Everest
The darkness clung to him, as if even his unconscious mind knew what was waiting on the other side. But the black didn’t last. It began to fray—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first—with threads of awareness unraveling it stitch by stitch. A faint sound, the hush of waves. The low creak of something shifting nearby. A breeze that smelled like sea salt and linen.
And then came the thoughts.
The panic didn’t burst—it bled. Creeping in around the edges like ink dropped into water. Too quiet. Too many textures. His fingers twitched before he realized they had. The bedsheets were soft—too soft—and the light through his eyelids was wrong, too filtered, too dim. He couldn’t orient himself. Couldn’t place the sound of the wind. Couldn’t feel the silence that had once cradled every thought he had like a glass wall keeping the world at bay. Becase there were no walls anymore.
Everest gasped—too fast, too sharp—and the breath turned to a choke in his throat. His heart was racing. His palms were clammy. His brain was screaming. He couldn’t think—he was thinking too much—he couldn’t, he—And then it hit.
The memories. The boat. The kiss. The betrayal. The flower. Isla’s voice. Isla’s choice.
"No—" he rasped before his eyes even opened, hands jerking at the sheets like they might anchor him. The ceiling swam into view, but it was too bright. Too close. Or too far. He couldn’t tell. His limbs felt wrong. His mind felt wrong. Everything was too loud. He curled onto his side, arms clutched to his chest like he could hold the panic in, but it was already pouring out of him in uneven, stuttered breaths.
He wanted to shut it all down again, but it wouldn’t go quiet.
And then came the thoughts.
The panic didn’t burst—it bled. Creeping in around the edges like ink dropped into water. Too quiet. Too many textures. His fingers twitched before he realized they had. The bedsheets were soft—too soft—and the light through his eyelids was wrong, too filtered, too dim. He couldn’t orient himself. Couldn’t place the sound of the wind. Couldn’t feel the silence that had once cradled every thought he had like a glass wall keeping the world at bay. Becase there were no walls anymore.
Everest gasped—too fast, too sharp—and the breath turned to a choke in his throat. His heart was racing. His palms were clammy. His brain was screaming. He couldn’t think—he was thinking too much—he couldn’t, he—And then it hit.
The memories. The boat. The kiss. The betrayal. The flower. Isla’s voice. Isla’s choice.
"No—" he rasped before his eyes even opened, hands jerking at the sheets like they might anchor him. The ceiling swam into view, but it was too bright. Too close. Or too far. He couldn’t tell. His limbs felt wrong. His mind felt wrong. Everything was too loud. He curled onto his side, arms clutched to his chest like he could hold the panic in, but it was already pouring out of him in uneven, stuttered breaths.
He wanted to shut it all down again, but it wouldn’t go quiet.
I wish that I could find the words,
to tell you how much that it hurts
That I'm not who you wanted me to be
to tell you how much that it hurts
That I'm not who you wanted me to be
