Jacob Mercer stared at the peeling ceiling of his apartment, unmoving, as if gravity had grown heavier in the last three days. The world outside his window throbbed with life—cars, footsteps, faint birdsong—but it all sounded like static to him. He hadn’t showered. He hadn’t eaten. The idea of standing, of existing, felt impossible.
His phone buzzed endlessly on the table. He knew it would be Emily. He didn’t have to check. The weight of disappointing her sat in his chest like a cinder block.
“Pick up, Jacob. Please. I’m coming over.”
The text glowed on the screen. He read it, but it didn’t move him. He didn’t want company. He didn’t want advice. Mostly, he wanted to stop breathing—but even that required energy.
The depressive episodes came like clockwork now, each one sinking him deeper, longer. He had lost jobs, friends, lovers. Not out of cruelty, but because eventually, he stopped answering. He became a ghost in his own life.
His psychiatrist called it Bipolar I. Jacob called it being broken.
He remembered how, just weeks ago, he was flying. Nights without sleep, building grand ideas, making impossible plans. He was charming, magnetic, vibrating with purpose. He didn’t need anyone. He didn’t need rest. He was a god on the rise.
And now? Now he couldn’t convince himself to drink a glass of water.
A knock shattered the silence. He didn’t answer. The knock came again, firmer. Keys jangled. Emily’s keys. She had a spare.
“Jacob?” Her voice was cautious, soft.
He heard her set down bags in the kitchen. The smell of coffee drifted through the apartment. She appeared in the doorway, carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal.
“You scared me,” she whispered.
He wanted to tell her not to be scared, but his throat wouldn’t work.
Emily sat on the floor beside his bed, crossing her legs like when they were kids.
“I know you don’t want to talk. I just… I can’t leave you like this.”
A tear slipped down his temple, surprising him. He hadn’t expected to feel anything.
“Just breathe, okay?” she said.
He didn’t answer, but he heard her. Somewhere in the fog, her voice anchored him. She kept talking, telling him about her day, about the stupid cat videos she’d watched, about the sandwich she bought him even though he wouldn’t eat it.
And for the first time in days, Jacob inhaled fully, letting the air reach the deepest part of his lungs.
It wasn’t victory. It wasn’t even progress. But it was the smallest step toward the surface.
And Emily stayed.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
1 comment:
Loved this story, Wizard.
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