Touch

Part 28

Jeremy had texted Christine, but she never texted him back.

He'd made her cry. He couldn't get the image out of his head.

There's no sense in worrying about it, Jeremy.

Squip was right. He needed to stop worrying about it. He needed to focus on finishing up the semester and then going home. He had an entire summer to look forward to: the beach, hanging out with Michael and pulling all-nighter video game sessions, uninterrupted time with Squip, alone in his room.

He needed to focus.

He needed to keep it together.

He needed. He needed. He needed.

Something wasn't right.

Something hadn't been right since the day Christine had shown up in the coffee shop. Everything felt fuzzy, details lost in a tumultuous flow of time where nothing felt real and everything was too bright. He'd dissociated before, back in high school, after one too many stress-induced panic attacks. That's what it felt like. It was a fog, and he was lost in it. He couldn't think straight. Jeremy woke up and he didn't know what day it was. How long had he been sleeping? He didn't recognize his own hand held up in front of his face.

He looked in the mirror and he felt like a stranger looking back at himself. If he looked too long he felt dizzy, an overwhelming wave of haze that left him reeling and he had to lay down for a while. On more than one occasion he became aware of himself, where he was, but he didn't remember how he'd got there or why. Michael was talking to him and he could barely understand the words, so he just nodded along and pretended everything was fine.

It was even worse at night, when he was tired, head throbbing. He had a headache that wouldn't go away. Jeremy's fists were curled in his lap, staring at the far side of the room, at the wall, where the red stain of the Mountain Dew Red still remained. It looked wrong. Everything looked wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. He stood up and walked over to it, carefully, reaching out a hand to press his palm against the stain. It was solid, cool to the touch, really there after all. He sighed shakily and pressed his forehead against it, closing his eyes. Why, why, why.

Squip had its arms around him, back against its chest, warm and secure. Jeremy moved away from the wall and turned around, grabbing at clothes that weren't really there but felt more real than anything else in the room, a lump in his throat, breath hitching.

-I don't know what's happening.-

Squip tightened its grip around him, chin resting on top of his head, face tucked into its shoulder, hot tears threatening to spill.

I've got you. You're okay.

He was breathing fast, almost gasping, clinging to Squip like his very life depended on it, like his entire reality would suddenly unravel and vanish if he let go. Squip touched his back, pet his hair, pressed a kiss to his temple. Breathe. Breathe. I'm here. I'm here.

Jeremy stilled after a while, shoulders dropping, hands cold and numb. He eased himself away, back pressing against the wall, breathing, breathing. Everything was still foggy and dull, but it wasn't so oppressive anymore. It was manageable, a workable sense of unreality that he could live through. He could deal with this; this was his life now. Squip was looking at him, frowning, brows creased with concern and something else. It stepped forward, closing the new gap between them.

You need to focus.

-On what?-

It was hard to focus on anything.