Elijah
Icome to with vomit already pouring into my mouth. The lap bar raises, and I rush off the platform, emptying my stomach onto the dirt below my feet.
“Elijah!” Bennett yells, moving to rub my back as I heave over and over again.
What the fuck was that? What the absolute fuck was that?!
“Talk to me, are you okay? Let’s get you some water. Come—”
“Stop touching me!” I scream, pushing his hands away. I can feel residual vomit on my chin, hot tears streaming down my face. “I told you I didn’t want…ugh.”
“I’m sorry! I… I didn’t…” He’s staring at me in shock, as if he can’t believe the reaction I’m having. And to be fair, neither can I.
“I’m leaving,” I say, and I move quickly and dizzily toward the exit.
“Wait! You’re in no state to drive. Let me—”
“Bennett,” I interrupt. My voice is calm, all things considered. I stop briefly to look at him from over my shoulder. “Please leave me be.”
I’m not sure how I get home.
One second I’m finding my car, and the next I’m stumbling into my apartment in a heap of sobs and fresh vomit. I sit in front of my toilet and empty more of the contents of my stomach, grasping the porcelain bowl so tightly my fingers ache.
He looked just like Rowan. ThisAaronlooked exactly like him.
Was I dying? I was falling from what looked like a bridge, and I was so happy about it. Why? What kind of sick dream was that?
And why was Rowan there? Why did he have another name instead of—
Oh no. No fucking way. There is absolutely no way I am falling for his past lover’s bullshit, am I?
Another wave of panic courses through me, and a loud sob sounds against the walls of the bathroom. Seconds later, I’m quick on my feet, the room swimming around me as I rip open the medicine cabinet.
That’s about as far as my smooth reaction time extends, as I drop the open bottle of pills out from between my trembling fingers. It tumbles to the floor, and my medication flies in every direction.
This only proves to heighten my panic, and I drop to my knees, shoving two fat pills into my mouth before swallowingthem dry. I’m panting on all fours, staring through blurry tears at the mess around me.
Cold tile bites into my skin, and the only sounds I can make out are my own cries and the ticking of a distant clock.
What is happening to me? Beyond the panic and the shock of that dream, I feel a sorrow and a guilt so intense that I can barely breathe. As if I have made a grave mistake—as if something has been taken from me.
I feel like I’m dying.
And I want to see him. I want to see Rowan so badly that it physically hurts me just to think of him—yet I cannot think of anything else.
He and this Aaron figure are blurring into one behind my eyes, and I can feel myself diving headfirst into a severe panic attack.
Holy fuck, I’m going to die here. I’m going to die right here on my bathroom floor.
Some part of me thought this experience would be peaceful. That when I inevitably ended up convulsing and seizing on my tile floor, that I’d be glad for it—which is strange, as I’ve never thought of my own death before now.
I’m not sure how long I stay on my hands and knees, but soon, there is a loud knock at my door, and then I see Rowan rushing into my apartment with an expression of pure terror spread over his features.
And I must be dreaming, because I’m not sure how he would have gotten inside or when he would have grown the balls to come in the first place.
“Elijah!” he calls, falling to his knees in front of me.
I’m still sobbing, such harsh and sorrowful sobs that I cling immediately to the front of his shirt. If I’m forced to dream of him again, I’m taking all the comfort I can get.
