightened around them. The vice grip was warm and familiar, so he didn't mind.
ㅤWhere was he?
ㅤDigging through his lagging mind as he dreamt, there was a faint lingering sensation of flying. He couldn't remember anything after that or how he got there. He didn't know where he was, or how long he'd lain in and out of consciousness. Imagination poisoned the well, memories disturbed by unreal creatures and people that didn't belong in them.
ㅤThrough the haze, the grip on his hands sometimes left, but it always came back, grounding him in his confusion.
ㅤIt took a while to understand the trembling warmth belonged to his sister. He'd finally recognised her voice, the wobble of it sounding so unlike her. Her familiar mocking laughter that annoyed him so much was gone. Even though he hated it, he was desperate to hear it, as a slow realisation had been dawning on him as his consciousness fluctuated—something was wrong.
ㅤIt was only hers he'd felt, and no one else's. Liam wasn't sure how long he'd been like this, but every time he woke up he felt more himself, more conscious, physical like his surroundings. Even with this awareness, he was certain he still had only felt hers. His parents, his brother—where were they?
ㅤThe next time he came back, he could finally comprehend her double Dutch; quiet whispers from his side, warm skin massaging his palm. "You're okay, Rowan. We're okay."
ㅤShe was crying. Why was she crying? Between the three of them, Olivia was the toughest. The only tears he'd seen from her were when she'd cockily ordered something stupidly spicy and, instead of giving in, she'd sat there, eating silently with a burning red face, water pouring down her cheeks as she sniffled. Any suggestion from the rest of them that she should stop was met with a glare and a spluttered cough of an insult. They'd slid to the floor laughing in the middle of the restaurant. Liam had cried, unable to breathe, whilst their dad had escaped to the toilets to compose himself, holding his chest.
ㅤBut Liam was fine. He was right there, beside her. Her weeping rattled him. He needed to assure her—tell her. He tried to pry his eyelids apart, heavier than lead. He succeeded for a split moment, opening them into two thin slits and, in the lucky second he had, he sought her green gaze, but the world above was blinding white.
