Shawn Mendes Imagines

Trouble

hey everyone! after like 2 years, i FINALLY finished writing Sanity! ahhh. Sanity was my first Shawn fic I've ever written and also the first fanfic i've ever posted here on wattpad, so yeah, it's my baby. go give it a read if you want!! ❤

***

Your eyes were burning.

You weren't sure why tears were streaming down your face in uncontainable rivers, but your nose suddenly became red and runny, and your limbs lighter, as if zero gravity was kicking in slowly.

What was happening here? What is this?

You jump up and rush to the bathroom, pushing your way through the crowd of people in the dimly lit room, the music blaring so loud through the speakers it felt as if the house itself was bouncing, each beat pinching the thin chords of your veins.

Even though you were crying, and you were sure of that, you started to see more color around the room in everything, in everyone. And that made you laugh for some reason.

When you reach the bathroom door, it was moving back and forth from left to right. Doors shouldn't do that. You blink thrice. Tears plopped down onto your exposed bit of cleavage, which strained against the tight elastic of your navy blue top.

You look at your hand. Each finger was moving, though you couldn't feel yourself wiggling them. Your muscles weren't cooperating with your brain properly.

You duck into the bathroom, flickering the light on and locking the door behind you. The noise outside became muffled.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, leaning over the counter to get as close a look as possible. Your tired eyes were suddenly bloodshot and tear-stained. When you reached a hand up to wipe some smeared makeup from underneath your eye, your hand jerked up quickly to your cheek and you nearly poked yourself in the eye with your knuckle.

Oh no.

You hasn't smoked anything the whole night, so who did this? Did someone slip something in your drink? Was it something you ate? Why were you reacting this way?

Before you could even process your thoughts, you heard someone knocking on the door. Each knock seemed to echo and bounce through the small tiled-wall room where you stood, making your headache worse.

"Y/N?" a male voice piped from the other side. "I saw you run in. Are you alright?"

Uh, no.

"I'm fine," you responded, taking a minute to process what he was saying. More tears were welling up in your eyes by the second. You had to get out of here.

"Are you sick?" he questioned, his voice portrayed a hint of concern. You knew exactly who he was, and you were overwhelmed by the feeling of wanting to be as far away from him as possible.

You take a second to think about what you were trying to say. "Maybe," you decided.

"Open the door."

Hesitantly, you reach for the knob, watching as your hand moves in an opposite direction. With coaching and a great deal of concentration, you were finally able to swing the door open.

"Oh god," he bleated through a scoff, his dark eyes narrowing on you instantly. "Are you really stoned? Who did you smoke with?"