Falling, Fallen (bxb)

No en la escuela, por favor

Water is soothing. You can rest. You're safe, and it slows everything down- the noise of thoughts and everything else around you. Kit rested his head in the bathwater, his feet motionless up against the tiled walls, his eyes open, burning slightly at first but now feel normal.

If you shut your eyes under the water you can imagine anything, maybe your swimming somewhere, on a plane, on vacation, or dead. Kit imagined he was on a beach alone, people always got scared about being trapped alone on a deserted island, he thought that it would be nice.

Loneliness can just be a sign of freedom. You can choose to be alone.

The feeling of millions of grains of sand, hot against his fingers. He pictured the sound of the waves crawling into the sand and crashing against the rocks, the air is salty and warm. He felt his lungs contracting, begging for air but he stayed there, the swish of the ocean, the beam of the sun.

On average you can hold your breath underwater for 87 seconds before you take an involuntary gasp of air. 120 seconds is the longest Kit had gone before his brain needed oxygen.

It is called the 'break point'.

Drowning accounts for 320,000 deaths on average annually. Drowning is the 3rd leading cause of unintentional injury. Drowning is the second leading cause of death for children in the United States.

Stay calm.

Remain aware.

Breath regularly.

One thing that is more unpleasant than running out of air, is breathing in the water. So when that involuntary gasp came and jolted him back up, throwing himself up from the water, creating small pools of puddles on the tiled floor, he sputtered over himself and coughed up a few pieces from his nose and throat, heaving for more air.

There must always be an end to something so seemingly idyllic.

He pulled around the cotton towel and shook his head around, letting strands of hair fall into his eyes and sending drips down his face. If you can dry your body from its tears, can you dry your mind?

How?

In his sweatpants and sweater, he laid in his bed staring up at the ceiling trying to draw spirals with his eyes.

"Kristopher?" A loving voice came from the crack of his door.

"Hey." He sat upon his bed, pulling his legs crossed.

"Your dad isn't home, Cameron wants to watch a movie. Would you like to join? We can have popcorn, candy, and blankets! You remember, like when you were younger!" Her voice was high and hopeful.

They used to do it every Sunday.

Kit nodded once, face not changing.

"What's wrong?" His mother said, moving closer into the room and resting her arm on his dresser. "Honey, I was thinking, I know that we don't do it much but it hasn't gotten us very far, with you lashing out all the time... Maybe you can try talking to me more. Your dad doesn't have to know."

"I'm fine."

"Kit... You used to be so happy. You'd scribble over the walls in crayon, crash your toys up into the walls, you were full of energy. The only time I see you like that now is football."

"You never watch me play football anyways." He murmured, picking at a hangnail and pulling it down, wondering if you had one bad enough if you could pull it all the way until your skin just peeled itself off, like a snake.

"You are right. I am sorry." Her voice was soft and broke minimally.

He wasn't watching her, but she was shuffling her feet around, eyes drooping low. "And obviously I'm not going to act like a six-year-old." He added.