The sensation was like being hit by lightning, but in reverse.
The white light of the mental bridge vanished. The silence of the void shattered.
WOOSH.
I gasped. The air was freezing. It smelled of exhaust fumes, wet concrete, and ozone.
My eyes snapped open.
I wasn't looking at a mirror. I wasn't looking at a ghost.
I was looking at my own hands. They were gripping a rusted metal railing so hard my knuckles were blue. My fingernails were digging into the flaking paint.
My heart was hammering against my ribs—thump-thump, thump-thump—a frantic, living rhythm.
I felt a surge of heat in my chest—Desi. A spark of pure, terrified adrenaline.
I felt a crushing weight in my boots—Greg. A heaviness that pulled me down, grounding me to the asphalt.
And I felt a sharp, clear thought cut through the noise—Leo. A plan.
Step back.
It wasn't a debate anymore. It was a command.
My right foot moved. It felt heavy, like it was encased in concrete, but I dragged it backward. The sole of my sneaker squeaked on the wet metal of the bridge's maintenance walkway.
Then the left foot.
I released the railing. My fingers were stiff, locked in a claw shape. I had to peel them off the metal one by one.
I stumbled back. My back hit the concrete barrier that separated the pedestrian path from the road. The rough stone scraped against my windbreaker.
I slid down the wall until I hit the ground. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in my hands.
I was shaking. Violent, uncontrollable shivers.
"I'm here," I whispered into my wet palms. My voice was raspy, unused. "I'm still here."
A car drove past—a blur of headlights and the swish of tires on wet pavement. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. It was the sound of chaos. It was the sound of life continuing.
I wasn't Leo. I wasn't Desi. I wasn't Greg.
I was Adam. And I was a mess. A freezing, crying, broken mess.
And that was okay.
ns216.73.216.10da2
and then Add to home screen.