’The worst thing you can do in this world is make someone feel like they’re not wanted, or loved.’ That was how Kinger had put it. And that was rather apt for how Jax was feeling just then. He was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His body was still, paralysed, but his mind was far from it. His breathing was fast, and picking up speed. Black static was beginning to appear at the edges of his vision, but it was nothing compared to the sound of it roaring in his ears, which were ramrod straight, listening to sounds only he could hear.

He needed to get out. He needed to move. He needed to find the f-cking exit, because God knew he didn’t belong here. The others had made that really f-cking clear. He didn’t belong here. And he sure as hell wasn’t ‘wanted.’ And ‘loved’ might as well have been a pipe dream. What had Gangle said about dreams? ‘You need to give up on them, because they’re completely unattainable?’ If Jax could have moved, he would have scoffed. Yeah, that was what Gangle had said, right before triggering a goddamn seizure in him. He knew he deserved it. God, he deserved it. He deserved it. He—

Jax didn’t know how he got there, but he was in the bathroom, staring at his reflection. The tap was running, the soft, clear sound helping to dispel a little of the static in his mind. Not enough, though. Not enough. He reached out, holding a hand under the water he knew, rationally, was ice-cold.

He couldn’t feel it. He stared at his hand, uncomprehending. His vision blurred, the room distorting and spinning around him. His hands didn’t feel like his. Why was he so hot? Jesus Christ, this couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not here. God, what if someone walked in on him? He’d never hear the end of it.

His eyes bore into his palms, trying and failing to make his mind see them as his again. It wasn’t working. Every time he flexed them, it was a shock to him - why were they moving like that? It just didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like him. As he stared, he thought he saw a glimpse of a bright, multicoloured eye, surrounded by dark static, where his left hand was.

The white-hot panic that shot through him was beyond anything he’d ever felt. Was he abstracting? F-cking hell, was this abstraction? It certainly matched what he’d seen Ribbit and Kaufmo and others, all the others, go through before it- before—

He stared at his hand. The eye had disappeared, as had the static. A figment of his mind, he told himself. It had to be. He was still him. He was still here. He was still here. Still here…

God, did he even want to be here anymore?

He looked up at his reflection. God, he looked a mess. Shaking like a leaf in the wind, ears straight up, pupils constricted. No one could see him like this. They just couldn’t.

But he couldn’t exactly go back to his room. Walk through the halls, risk questioning stares and quiet, whispered, judgemental comments? No, scratch that, they wouldn’t be quiet. Quiet would require someone caring enough about his feelings to have the decency to be discreet. Fuck that. They’d say it directly to his face - why wouldn’t they? No, he couldn’t go back to his room.

Jax slowly slid down the wall, sitting in a ball on the floor and burying his head in his hands.

Why was he even here?