In My Blood

Three - Moving Too Fast

A/N: so I know that Moving Too Fast isn't actually a Shawn Mendes song, but he did a cover for it, so bear with me, okay?

TW: Self-doubt

Staring up at the dark light on the ceiling, Shawn felt himself slowly slipping. Not the crutches of sleep, but in self-doubt. The process that would keep him awake. Like he was falling in a bottomless pit. A flashback struck him, hard. 

A runny nose and sore throat was possibly the worst way to spend a thanksgiving, but Shawn had to deal with it. Every time he spoke, his words were slightly muffled, and he sounded undeniably sick. 

"We're playing floor hockey in class tomorrow," Shawn said, sitting down at the dining room table.

"Pardon?"

"We're playing floor hockey in class tomorrow," Shawn repeated. He knew his voice was... rough, but he was still sort of annoyed with how they didn't seem to know what he was saying.

"We can't understand you." 

And that had been a punch to the stomach. He had been a temperamental teenager. Being emotional was normal. He'd excused himself and left. But he wasn't like that anymore. Now... he felt like doing the same and he was 22 years old now. Almost 23.

He turned over on his side, looking at the clock. 12:00. He wished it would move faster at the same time he wished it would move slower. If he stayed awake too long, he knew from experience, he would begin to hyperventilate. 12:01. Yeah, no, he wasn't falling asleep anytime soon. 12:02. His heart was pounding against his ribs. Still 12:02. He squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn't cry. 12:03. He stood up abruptly and grabbed his phone.

The screen lit up his face, seeming too bright against his eyes. Squinting, he sat back against the headboard, phone propped up on his knees, and called Camila. One ring. Two rings. Someone picked up.

"Hello? Shawn? Is that you?" Her voice was already enough to have him almost shout in happiness. 

"Hi, Camila," Shawn said softly, fighting to keep the tears out of his voice.

"Hi, Shawn. Are you alright?"

"I'm okay."

"Just okay?"

Shawn bit his lip, knowing his tear ducts wouldn't cooperate. Waves of tears threatened to crest, and he felt a pressure on his chest.

"I'll come back as soon as I can," she whispered softly. "You know I have to finish up with this, and I'll be back. I'll stick to your side so much you'll get sick of me."

"I won't get sick of you," Shawn said, regaining some of his composure. 

"I'm here for you, Shawn," she murmured. "Now get some sleep. Read a book or something. Relax."

"Bye." 

"Bye." Humor laced the edge of her voice, almost like she was smiling, and she clicked off.

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back, before moving his phone away and sliding under the covers again. Fall asleep, he begged himself. He sat up straight again. Only 12:06. Groaning, he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of... nothing. It was too quiet. He walked into the living room, feet softly padding against the ground, as he sat down on the couch.

And idea struck him, and he picked up the remote, turning the tv on, and the volume up to 27. Walking back into his room, he closed his eyes, picking out the noise from the tv. His mind went still. Was this really going to be a way to fall asleep? He kept his mind focused on the tv. Think of nothing. Think of nothing. He felt himself drifting. He focused on the tv. Just drift. His mind at ease, and he fell asleep.

Feeling light sting his eyes, Shawn wearily sat up, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. He looked over at the clock, - 5:34 - which was his mortal enemy. And immortal enemy. And, just in general, his enemy. 

Walking into the washroom, he pulled off his clothes, turning on the shower water, and stepped back to wait for the water to warm up a bit. He ran his hands through his hair, feeling a little more than tired. 

When the water was warm enough, he stepped under the warm streams of water, feeling his muscles relax. Water was one of the few things that relaxed him. And singing in the shower. 

"Loving can hurt,"

"Loving can hurt sometimes,"

"But it's the only thing that I know."

And singing someone's songs other than his. Namely, Ed Sheeran. Who just happened to be his idol.

"When it gets ha_rd,"

"You know it can get hard sometimes,"

"It is the only thing that makes us feel alive_"

And it had relatively hard vocal runs. Which helped. A lot.

"We keep this love in a photograph,"

"We make these memories for ourselves,"

"Where our eyes are never closing,"

"Hearts are never broken,"

"Time's forever frozen still."

He washed up, still singing, before turning off the shower and wringing the water out of his hair. "Wait for me to come home." The shower also let him cry, he liked how the streams of water washed his tears away. Putting on fresh clothes, he walked into the kitchen, noting that the tv had turned itself off. He pulled out a pan, and cracked an egg on it, washing his hands quickly, placing the pan on the stovetop. He'd learned that it made the eggs taste a lot better. 

Turning up the heat, he leaned against the kitchen counter, feeling smaller than ever. His phone was burning a hole in his pocket. Social media was beginning to be more of a curse than anything good. First of all, everything bad he ever did was posted for the whole world to see, and he knew that when he took a break with Camila... everyone knew. He'd felt bad enough already, but even Michael had asked why he'd done that- the world loved their romance. He dug his fingernails into his palms to draw his mind away from that pain, that ran deeper than his genes.

Guilt swamped his thoughts, and he closed his eyes. The world was spinning, spinning, spinning, and he couldn't catch up. He felt cold. Too cold. Self-demoting thoughts wreaked havoc in his brain:

You're not good enough.

You're not real.

You'll just hurt everyone that gets to know you.

And the worst one.

You know no one understands. 

And no one ever will.