We brush our teeth together and climb into bed. She’s curled up, her hand on Carter’s chest and her leg tangled with mine. I can’t stop watching her. Carter’s already half-asleep. He’s soft like that, easy with his peace, generous with his warmth.
I watch like I’m waiting for the world to shift.
She presses closer to me. “Still awake?” she mumbles.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Her hand finds mine under the covers. “Don’t leave yet. I know you do sometimes after I fall asleep.”
I don’t. I won’t. Not for anything.
I wake hours later, chest tight and stomach twisting in ways I’ve buried for years. The soft sound of their breathing fills the room, steady and unbothered, and I… can’t stand it. Not tonight. Every little detail presses against something raw inside me.
I can feel my pulse hammering, thoughts spinning faster than I can catch them. Why now? Why tonight? The weight of her trust, their closeness, my own goddamn twin, the rules I’ve always followed, crashes down.
My shoulders hunch, my hands twitch, and I feel that tight, hot knot of panic climbing my throat.
I promised. I wouldn’t leave. Not for anything.
I move quietly, careful not to wake either of them, and slide off the bed. My muscles scream with tension, but I make it to the mini couch tucked in the corner. It’s not much, but it’s enough for me to collapse, my arms wrapped around myself.
I watch them from the dim light, I should feel comforted. I want to feel comforted. But instead it’s a punch to the gut. They have everything. They have peace. And I… don’t. I have walls. Big, sharp ones. Now, here I am, chest tight, stomach twisting, feeling every crack in those walls that I keep carefully plastered over.
I stand up, counting the breaths that don’t come evenly, pacing back and forth. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat, heavy and insistent, like it wants to push out of my chest.
I hate it. Hate that it always comes back, uninvited. Hate that no one will ever really see it my weakness and how carefully I’ve masked it for years.
I sit back down and bury my face in the crook of my arm, swallowing the tightening in my throat. I hate how much it stings, how jealous I feel and how guilty it makes me. I hate that I’m shaking, that the quietness of the room isn’t soothing but amplifying every shadow in my mind.
But I promised.
Slowly, bit by bit, the panic loosens just enough that exhaustion drags at me.
I let the weight of the night press me down, let my muscles stop trembling, let my breath find a rhythm again. The couch is hard and too small, but it doesn’t matter.
Eventually, the edges of my mind blur, the anxiety dulls, and sleep claims me, one shallow, careful breath at a time.
20
Haven
Iknow the second I log in that it’s going to be a rough stream, the bracket is stacked and the chat is insane.
My DMs are worse, people are speculating, screenshotting and posting clips with captions to set me off.
I thought I could handle it. But tonight? It all feels like too much.
My head’s pounding halfway through the first round. I lose a stupid fight because my hand slips on the mouse, and someone in chat immediately types.
[XShotgunBabyX]:looks like ghost needs to carry u again lol
My jaw clenches, and I force a smile. I try to laugh it off, try to focus and try tonotlet the heat crawling up my throat win. The next round’s worse. Sloppy, I rush my plays and miss the objective. People arenotkind about it. Carter messages me privately.You good?Tate DM’s me a skull emoji.
By the fourth round, I can’t take it. “Okay,” I stutter out, yanking off my headset mid-stream. “That’s enough. I’m out.”
The chat floods with confusion, lines of text blurring across the screen like static.What happened?You okay? Don’t quit now!I don’t care, I hit END BROADCAST and slam my headset down. My hands are shaking.
The rage is hot and sharp but underneath it, there’s this cold, hollow panic that feels like failure.
