fresh air | pulisic

00.

He can't breathe.

His eyes are watering, his vision is darkening around the edges, his chest feels tight and he just can't breathe.

He can barely hear the words of the people around him, his heartbeat is getting louder, louder and louder in his ears and then it's gone, replaced by the sound of his blood rushing through his ears, muting everyone as if someone's pushed him underwater. It's silent for a moment, but his heart is still beating a little too fast, too loud, and the voices are starting to come back and he can feel the panic grip at his heart and squeeze.

He's drowning.

Christian wakes with a start, cold sweat soaked into his shirt as he gasps for the air his lungs so desperately need. The little clock on the nightstand tells him it's 06:20 in the morning and the sun is only beginning to rise, the dreary, grey light only just starting to fill his room. Falling back onto the bed, he covers his eyes with his arm, trying to bring his breathing back to normal while his mind replays the dream over and over behind his eyelids.

The dream only serves as a reminder of what's already happened, a warning for what might happen and a reminder as to what he has left to deal with, and his breath begins to quicken again, almost choking with how dry his mouth is becoming. He can feel his heart pounding against his chest, but he forces himself to take deep breaths that make his chest hurt. There's so much going on, so many thoughts racing through his head and all he wants is for it to be quiet. He just needs time, space and quiet.

But he's not usually like this.

He sighs, staring up at the ceiling after he's managed to calm himself down, watching the shadows of the trees dance on the walls as the light gets brighter, listening to the sounds of the birds waking up for another day. The gentle sound of the ocean is the background noise for the groups of students that walk by his accommodation on their way to school, the ringing of bicycle bells to warn pedestrians of their existence and the sound of cars passing through the streets. The wind makes the trees rustle their branches, nudging at the wind chimes hanging outside on his patio and Christian focuses on the gentle tinkling he can hear because it's sound is so light and clear, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

Licking his dry lips, he forces himself to sit up, reaching for the water jug. Pouring water into the glass cup it came with, he drinks slowly, focusing on how the cool water makes it way through his body. One isn't enough, so he pours another and after the third he finally feels normal again, wiping his lips with the back of his hand as he sets the cup back down on the nightstand.

He stays still for a moment, his eyes closing while his lips part for another sigh. stretching his arms above his head, he opens his eyes again and pulls the covers back, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. there's no use thinking about it now. it happened, this happened and now he's here and he may as well make the most of it.

He needs some fresh air.