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River turned the knob and entered, grocery bag under one arm. He peeked inside the study and smiled.
Sid was still asleep, curled up on the OB’s armchair.
She looks so cute. A warm sensation filled him. Sid was alive. Even now, the thought sent him momentarily reeling. Despite having spent the better part of a week with her, the facts of her felt slippery, like something his brain couldn’t keep a firm hold on.
River had become so used to Sid existing only in dreams or memories that his mind struggled to accept her as more than the idea of a person. It refused to assign her to the category of Reality, mistakenly believing she'd soon dissolve back into his imagination, chased by the usual melancholic yearning.
He set the bag down on the kitchen counter and began unpacking his bounty. Eggs and bacon went in the fridge, and River shut its door. For a half-second, the world shifted on its axis. Then, just as quickly, it righted itself.
He shook his head and exhaled slowly through his lips. Weird. Sweat trickled down his back. Also weird. It was actually pretty mild today. Had he turned the heat on last night? Or had Sid? He gripped the counter to keep steady and blinked several times.
Probably just need to eat something. Yeah. That had to be it. He was pretty hungry. He shook his head again in an effort to clear it. You’re fine, he promised himself.
He hummed a little as he rifled through the grocery bag, setting the milk, ground coffee beans, cheese, and bread neatly on the counter by the fridge. He would have continued unpacking the remaining few items, but he felt a sudden tickle in his throat. He tried to clear it, which made him cough.
At first, it was just a little dry cough, like something was caught in his throat or he’d swallowed wrong. Then it came out wetter, more violent, like his lungs were trying to expel something with great urgency. He caught his breath in a long, harsh gasp.
What the fuck? Was he getting sick? Shit, I hope I didn’t get Sid sick too.
River felt a bead of sweat drip from his forehead. Though the coughing had settled, his breathing still felt off, like he couldn’t inhale fully. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing deep into his stomach, but his chest felt oddly constricted. It kind of hurt, actually.
He pressed a hand to his sternum as an unnerving series of heart palpitations hit him. Something wasn’t right. No, it’s probably nothing, he tried to talk himself down. Maybe I’m…having a panic attack or something?
He could hear a soft, high-pitched whine. It took him longer than he cared to admit to realize that he was the one making the noise. He was wheezing.
Okay, something was really wrong.
His heart had begun to race, thumping against his rib cage like it was leading a siege, just about to breach the castle walls. He didn’t know if his rapid pulse was connected to whatever else was happening or if he was just terrified. And he was a little bit terrified, he acknowledged to himself.
Sid, was his next thought. Pivoting away from the counter, he stumbled, struck by another fit of coughing that wouldn't stop. Every time there was the slightest break between coughs, he’d try to suck some air in, but he couldn’t seem to get any. A memory flashed in his head, River stuck underwater in the Thames, seeking the surface, but too disoriented to reach it.
He doubled over, white-knuckling the counter with one hand, clutching his chest with the other. His face twisted in pain. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Fuck, no, fuck, what the fuck. What was happening? He needed help. Yes, his body agreed, and River imagined someone standing before a giant mainframe computer, frantically pressing buttons at random, trying in vain to keep disaster at bay. Go get help.
The coughing finally halted and he gasped a breath. “Sid,” he cried out noiselessly, as if trying to shout at someone in a dream.
He tried to push himself upright, but he stumbled and dropped to his knees. His mouth was watering uncontrollably. Was he crying? He retched and vomited up bile. He pressed a forearm to his knotted-up stomach, wanting to moan aloud from the pain, but unable to manage even that.
Breathe, he pleaded with himself. But each time he successfully choked some air into his lungs, it just seemed to whistle out, its escape slow and faltering, like water through a clogged drain.
Get up, he silently screamed. You have to get up before you pass the fuck out. But his mind and his body had somehow been disconnected. When he tried to stand, he couldn’t get his muscles to cooperate. His thoughts were getting jumbled. Everything felt spinny. His brain blinked strings of useless words at him. Up breathe hospital ambulance phone Sid please. Then his shaking arms gave out and he found himself flat on his stomach.
No, up, air, air, need air. River’s mouth flapped open and shut uselessly, like the ambitious goldfish who’d just had to know what was on the other side of its bowl. He mustered enough strength to roll onto his side, which offered a hint of relief. He could find slightly more air in this position. But his lungs were still starving and the ache in his chest was becoming unbearable.
He retched again. Nothing came up this time. He noticed he was drooling, but he couldn’t stop. Fuck. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.
He was dying. He was actually dying. This is how the world ends, on my goddamn kitchen floor. Well, he remembered, he had just read an article about Britain’s recent surge in deaths occurring at home. I’m a statistic, he thought.
He wondered if he’d somehow unintentionally traded his life for Sid’s. Sid, he tried to cry out a second time, but all that came out was wasted air.
He dry-heaved again, shuddering violently.
He rested his head against the cold tile. He was so tired. Maybe if he just laid like this for a minute, just until he caught his breath. Then he could get up and find Sid. Sid would help him.
Spots danced before his eyes and there was a strange roaring all around him, the same as you'd hear with your ear up against a conch shell. He tried to listen past it, hoping to hear Sid stir across the hall, but the only other noise was River’s own defective breathing. Shallow gasps, then long wheezes, like someone squeezing the very last of the air out of a balloon.
Help, he tried to reach Sid with his mind. Help, he expanded the search. Somebody, anybody. Lassie! his brain supplied idiotically. Though maybe he should have taken more of an interest in dogs throughout his life (which, to be fair to him, he hadn't expected to end this soon). A devoted canine companion would come in really fucking useful just now.
There was a horrible pressure in River's chest and he wondered if his lungs might literally explode. Is that a thing that happens? His heartbeat alternated between painful, rapidfire thumps, and a deeply unsettling stutter.
Call a fucking ambulance, he urged himself. Your phone is in your pocket. Just call 999. Do it, you worthless idiot. You should have done it first thing. But now he couldn’t. He couldn’t move. His hands and feet, even his face, everything had gone numb. The world blurred and veered before him.
Sid, he begged her. Sid, please. He was drowning. He was dying. Sid.
She was going to find his corpse. God, everything she’d been through already because of him, and now this.
Sid, I’m so sorry.
It was getting dark, and he had never been so tired. He just wanted to go home. He shut his eyes.
Sid.