I’m inhistrunk.
My heart hammers hard, and wild like it’s trying to punch its way through my ribs. Every nerve fires at once, electric panic tearing through me. My hands fly out, clawing at the walls. I scrape my knuckles on metal, but I can’t stop, can’t calm down, can’t think, just search, frantic and blind, for anything that opens.
“There’s no—there’s no—” My voice breaks. “No—no—please—”
The car rumbles beneath me. Panic surges like fire spreading fast, and my limbs refuse to cooperate. I kick at the walls, fists pounding against the metal lid. My throat burns, and my lungs scream for air that feels like it’s slipping away.
I brace my feet against one side and kick. Hard. Again. Harder. My heel slips. My knees slam into something unyielding, pain shooting up my legs. The metal doesn’t budge.
The air feels too thin. My chest clamps up so tight I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.
God, I can’t—
My pulse roars in my ears, drowning out everything. Every thud feels like it’s rattling the damn car.
I try to scream, but it comes out shredded, swallowed by the dark.
My hands shake so violently that I barely recognize them. Tears gather without permission, blurring everything into a smear of light and shadow.
I’m going to die like this.
Buried alive in steel and dark.
I can’t—
I can’t—
“Stop—stop—stop—” I gasp, gripping my hair, pulling at it just to feel something real, something that proves I still exist.
Ethan’s face flashes in my mind. Not as comfort—at first, just as contrast. Warmth versus this freezing, horrific nowhere. Hands that steady me versus hands that drugged me. His voice, low and grounding, wrapping around me like a safety net.
I latch onto it because if I don’t, I’m going to shatter.
Lucky, breathe.I can almost hear him say it.In. Out. Stay with me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, press my trembling palm to the floor, and try to inhale—but it’s shaky, broken, too fast.
Again. In. Out.
I force the air deeper, even as my lungs fight me.
Again.
Again.
The world stops spinning quite so violently. Not calm—never calm—but… less drowning.
I’m here. I’m alive.
I let that thought in, just enough to anchor me. My fingers pause, pressed against my temples.Breathe. In. Out.
I hear my therapist’s voice echoing in my mind, Banks pushing me to see one before I even came to the lake.
In through your nose, slow. Out through your mouth. Ground yourself. This is your body. You’re still here.
I close my eyes. I focus on the rhythm—inhale, exhale. My chest rises, falls. The trembling slows, just a little. My mind is still sharp, panic still flickering, but it’s not swallowing me whole. Not yet.
My breathing steadies one painful inch at a time.
