Plagued

NINE

My vision was dark and hazy, my mouth was burning. My tongue could only be described as sandpaper.

My head pounded, and my throat was aching.

I couldn't move a muscle, I couldn't even breathe.

The only thing moving was my rapid heartbeat as I fall into panic.

I couldn't move.

I was paralyzed.

"Eva"

My mother's voice caused my panic to increase. What was happening, why was my back so stiff? What did she want?

I tried to open my eyes more, I tried to speak. But no sound came out.

My body would not cooperate with my mind.

My hands felt wet.

Was I in water?

"Eva?"

She calls again. The concern is clear in her voice.

I attempt to reply again, but it doesn't work.

I don't even know if my mouth was moving, it felt like it, but it wasn't. I'm sure of it.

My throat was just so dry.

You know that feeling where you are extremely sick, and before you puke you get that odd feeling in your throat? My entire boy felt like that. Just, sick.

"Eva- "

"I'm awake, mom."

I finally managed to make a response. Though, my voice cracke and faltered in the middle.

"Oh, thank goodness. We were about to call the paramedics."

Her words showed relief, but her tone felt sarcastic.

I turn my head to the smell of vomit rushing into my nose, not just the smell either mind you.

Oh.

"What happened?"

I raised myself from the cold pool of my own puke. Sitting straight up, I mad no attempt to stand quite yet.

"I was just about to ask the same thing. What were you doing last night? We found you like this and didn't know what to do."

My head pounded, and my throat likely had bruises forming.

I must have passed out from the lack of oxygen. But I couldn't tell her that.

If only it was that easy.

"Oh, I wasn't feeling well so I tried to go to the washroom. I don't really remember what happened. Did I hit my head? I have a pretty bad headache."

I felt my head for bruises, but nothing was too tender.

I refused to believe what had happened was real.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital? Just to make sure you're fine?"

A hospital would diagnose me as schizophrenic if I told the truth. And if I didn't, they would just label it as self-harm or abuse.

"I'm okay. I probably just need some sleep."

I got up to a stand and walked past my mother, towards my bedroom. I closed the door behind me.

I slid down the door and sat on the floor.

"What the hell is going on?"

I had been asking this question a lot lately, and with good reason too.