I
I leaned against the wall of a dishevelled wooden shack on the boardwalk, strumming my guitar and watching parents drag their kids away from the carnival as everything shuts down. School had been long and boring, the bullying blurring together into one endless smear. Therapy wasn’t any easier. Dr. Helena Stevens always asked the same questions — how was school, how was home, how was he — and he never knew what answer she actually wanted.
The pier was silent now. The lights were off, the employees gone, the car park empty. Only the low sun and the cries of seagulls hung over the water. I strummed again. What was I supposed to say? That I wished I never had to go back to school? That my parents spent every waking hour arguing? My chest tightened, and I grabbed my arm to ground myself. I didn’t want to think about home.
I played until the street lights flickered on, then packed up my case, sorting out the notes, coins, and bits of trash people had tossed in. Slinging it over my shoulder, I made the slow walk off the pier toward the bus stop.
I sat at the stop and unlocked my phone, opening Messages and scrolling until I found Alex in my contacts. Alex is my boyfriend — the only thing in this world actually keeping me sane. On Tuesdays he usually has soccer practice until eight, so he should’ve been on his way home by now.
“Hey, how was practice :)”
I closed my phone as the bus approached. I dug a few coins from my pocket, dropped them into the tray, and waited for the machine to spit out a ticket before heading to the back to sit. The familiar buzz of notifications went off almost immediately, and I pulled my phone out again.
“Hell, we have our first tournament match against Thimbleton HS coming up and coach is making us work double time.”
Thimbleton High was a private school on the edge of our district, ranked first in almost everything. A few years back the superintendent decided to put funding into a proper inter‑school tournament — football, soccer, a few other sports — and ever since then it’s been this big rivalry between us and them.
“Well I could come over and help you practice ^w^”
“Practice what, kissing?”
“No comment X_X”
“No, I need to study for the chemistry test when I get home. Sorry.”
“That’s fine :)”
I let out a sigh. I’d been hoping he’d say yes, that he’d let me come over so I didn’t have to go home to them. But I guess I needed to face the music.After passing through the city and deep into the suburbs, the bus finally slowed near my stop. I pressed the button and shuffled my way to the front of the almost‑deserted bus, muttering a quick thanks to the driver before stepping off and heading down the street. Our house was two from the end of the road — the same place passed down from my great‑grandfather to my granddad, then to my dad.
I approached the creaking porch, climbed the step, and reached for my key when the door flew open.
“Why the hell were you out so late?”
My Mom stood in the doorway.
“Well, if you were hoping for dinner, it’s been and gone, so you can either make it yourself or not have it at all.”
“Oh, leave the boy alone, Marge.”
I slipped past them and headed upstairs as another fight sparked off behind me. I dropped my guitar case and bag onto the floor and flopped onto my bed, curling up quietly.
It was then that the door opened, and my sister’s voice drifted into the room.
“I made you some PB and J sandwiches. I didn’t know when you were gonna get back.”
I rolled over but didn’t get up.
“Look… you don’t have to eat if you don’t want to. But please at least take your meds.”
I made some kind of noise to show I’d heard her. She set the plate down on the soft carpet and closed the door behind her.
I pushed myself upright and went to my bag, pulling out my pill bottle. Then I picked up the plate and sat back on the bed.
The label read Prozac 10mg. I stared at it for a moment before opening the bottle and taking one, washing it down with a sip of water from the glass on my bedside table. After that, I picked up a sandwich and took a bite.
I still don’t know how it got out about my depression diagnosis. But once people at school found out I was on antidepressants, the bullying just got worse. Like they’d been waiting for something new to use against me.
I chomped down the second sandwich, then the third. When the plate was empty, I lifted it from my lap, opened my door, and headed downstairs into the quiet living room. It was late; my mum always went to bed early, and my dad worked from the crack of dawn, so he usually followed her up at the same time.
I carried my plate to the sink, washed it with the same precision I used for everything, and set it on the drainer. Then I climbed the stairs again and fell back onto my bed, letting out a long sigh as I rubbed my temples to ease the headache. At some point, I drifted off.
Sleep didn’t stay quiet for long.
It started with the usual dream‑static — colours, noise, the sense of running without moving — but then everything sharpened too fast. I was back in the school hallway, except the lights were flickering and the lockers were bent inward, like something had crushed them from the inside. Someone was calling my name, but the voice kept splitting, echoing, doubling over itself until it sounded like a whole crowd whispering at once.
I tried to turn around, but the floor tilted under me. The whispering got louder. Closer. Right behind my ear.
I jolted awake.
My room was dark, but it didn’t feel empty. My heart hammered against my ribs as I sat up, trying to steady my breathing. The shadows in the corners looked wrong — stretched, like they were leaning toward me. I blinked hard, rubbed my eyes, but they didn’t settle back into normal shapes.
A soft creak came from the hallway.
I froze.
For a moment, I was sure someone was standing just outside my door. I could almost see the outline — tall, still, waiting. My skin prickled, and the air felt too thick to breathe. I knew I should get up, turn on the light, do something, but my body wouldn’t move.
Another whisper — except this time it wasn’t in the dream. It was here. In the room. Right behind me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my hands to my ears, trying to block it out, trying to make the room stop shifting around me. My thoughts scattered, slipping out of order, and the panic rose so fast it felt like drowning.
The whisper came again.
And that’s when I realised I wasn’t fully awake anymore.
Not really.
Not in the way that mattered.
