“Chris!”

The man beside me yelled, tearing me out of my head before I could slam into the back of the car in front of us. With sweaty, shaky hands, I switched lanes last minute to avoid a less-than-playful game of bumper cars as the owner beat his car horn into the wheel. 

I struggled to catch my breath with my heart beating in my throat. Now my whole body was trembling. I felt like I was going to pass out.

“Pull over,” he ordered. I didn’t hear him the first time he said that.

“Christopher, pull over.”

I flicked my signal on as I drove the car into a wide shoulder off the side of the highway. Even with the car fully stopped and my foot heavy against the brake, My knuckles clenched the wheel until my palms burned from the friction.

“Chris,” the man said. It felt like my own voice. I let it echo around my skull, the intent behind the sharpness in that voice not fully catching meaning in my half-working brain.

“Christopher.” It’s still pouring rain outside. Will it ever stop raining? Maybe the whole land will fill up with sea and we’ll all drown like in the story of Noah’s ark. I know I wouldn’t be part of The Big Guy’s few chosen survivors.

“Christopher look at me.” Two hands on either side of my face pulled me away from the window. The two green orbs in front of me almost looked animated. “Hey. It’s me. It’s Quinn.”

I didn’t even realize I was hyperventilating until everything felt starkly contrasted against each other, like lines and colors were overexaggerated as my chest struggled to take in the air that was filling my mouth. I gripped the wheel tighter. It hurt. But the pain wasn’t enough to calm me down.

“Breathe. Come on, Chris.” Is that my name? Why does it sound so weird? It feels foreign, unfamiliar. Like it never belonged to me in the first place. Maybe it isn’t me. Maybe there’s someone else here named Chris.

“Follow my breathing. Please, work with me.” The man in front of me almost looked worried. But why? I knocked his hands away and cradled my arms to my chest, rocking back and forth as I struggled to breathe. Shit. it’s getting worse. Small sounds and whimpers filled my ears. Are those mine? They sound like a child’s.

And, all at once, my body seized in terrible panic. I couldn’t even tell you what about, but my heart raced a million miles a minute and I felt my limbs flailing, groping for the door handle as I shoved myself out into the rain. It was cold and wet but it didn’t wake me up. My legs jerked myself forward, toward the other shooting stars. Stop it. Stop it. Make it stop. I wish-

“Chris!” Quinn shrieked as strong arms pulled me back from the line of impact and slammed me against the hood of my car. I felt like a ragdoll in his tight grip. It was only after he slapped me hard enough across the cheek for me to see stars on the back of my eyelids that I came back to reality. 

I coughed and caught my breath, sprawled against the hood like roadkill as the rain soaked through my clothes and droplets slid down my face and neck and fingers. Quinn continued to hold me in place as I regained the ability to breathe. The sky above was dark gray, almost black except for a crack in the clouds where a sliver of golden light peeked through. 

“Can you speak now? Are you ok?” Quinn asked. I wasn’t panicking anymore, but I still felt spaced as hell. It was more of an empty feeling this time. I nodded half heartedly and let Quinn pull me to my feet.

I sat down in the passenger seat, taking off the wet sweatshirt and hugging the flannel tight to my skin. Quinn got in the driver's seat. I was absentmindedly wringing out my hair when the events that had just occurred finally hit, like the sting that came with it.

“You just slapped me,” I announced hoarsely, rubbing my sore cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he rushed to apologize. “I’m not very good at dealing with this stuff and I just got freaked--are you laughing?”

I couldn’t help it. If I weren’t laughing I would be bawling my eyes out so maybe that’s an improvement.

“Fuck,” I sighed, a new desperation in my voice that just made it all sound more pathetic.

I hate being sober. I hate this day. I hate myself. Just make it end already.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” I shook my head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Quinn looked ready to object. That lie was so fucking obvious. But I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about anything anymore. Fuck feelings. Fuck everything. I’m so tired. I’m always tired.

“If you change your mind, I’m here-”

“Just drive, Quinn,” I begged. With a sigh, the man took off and I studied my face in the rearview mirror, pale and sickly with red eyes and messy, long blond hair. I still don’t recognize him. I have no fucking idea who he is.

With my head collapsed in my hands, I sobbed silently, the noise mostly drowned out by the rain. I wanted to believe Quinn didn’t hear me to save what little pride I have left but I knew he did. He said nothing, did nothing, as I cried. What could you say, anyways? I’m so far beyond being fixed by simple comfort and consoling.

I'm just tired.

***