In My Blood

Eight - Air

Are you feeling better?

His phone buzzed with the text, and Shawn looked over at Justin, who was attempting to open a can of canned peaches (I get my peaches from Georgia, how 'bout you?).

Immensely. I'm at Justin's place rn

I've got a little surprise for you when I get back. What are you doing next week on Wed?

Just hanging. I don't have any solid plans.

K. See you soon. You need to be there to receive the surprise.

I miss you.

Awww <3 I miss you too.

Luv you.

Luv you more.

"How do you plan on falling asleep?" Justin asked, abandoning the canned peaches to sit down across from him.

"I turn the tv on."

"Smart. Anything else?"

"Well... Camila promised me a surprise."

Justin winked. "I might've gotten her to do it for you. If you hang in till then, I promise you you'll be really happy."

"What is it?"

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you." 

Shawn stuck his tongue out at him. "Looks like I'll have to coax the answer out of her."

"Eh, she was super supportive of the surprise. I don't think she'd tell you. But by all means, go ahead and try."

"Watch me."

"Good luck."

Shawn shot him a fake withering look, running a hand through his hair. 

"I've got places to be," Justin said through the staring contest that followed.

"Okay. I'll just go and get Camila to tell me then while you're out."

"I'm taking my phone."

They walked out the building together.

"See you later."

"'Later." Justin waved, climbing into his car, and Shawn did likewise, hopping into the black limo and clipping in.

Excitement bubbling in his chest for whatever Camila and Justin were planning for him Shawn sat in front of his tv, the remote limp in his hand.

It was almost 1am. He planned on not even trying to fall asleep. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he stretched his weary muscles. He turned the tv on again, wrapping himself in a blanket, feeling extremely cold.

Blinking heavily, Shawn's vision was blurring, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. The tv slowly lulled him into the nightmares he'd been trying to avoid.

Claustrophobia clenched his chest, constricted his breathing as he lay in a box the size of him. It was dark and he couldn't see anything, but he tried to calm down his frantic breathing. Something crashed down next to him, and he tried to take a breath, but he couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything, just watch as pieces of the box fell on him, but there wasn't a sign of anything above the box. Just more of the box. He couldn't move either, and panic clutched at his heart, but he focused on trying to keep himself tethered without breathing.

He knew it was just a dream, but he couldn't wake up, and he wished he could escape. The box seemed to be getting smaller and smaller, and he screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth, and he couldn't wake up. Adrenaline and fear raced up his spine, but he couldn't escape, and the scenery drastically changed.

He was driving down a boardwalk, the waves crashing against the shore. He swerved violently, and his heart was flung into his throat as the car drove into the cresting waves. Water started rising inside the car (You guessed it) and he struggled to keep his head above the water. He was no longer recording. He was stuck in a nightmare, and the water kept rising, so that it was level with his head. Still the car continued driving, flipping and turning as it was lifted and dropped by the waves. His throat burned, as if he was awake, but he knew he was still sleeping, and he wished he wasn't.

He tried to push open the doors, but they wouldn't open. He banged against the glass, but it wouldn't break. He couldn't breathe, the water was up above his head, but there was a tiny little pocket of air right at the top.

He gulped the last bit of air before trying to wrench open the door with his shoulder. It wouldn't budge. Panic took most of the air out of his lungs, and he kicked and pressed against the windows, trying to get out. He almost had no more breath. Darkness clawed at his vision, heat burned at his lungs, he took a breath and choked on the water, and the scene went dark grey.

Sweat soaked his clothes, his hair damp and matted against his forehead. His entire body was shaking, trembling, throat raw from screaming. There was that pain in his chest that hadn't gone away, but his lungs felt strained with each breath.

He took in deep breaths of air to steady his heart, which was beating at a dizzying rate, pounding in his ears. His head felt numb, he was taking in too much but too little oxygen. 

Tears blurred his vision, and landed on his already soaked shirt, and he hid his face behind his hands. His hands shook too. They trembled in front of his eyes, and his throat felt closed off. 

He glanced out the window at the sea of stars, and the lights glittering from the condos and apartments. 

The giant billboards. 

The CN tower.

The cars zooming down the roads.

He focused on himself.

The becoming-steady beat of his heart.

The calming, deep breaths.

He stood up, and walked to the bathroom, turning the shower on. He splashed water on his face, shaking out his hair and pulling off his clothes. He could live through this.

He walked into the shower, not caring that the water was freezing verging on freezing. His body felt numb, anyway. But his mind was racing. He closed his eyes, and a million lights flooded his mind. He opened his eyes again. They were gone. He didn't want to sleep. Didn't want to give himself up to the nightmares.

He didn't notice the water getting warm. Barely registered himself turning off the water. Didn't give a thought to pulling on a towel and drying himself. Didn't pay attention to when he put on new clothes and they stuck to his body because he was still wet. When he finally slumped down in his seat at the kitchen's island, he didn't notice the crumpled blanket and pillows on the floor, just trying not to lose himself to another panic attack. 

Blink. He was sitting at the island. Blink. He was making breakfast. Blink. He was eating breakfast. Blink. He was staring off into space. 

He didn't feel, didn't see, didn't hear.

His phone went off, lighting up with Camila's icon. He just kept staring off into space.

Blink. 9:00. Blink. 10:00. Blink. 11:00. Blink. Noon. Where was he going? What had happened? Blink. It was nighttime. He was too exhausted to properly process... he closed his eyes and fell asleep, once again, on the couch, hoping, wishing, begging that he could sleep peacefully. But he was too tired to be able to muster a thought that strong. Instead, he just drifted away, the dark circles under his eyes showing the struggle he'd been through.

A/N: That Peaches reference was really cringy (at the beginning) but...