Cold water from the sink cascaded down Benjamin’s face; torrent waves commanded by his own hands, drenching his skin. The collar of his white t-shirt was soaked through, sticking weakly to the skin surrounding his collarbones that was also doing nothing to stop the chill from seeping further into his body. 

Why was this happening to him? Again, too. Was the incident itself not enough, it had to come disrupt his dreams as well? 

Get a grip, Ben.

Benjamin drew in a shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed firmly, hands gripping the sides of the sink like a lifeline. He half expected the shiny porcelain to crack under his vice, the cracks splintering out across the surface in jagged arrangements with no goal but to damage. Just like how he’d been damaged.

The idea caused Benjamin to grit his teeth, eyes shooting open, instantly narrowing at himself in the mirror's reflection. He couldn’t help it. Everytime he closed his eyes, he would see it; relive it as if it were the first time. The bright lights, the resounding blare of the horn, the bone-rattling impact…and then the looming dread that it had actually happened.

 Things like this happened to other people, strangers that Benjamin didn’t know nor have any affiliation with. He was just a teenager, sixteen, with hopes and dreams like everyone else his age. These things didn’t happen to him. 

Except now they had, and he was forced to live with it for the rest of his life.

What did the driver responsible get as punishment for his current predicament? A week of feeling guilty? Maybe a month? Benjamin would never get to know. The jackass sped off as soon as it happened, leaving him in a literal dust cloud on the roadside. It wasn't like he could’ve chased him, anyway. Not after that.

Benjamin's eyes cast downward to his left foot, where the sturdy, black covering of his boot encased it. A constant reminder. 

His jaw set firmly, teeth gritting against one another. His arms trembled a bit, hands still clamped harshly on the outer ring of the sink; the only thing currently keeping him steady. The object became blurry, eyes stinging with a vicious valor.

It took the boy a second to realize that he was crying, fresh tears dripping from his eyes and landing with an almost degrading clink against the porcelain. 

Mocking him. Laughing at his misery. 

 He felt angry. Angry at the stranger who had hit him, angry at his situation, angry at the future that had been so ruthlessly ripped away from him. He wanted so desperately to express this anger, in any form that was socially acceptable.

But all he could muster up were tears. 

God, could he get any more pathetic? 

Stupid. It was all so stupid.

Benjamin had always been told that life wasn't fair. He knew that better than most people. He just hadn’t realized to exactly what degree that could extend. Nor that it would choose to be so directly vicious to him.

“Ben?”

Benjamin blinked harshly, startled at the sudden intrusion to his pitiful thoughts. His head shot up, hands loosening on the sink slightly as he registered the voice as belonging to Peyton. 

A soft breath of realization escaped him, shoulders coming down from their stiff setting and letting his muscles breathe momentarily. Even after growing up together, Peyton had always managed to keep his quiet mannerisms intact. It was the same level of impressive as it was irritating.

Right now though, Benjamin was grateful for the distraction.

Anything to keep him from wallowing in his own self pity. 

“What's up? Everything okay?” Benjamin asked, steeling himself and taking a towel from the rack beside the shower. Peyton most likely awoke when he left the room and decided to come reprimand him. That was his best guess, atleast.

Peyton leaned against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, black hair messy and falling in his eyes. Benjamin was pretty sure he was still glaring at him through the strands, though. 

“I feel like I should be asking you that.” Peyton deadpanned. “Again, no crutches?” He nodded his head in the direction of his friend’s boot. 

Benjamin had to physically bite his tongue to avoid a snappy retort. He grumbled under his breath, straightening his posture and busying himself with drying his face.

 Of course. That’s what it always came back to, wasn't it? The thing that now defined him. 

The damn crutches.

Everytime he even heard the word uttered, it felt like a repeated stab at his heart. Except each time, his heart kept rejuvenating and he was forced to relive the vicious cycle.

“I’m fine,” Benjamin responded plainly, setting the towel down on the side of the sink. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Without waiting for a response, Benjamin flicked off the bathroom light and lightly walked on his boot, as he made his way slowly out of the bathroom and down the hall, relying heavily on the wall for extra support. 

Peyton sighed heavily, following behind his friend slowly, running a hand through his hair. 

“Ben,” Peyton quipped softly. “You know you’re not supposed to walk without your crutches. You don’t want to make the injury worse.”

Benjamin snorted, rolling his eyes at his friend's comment as the two of them reached his bedroom door. He nudged it open with his shoulder; he used to kick it, but that was no longer an option. 

“I don’t see how it could get much worse, Peyton, I’m gonna be honest.” He said, an exasperated smile gracing his lips as he limped over to his bed in the darkened room, sitting on the edge of it and releasing a soft breath.

Peyton shut the bedroom door then moved to sit beside Benjamin on the mattress, the material sinking gently under their combined weight. They sat in silence for a good minute.

A soft shaky gasp of breath caught his attention, and Peyton hadn’t realized what was happening until he turned to look at Benjamin, who had a hand pressed to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt and bunching the material. 

Benjamin's eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed. His chest rose and fell in an unsteady manner, hand shaking slightly as it attempted to manage the rhythm of his panicked breaths. His eyes watered fiercely, some stray tears escaping down his cheeks. A fiery pain seemed to seize his lungs, squeezing them until there was nothing left to expel nor take in. It was all he could do to just gasp for air, willing the moment to pass quickly. Just like every other time. Except it never seemed to work in his favor.

A hand connected with his, holding firm. Benjamin didn't need to open his eyes to know that it was Peyton, offering his silent support like always. 

Peyton didn't speak, nor offer his verbal assistance. He knew well enough by now that it only made things worse. Benjamin appreciated it. They both knew from past experiences that trying to talk to him while he was enduring any sort of panic episode never ended well. If anything, it only made him more overwhelmed and increased the load of anxiety.

The gentle weight of Peyton’s hand coming to settle on his back made him tense, but he didn't move away. Cracking his eyes, he noticed how Peyton was attempting to guide him in breathing deep, the black haired teen putting a hand to his own chest, trying to get Benjamin to follow his lead in steadying the rapid beat of his overheated heart. He wasn't asking why he was freaking out, why he was having an attack. He was just letting him be, while still being a reliable anchor throughout it all.

It was more than Benjamin knew he deserved. Peyton didn't have to put up with his crappy situation, but he did. Through all the panic attacks, the recurring nightmares, the self doubt. Peyton was still there, even after everything had changed. Permanently. 

“A bad one, yeah?” Peyton guessed gently, seeing it as okay to speak now that Benjamin’s breathing seemed to be evening out.

Benjamin just nodded, exhaling shakily as he buried his face in his hands. He knew Peyton was referring more to his nightmare rather than the panic attack he’d just witnessed. He hated how easily others were able to read him, especially now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peyton asked, taking care to keep his voice soft, so as to not spook Benjamin further. 

Benjamin shook his head, another small fire of anger beginning to spark in him. No, he did not want to talk about it. He did not wish to bring more light to how absolutely pathetic he was. He never, and he meant never, wanted to talk about it. 

“Okay,” Peyton said with a soft sigh, scooting over on the mattress to reach the nightstand beside the bed. “Suit yourself.” 

Benjamin ran his hands down his face and rested his forearms on his thighs. He stared at the floor, not even looking up at the familiar rattling sound, nor when Peyton silently deposited two half-split colored pills onto his palm. It was routine for them at this point whenever Peyton spent the night. Just the thought of that was enough to make his eyes sting again. The act of having to take medication at all. Having his best friend feel obliged to look after him like this, like he was some sort of burden one couldn’t shake. He was stuck like this for the rest of his life, therefore so was everyone else. Shackled to him like a servant. Benjamin hadn’t asked them to, yet they’d still chosen to cater. He didn’t understand it, and never would.  

Benjamin took the pills quickly, swallowing them without any water. He was used to that as well.

“Come on,” Peyton said. “It’s the middle of the night. We need to get back to sleep. Big day tomorrow, right?” 

Oh, right. That. 

Originally, it would have been. Hell, Benjamin had even been excited, more excited than he usually allowed himself to get. They were meant to participate in the school soccer tournament together, side by side. They’d made the team during tryouts in the same fashion. Now, it all fell flat. Now, it was only a big day for Peyton. Another thing the incident had taken from him. 

Benjamin’s eyes landed on the grey crutches by the door to his bedroom. It was like a constant taunt, a reminder that no matter what happened now, he would always be in need of their support, whether he liked it or not. He loathed it.

He let out a soft sigh, moving his body to get under the covers, Peyton doing the same on the opposite end of the bed. They’d slept in the same bed so many times across the span of their childhood that it had become a second nature for the pair. No makeshift floor-bed was ever needed. 

He settled on his side with his back facing Peyton, who was also in a similar position of sleep. He ran a hand through his fluffy, ginger hair, as if trying to ward off the last remnants of his nightmare. His eyes began to flutter shut, allowing rest to his watery eyes. Yet, they seemed to focus on the crutches by the door one last time before he surrendered his will to keep them open. 

How did he allow this to happen? What had he done to deserve this?

Things like this happened to other people, people he didn't know nor spare a second glance to. 

They didn't happen to him, Benjamin Balboa. 

He was just a kid. A damaged one, sure, but still a kid. 

And now, that was all he’d ever get to be. 

I had a dream one night. I can't remember all of it, but I remember the way I felt, and that feeling has been lingering, and I can't seem to forget it. 

I can't let go of that feeling and the rest of the dream would fade away, but I really wanted to put that dream and feeling on something, even if it meant I would be the only one to read it.

I was running, but I didn't know why, I just knew I had to catch the flying train in the sky. I knew that if I didn't catch that train, something bad would happen, but I didn't know what. I chased after it while shooting at it with what seemed like a laser gun, but that was useless. The gun had no effect at all. 

The train flew over a bridge across a wide open space of water. All I knew from looking at it was that it was big, wide and seemed really deep. Which meant the train was going to escape for good. I couldn't let that happen and I didn’t have enough time to think for a plan thoroughly. All I knew was that I couldn't let that flying train leave. I leaped off the bridge and into the air to reach for the flying train. I was close, so close, even though I knew I would not make it, I still did it out of impulse.

I was high enough to reach its bottom, so close and yet. I felt the smooth surface of the train as my hand slid off. 

I missed it. 

I could say I was stunned or disappointed that I didn't catch it, but I knew what was going to happen and still tried for some reason. I ended up falling from the sky at a fast pace, like a fallen angel or a seagull— at least that's what I thought of the situation. I embraced myself for impact. Knowing that the water was coming close. Next thing I knew, I hit the water hard, but after a while it didn't hurt.

 Instead, I felt at peace and felt light. It gave off a soft and cozy feeling. It was quiet, something I haven't had in a long time. No matter where I was in the world, there was always noise, but underwater, noise wouldn't be able to reach me. I felt so at peace. The water covered my ears so that I couldn't hear a thing, all while the water slowly swayed back and forth. It was nice. I could just float there forever.
When I realized my situation, I didn't try to swim to the surface, mainly because I couldn't swim, even in my dreams. I was hopeless when it came to swimming and I knew no one was going to save me. I don't know why I thought that, I just knew. The only thing I could see was a shining light above the water, but the more I drifted down, the more the light depleted. And I had a few things on my mind at that moment. 

Did I protect whatever I was risking my life for? 

What was waiting for me at the bottom of this eternal blue water?

 Was there a monster of some sort waiting for the moment to eat me? 

 I think what scared me the most was that I didn't know if what I was protecting was safe. The water was nice and warm, like a blanket on a cold night.

 Then everything turned dark. 

I couldn't see anything, but I could hear a faint buzzing sound and I could feel my body. I could feel myself breathing. I thought that meant it was time to wake up in eternal light. I was meeting my end, and yet I wasn't afraid of my end, just the people I left behind, the people who I still needed to protect. 

I struggled to open my eyes to see the new world awaiting me, and as I finally opened them all I saw was white with a beaming shadow of blue. I tried to look around. 

Can you guess what I saw?

My room.

I sat up on the bed, thinking I was still asleep and couldn't understand what I was looking at. And saw my fan, the source of the buzzing sound I heard earlier. My TV was on the loading screen, the room was half dark, and the alarm was blaring. 

It was a dream. It was all a dream.

I wasn't gone. I was relieved, but also kind of sad because I couldn't remember who I was trying so hard to save, who I was risking my life for. And I knew if I wanted to go back, I wouldn't be able to see their faces, anyway.

And the worst part of it all, no one will understand what I felt after all that happened.

                                                    Would you?