Baby Fat

fifty-eight

TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter involves strangulation. Please, please do not read this if this will trigger you. I will recap in chapter 59.

It's still surreal, but even more so seeing that tomorrow—fucking tomorrow—Corrie's leaving. He never realized that time could move so fast. Time would pass him by. He couldn't believe it's already been so long. The days move so slow, but the months just fly.

Corrie is placing the few belongings he collected over the past months in a backpack. It's not a lot, but it's gotten him through rehab. That's enough for him. There are more books about a peaceful life than he count. He read each one at least once. That's what happens when he gets too much time on his hands.

He's almost done sorting through the books he owns and the ones he needs to return to Jennifer when his door creaks open.

"Hello?" Corrie calls out. He looks and sees that his door is indeed cracked open a bit, but he not enough to see if anyone is there. "Hello?"

A few moments pass, Corrie staring at his door, waiting for someone to jump out. When nobody does, he shrugs his shoulders and goes back to book stacking.

He's finished sorting his books when his door opens even further. Corrie's head snaps over to look at his door, groaning when, once again, he can't see anybody there.

"Whoever you are, go away," he snaps, irritation lacing his voice. He doesn't want anything to put a damper on his mood. There's no answer, as Corrie expected. He debates whether or not he wants to go and see if anyone is there.

He decides he might as well go and close his door.

Corrie walks over to his door. He puts his hand on the doorknob, getting ready to push it shut when the door flings open hard and hits him, hard enough to knock him over.

"Fuck," Corrie groans. The door managed to cut his forehead open so that there's blood dripping down his face. The pain caused by the cut doesn't compare to the pain when he's kicked in the gut. "FUCK!"

He looks up and sees fucking Manuel hovering over him with a smirk. Manuel kicks Corrie particularly hard right in the ribs. Corrie swears he hears something crack.

"What the fuck, man?" Corrie is quick to stand up before Manuel can kick him again. His legs wobble and Jesus fuck his ribs are screaming at him to go lay down.

Manuel doesn't answer him. Instead, he opts to barrel into Corrie, knocking him over again. Corrie's head is slammed into the floor and Manuel puts all of his weight on Corrie's abdomen. A fist collides with his jaw. Corrie groans loudly.

The pain is searing. He can barely see straight. Especially after Manuel punches him again, and again, and again. Corrie can only lay there and take it. He feels so weak, so small.

He has no power in this situation. Not when he can't breathe as Manuel slowly crushes his lungs, not as Manuel continues to pound his fist into Corrie's face, and not when Manuel puts a hand on Corrie's throat and presses down, hard.

That's what kicks in Corrie's fight mode. His already low supply of oxygen is dwindling even more. His arms are flailing around, unfortunately, Manuel pins one of Corrie's arms to the ground with his leg. Corrie's other arm isn't much use. He's fucking desperate.

His legs are moving wildly, desperate for oxygen. His stomach is in knots. It's excruciating pain. It's a pain he's never felt before. His lungs are on fire, begging him to fight for some air. Just a little. His gasps are slowing. He's sobbing so hard, but there's no air. His lungs are sandpaper.

This is how I'm going to die, Corrie's barely working brain says, I'm going to die here. His thoughts go blank. His mind is a black sea. He can't hear anything anymore. His swollen eyes droop shut. His body is giving up, fast. It's accepting its fate, its destiny. He doesn't want to die, but he's going to.

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

He wants to scream, he wants to fight. But he's already gone. He's so fucking helpless. He's starting to see white, he swears. Hold on, just hold on. He's trying to hard, but it's not working. Nothing is working. He tries to think about everything to live for, to fight for, but he can't even think.

Then, the hand that was once crushing his air pipe is gone. Corrie gasps for breath, taking in so much oxygen he literally chokes on it. The body that was squashing him is gone.

Corrie rolls over, coughing on air, and dry heaves. He forces himself onto all fours before vomiting. He can faintly hear the footsteps of people all around him. He can hear the screaming coming from somewhere. His eyes are shut so tightly, he doesn't want to open them. He can smell the throw up, but it doesn't even bother him.

He lets the world pass him by for a minute or fifteen. He feels the hands all over his body, pulling him away from the mess he made. He feels them put him on something. He knows he's being rolled on a cart. Someone puts a mask over his face and he breathes in deeply. Oxygen. Breathe.

There's so much chaos around him. Everyone is screaming at one another, trying to understand what happened. People are yelling to call his father, others are trying to talk to him, some are screaming about the medical treatment. He knows what's happening, but he can't even respond.

Someone grabs onto his hand, holding it tight within theirs. Corrie feels dazed. His face is bleeding, his chest is burning still, and his abdomen is practically wailing in pain. His eyes can't focus on anything. The ceiling is a blur.

Corrie looks at the face of the person holding his hand, but his eyes just won't focus on them. Their face is fuzzy.

He wants it all to stop. He wants to go back to packing his bag. He wants to go back to being nervous about going home. He doesn't want this.

"Corrie," a voice whispers to him. His eyes glance to his left and he sees an outline of a person. "You're going to be just fine. Don't worry."

He's not really worried. His brain isn't even functioning enough for him to even possibly worry. He wishes he didn't feel so numb. The bad kind of numb. The numb that makes you not know if you're really even alive. Maybe he died and this is the afterlife.

"Keeping fighting, Corrie," the voice says into his ear. "You don't want to die. You have to hold on."

And, God, he's trying. He wants to close his eyes so bad and go to sleep to wake up from this fucking nightmare. He forces them to stay open.

He tries to talk, but no words form. He doesn't have the energy anymore to try and talk. He just lays there, completely and utterly useless.

He notices that he's being moved again. Doctors and nurses are forcing his eyes wide open to shine a bright light in them. People are touching his aching abdomen. He winces every time they press down.

Corrie feels them poke him with a needle. Pain meds. Right. He should feel less pain, more bliss. That sounds like heaven right about now.

Whatever is being pumped into his system is working. He feels himself just drifting even more.

__________

☒ - unedited

Questions of the chapter: Was the strangulation scene too much? I'm so sorry if anyone was triggered by it.

Please tell me if you see any mistakes, I'm the queen of typos.

How are you guys?

Life update:
- i'm doing good. i'm getting sun and eating v good food.
- next update: next week:)

Notes:
- thank you for anyone who votes on this story, comments, shared it, reads it, adds it to a reading list, etc. you guys are angels.
- email: wattpad.dreamfloats@gmail.com
- if you need to get in contact with me for any reason, please, please write on my message board first.

Thank you.

— dreamfloats