I can’t tell how many. I can’t tell where they’re coming from. They blur together, rise and fall in tones instead of words, like my brain can’t quite catch up enough to make them mean something.
There’s movement too. Not mine. I try to focus on that. Try to understand it. But everything feels…delayed. Like I’m a second behind myself. Or ten.
My body doesn’t feel like mine. That’s the first thing that settles in clearly enough to recognize. I can’t move. Not because something is holding me down. Not because I’m trying and failing. I’m not even getting that far.The thought forms,move, and then disappears before it turns into action. My limbs feel heavy, distant, like they belong to someone else and I’m just…aware of them instead of inside them.
There’s a pulse somewhere. Slow. Too slow. Or maybe that’s me.
My breathing doesn’t feel right. Not painful. Just…not something I control.
In.
Out.
It happens without me. That should be comforting. It isn’t. Fear doesn’t come fast. It settles. Deep. Quiet. It doesn’t spike into panic, doesn’t make me thrash or scream. It sinks into my chest and stays there, heavy and steady, like something I’ve known before even if I can’t place when.
Something is wrong.
I know that.
I don’t remember how I got here. That matters. My mind reaches for it anyway.
Walking. Cold air. My mom’s voice in my ear. Footsteps. The memory fractures. A hand. Too fast. A voice too close.
Then...nothing.
The gap is sharp. It doesn’t blur. It cuts.
I try to open my eyes. I think I do. Light hits, but it’s wrong. Not steady. It shifts, flickers, moves across my vision in streaks instead of shapes. I can’t hold it long enough to understand what I’m seeing before it fades again. Dark returns. Not full. Just easier.
There’s a sound near me. Closer than the others. A voice. Low. Controlled. It cuts through the rest of the noise in a way nothing else does.
I don’t understand the words. Not fully. But I feel the tone. Not frantic. Not unsure. Certain. That should scare me. It doesn’t. Or maybe it does, just differently.
My body shifts.
No, I’m shifted.
Lifted.
The motion is smooth, not rushed. One second I’m still, the next I’m moving, and the transition is so controlled it takes a second for my brain to catch it. Arms. Around me. Strong. Firm. Not tight.
Just…there.
Heat follows. Solid. Steady.
I don’t feel cold anymore. That registers slowly. Before, there was cold. I remember that now. The air biting at my face, the way my hands tucked into my coat to keep it out.
Now…nothing.
Just warmth. The kind that doesn’t come from layers or movement. The kind that comes from something else. Someone else. That realization lands quietly. It doesn’t spike. It doesn’t send me scrambling.
I can’t scramble. My body won’t let me. But the awareness is there. I’m not on the ground anymore. I’m not alone. That should trigger something louder. It doesn’t. The fear stays where it was. Deep. Steady. Waiting.
The voice comes again. Closer this time. Still low. Still controlled. There’s something in it I can almost follow. Not the words, but the shape of them. The rhythm. It doesn’t rise. Doesn’t break. It moves like everything else around me is already decided.
My head shifts slightly. Not because I tell it to. Because something moves me. My cheek brushes against something solid. Fabric. Warm. There’s a smell. Leather. Smoke. Something darker underneath that I can’t name. It doesn’t feel unfamiliar. That doesn’t make sense.
Nothing about this should feel familiar.
