Skinny Boy ✔

Chapter 41: The Battle of Marathon, pt. 2

Everything sounded distant and muffled, like I was underwater. It was hard to hear anything beyond the throbbing in my head, though. But the distinct sound of an engine caught my attention. Squinting against the sun, I raised a shaky hand just above my body, just enough to give a halfhearted wave.

I could barely process the world around me and the thoughts in my head, but one thing stuck out from all the sensations and confusion: a need to get help.

I held what little breath was in my lungs as I watched them drive right past me. But just when I thought all hope was lost, they slowed down, then veered off to the side of the road.

Two doors open, and while the driver stayed by his vehicle, the passenger didn't hesitate to slam her door shut and hurry over to me.

Watching her tread toward me, I tried to say "help," but with my lips slack and heavy, it came out as more of a slur.

"Are you okay?" the woman asked.

I don't think she needed me to answer that. I was a teenage boy sprawled out on the side of the road, nothing but a dead phone and empty water bottle lying near me and my sweat soaked, tear stained body, in the middle of nowhere, no less. I'm sure she knew the answer to her own question.

I tossed my head from one side to the other, the throbbing in my head becoming more unbearable by the minute. I could feel every muscle in my body aching, and squirmed in attempt to wriggle out the feeling. I opened my mouth to answer her, but the only sounds that came out were coughs, which quickly became gags, until the point where I was full on dry heaving.

The woman, who was saying things I couldn't understand, noticed my attempts to roll onto my side, and helped me up into a sitting position. Though my body couldn't seem to support itself enough to sit up, she held my shaking frame and let me cough until my squelching stomach pushed out what last little bit of anything was in there. It was mostly stomach acid; I could taste it.

When I opened my eyes again, the man who was at the vehicle was now by the woman's side. He held a phone to his ear, frantically speaking into it. The woman started to let go, probably assuming I could hold myself up at this point, but the moment she did, I began falling backwards. But her hands were quicker to grab me than gravity.

It was only when she brought he face level with my own that I realized she was talking to me. I blinked, doing my best to tune out the ringing in my ear and focus on her words.

"Can you tell me your name?" her eyes rapidly scanned my face.

"Nathan," I said, voice barely audible.

"Nathan what?"

Henry. Nathan Henry. But I couldn't make the words leave my mouth. Everything was too muffled and fuzzy, too loud. I couldn't tell which words were hers and which were the man's. It was too hard to focus with the uncomfortable feeling in my chest, suffocating the words before they could get to my throat.

And then everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes, I was on the ground again. Nothing I was feeling felt right, and I was overcome with a sudden rush of panic. I was crying, and when I realized what the warm feeling in my pants was, I started to cry harder. I had urinated myself. My whole body was trembling, filled with unknown sensations and emotions. The whole world was a blur to me, and my panicking didn't help in any way--neither did the panicking of the man who was still on the phone, freaking out to who I assumed was a 911 operator.

But a soft hand gently held either side of my tear-stricken face, grabbing my attention, and said, "Nathan. Nathan, sweety, you need to calm down."