Oblivion

when you black out

The white of the wall was beginning to blurry and she had to blink to get the haziness out of her eyes. The ticking of a clock somewhere—tick tock tick tock; it was mocking her, she was sure, but she could not for the life of her find a single reason as to why the clock was punishing her. And for what; yes, that too.

She could make out words—a mantra, being whispered over and over and over again, and she would really appreciate it if the person saying them would stop talking now, now, please, because she could not focus on her breathing. She was breathing so hard, she felt like passing out. And the words never stopped; they never stop playing in her head—over, and over, and over—no, it hurt. Her head was pounding.

"Stop," she whispered, and the voice was silenced. She never looked away from the wall, and the bright colour was making her eyes water and burn and really—everything needed to stop for just a second, just pause for a while, so she could breathe, and really just—just start working again, working correctly this time, because this was all wrong—it was so wrong, and she wanted to scream that, she wanted—she needed air. There was no oxygen in this room—why isn't anyone else suffocating like her? What is wrong with them—what is wrong?

She asked, barely getting the words right. "What's wrong?" why is the world still spinning and why isn't everyone dead and everything shuttered and fucking—broken, shedoesn'tknow, not really, but the world has to stop spinning and give her a moment.

"Bring her some water, why the fuck are you standing there?!" a voice demanded, but it was far far away and the color had faded from her eyes and it was all just black and white—blackandwhiteblackandwhiteblackandwhite, and how could people survive this?! How do they live with this—because she couldn't—she never would, she was sure. Her heart was broken and the pieces were tearing through her organs and she could feel the internal bleeding and everything was rotting so fast; so incredibly fast, and how could people survive this—

This was the end. There was nothing there. Nothing.

"She was having a panic attack, it's normal."

"She looked like she was dying, do not tell me that this is normal."

"It's grief, Iman, what do you think grief looks like?"

"Her, I'm sure."

The voice she didn't recognize sighed. "Well she did just lose her fucking brother."

Her eyes opened. She drew a deep breath. She coughed and—breathed; she breathed.

Everything was way to bright. She blinked to adjust her eyes and her gaze fell upon a man—her best friend; it was Iman. Iman. Relief filled her body and made her relax.

You had a panic attack, but everything is fine now. You had a panic attack—your little brother died, Avan died, but you're okay now. Breathe, Iva. Fucking breathe. You're fine—it's over now.

"You shouldn't have gone in there." Iman was standing next to her bed, her hand in his—he was scowling. Of course he was scowling.

Iva almost smiled.

"I had to see—I had to see him."

"I know," he muttured. That's why I didn't stop you, he wanted to add. Iva knew.